A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

It seemed to be a genuine heartfelt question. It seemed to be the question of a man desperately trying to understand those who stood in front of him. His eyes were searching, almost mad, as he looked from noble to noble, trying to find something in them that he could resonate with.

Oliver might not have understood everything that he said, but he knew enough to know that this wasn't about Oliver Patrick, not any longer.

"Are there fools among you that still think our country to be strong? Indeed, we have our Generals, and they can command great armies, and they might even pull off a miracle and keep our borders safe for the next ten, or even twenty years. But the Stormfront tradition is an old one. The General always keeps with him a Sword.

Did you think nothing of it, when the two finest Swords in our Kingdom's history were wasted?"

Now the crowd grew truly uncomfortable. This speech was bordering on treasonous.

"Look at you, cowards. But that is not even truly what I'd name you – for you know what's coming, even if you delude yourself into talking otherwise. The Stormfront has always been a military nation. Now that we're the weakest we've been for two hundred years, you delude yourselves into thinking that we can pursue prosperity through other means. But make no mistake.

We are entering into a Time of Tigers, as has been said for the longest time. The seeds are spread, and our enemies will come for us. I ask you then, who will you send, with the enemies at your gates?" Hod asked. "Who?"

"You've chased away your best men. Arthur who you loved, you still named a fool for his generosity. Dominus Patrick, who we have every reason to believe surpassed a pinnacle that should have been impossible, you scorn the man for his poor personality. In that you expose yourself for what you are – fools. Do you expect the strongest Sword to have no weakness elsewhere?

You fools speak of this trial, and you dare to bring reputation into it, as though such a thing carries weight?" Hod said, his voice rising, he was truly furious now.

"Have you forgotten what we are?" He turned to General Tavar. "The Academy is a military school first and foremost! You, Tavar, you, Gavlin, your opinion should carry more weight than any other. The very fact that we prize coin above the sword, here, in the heart of the Academy? That there is a sign of our sickness. We are a people misguided.

Fool yourselves not, Oliver Patrick is the seed of your enemy, a man you despise – and he will be what you wished you kept alive when the enemy comes for your gates."

His words left a stir in the air. Oliver was sure he could see the air twisting around Hod. Something strange, and otherworldly. Flecks of blue stirred in the man's eyes when he looked towards Oliver. There was no sign of the childish man that he'd seen so much of. This was a hard and ruthless genius.
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"I make my mark in the sand here today," Hod declared. "Two votes against one, what of it? The vote has never meant any more than the man that casts it. Today, I will drag your names through the mud. I will make you regret the foolishness that you tried to pull here today, even if they send assassins for me too in the process. I love the Stormfront.

I will not see it die because of greed and lesser men."

Hod made his declaration by his lonesome, delivered to a crowd of over two hundred – two hundred of the country's most important people. And still, none scoffed. They couldn't. It was difficult to summon up anything but a nervous laugh when he had made them sweat so thoroughly. It was an inspiring display, frankly.

Finally, Tavar interrupted that silent staredown, as Hod continued to hold the crowd in place with his glare. The General didn't move to take back the centre. He merely stood up from his throne, and cleared his throat, a small smile on his face.

"Well then, we shall proceed," Tavar said. "As the Minister of Logic said, the vote is not a determiner for numerical victory. The vote is merely a choosing of sides. As the Academy Director, I can not take part in such votes – and so we will continue onto the floor of battle.

The two opposing sides may bring people of standing from outside the trial in order to prove their point, or they may wish to argue their points themselves. We have ten Lords with us today as witnesses. When the Ministers are sure that they have presented their case quite sufficiently, the Lords will cast their vote."

"This is not merely a trial for the fate of Oliver Patrick – this is a trial for the standing of our Ministers, as tradition dictates. Being able to win in cases such as this reaffirms our belief in such a Minister – our belief that he is able to make the appropriate decisions, the sort that align with the opinions of the populace."

To lose a trial then was to lose face. To take a trial on was to take a risk in doing so – that was if a Minister wished to go contrary to the view of the majority, as Hod now did.

Gavlin's decision to sit out now seemed to make sense to Oliver, given that there was a precedent for it, for Ministers could choose to sit out a trial if they did not want to put their reputation on the line in order to make the right decision for it.

The other question was who the Lords were… Oliver could only spot five people at first glance who seemed richly enough decorated to be a Lord – if that was the sort of thing one judged a Lord on. The rest of them seemed to all be cut from the same cloth, with a similarly garish level of noble dress, and an appropriate level of jewellery, none straying quite too far over the edge of excess.