[ IP ] End of an empire

The future will forget the fires. Blood and rape lose to such'noble' concepts like trade and industrialization, in the grand scheme of history. Sir Lucas Farage was no fool, and had a hundred conquests under his belt. This was par for the course, for the sacking of the city. The sights and smells of debauchery, that they had done so often to other cities, had come to their capital. The smell of burning flesh and ash intertwined, wafting up to the balconies. 
 
 `` Death has come to your little town, sherrif.'' 
 
 `` Speak sense,'' Lucas turned to the soothsayer, annoyed. 
 
 `` Just quoting the future,'' Gabrielle responded, stepping up beside him. The fortune-teller was blind, but did n't act much like it. 
 
 `` The King toss you out of the War Room as well?'' Lucas leaned over the battlements. They just waited for death now. 
 
 `` Mm,'' she nodded. `` Blame his best general for the loss, blame the fortune-teller for not seeing it. Anyone but himself for the rampant conquest and the iron boot he placed on the tribal peoples.'' 
 
 `` Power rarely goes to the ones who know how to wield it,'' he lamented. 
 
 `` You'll not ask me why I never predicted this?'' Gabrielle gripped the stone firmly, her knuckles turning white. 
 
 `` Not particularly. Every empire needs to fall. Ours was not meant for domination,'' he watched the people below him. His failure. 
 
 `` You're oddly nonchalant about your own death,'' she observed. 
 
 `` As are you.'' 
 
 `` I know what lies beyond the veil. Wish me to enlighten you?'' 
 
 `` No, I think I'll find out myself. Men like me were never meant to die in their beds,'' he drew his sword. `` Best find your way out, Gabrielle. I intend to go down with a fight.'' 
 
 `` Best of luck, Sir Lucas. And watch your right side,'' she left the room. 
 
 Sir Lucas Farage would go down with his empire, eight dead barbarians at his feet. History would mark the Agoryian Empire as little more than a foot-note.
