text: [Themes: love & dating]
  
  It wasn't long before the day arrived when the so-called 'sir' Myre wanted to speak with you. Elaria was proven right once again. You hated it, you hated the fact you had to leave your room, you hated everything. You let yourself be carted through the castle.
  
  The plan required a larger room to perform the ambush. The old throneroom would do. As Brutus moves you through the cold castle something strikes you. It's abandoned, there are no servants in sight. The once lively sounds of busylife are now muffled and depressed. Elaria accompanies you.
  
  "My Lord, is there something wrong?"
  
  "My castle seems.. empty."
  
  "Now you say it, indeed it is. A lot has happened since your accident my Lord. Since you've been recovering there have been no grand feasts. Lady Isab.. Your wife ordered a decree of silence to help you sleep better. Everyone is working diligently and efficiently."
  
  "Hmpf."
  
  You are not convinced. However, you've arrived at your destination. This hall was built before the rest of your castle, it stemmed from a more grander and more decadent time. Ancient white marble and strange forms give the room a heavenly impression. Somehow, even seated in your elevated seat, you fail to comprehend the whole room. It's as if the architecture withholds its secrets. It wills itself to remain an enigma, even from you.
  
  "It's a good room to hide," you say.
  
  "Yes, there are thirty agents waiting in the shadows as we speak," she remarks with a tint of pride. She feels totally in control.
  
  You freeze up for a moment. "Well, yes of course. Please let Myre and his traitors in."
  
  "Very well." She moves in position to stand behind you.
  
  And so it happens. A group of ten knights enters the hall. A few paces ahead of them is Myre. You almost don't recognize him. In the last months, he had aged considerably. Though it fits him well. It gives him a rugged flair of authority forged by painful struggle. Twenty paces before you he stops and looks at you questionably. Then, seeing something he doesn't like, he reluctantly bows.
  
  "Milord, may I speak?" Myre asks, raising his voice to fill the room.
  
  "You may." You find it hard to hate the man in front of you. Something about his posture makes him seem fatigued rather than devious. Still, you've been misled once. You won't let it happen again.
  
  "Thank you. I come here on behalf of your loyal men Milord. They are suffering.."
  
  "These are the lies I have warned you about," she whispers.
  
  "..They haven't had a worthy meal in weeks. They are kept idle, are being pestered and are made miserable by that wretched steward. Milord, you have been given council by the snake behind you. You are being misled, deceived and your realm is crumbling."
  
  "And the manipulations. Please, my Lord, allow me to end this," she continues to insist.
  
  "Her corruption spread everywhere milord. The servants are too scared to leave their work. Young men from the village are leaving this barony. Milord, please allow me to ask you on behalf of every kind and loyal soul.."
  
  "Alright I'm done hearing your grabble," she interjects. "Sir Myre, you are being arrested for treason. Stand down and do away with your weapons."
  
  "Milord! You cannot allow this! Please, you have to stop her!" Panic stains his words. You hate panic.
  
  But doubt infects your convictions. Myre did everything you were told he would do. He asks for the impossible. He wants you to throw away everything you've worked for. He demands you to do away with the one thing that kept you standing. Still, something in him strikes you as honest. He is as much an open book as he was years before. Did you go down the wrong path?
  
  But Elaria helped you. You've heard her reports. You've heard Brutus. Wealth is entering your barony, with your steadily increasing corps of spies you finally have influence within the duchy. You have made grand plans. You would go against yourself if you turned your back on this.
  
  In the shouting, you have a mere moment to decide. Will you go with the old, or stay with the new?
  
  > sound the signal.
  You raise your first.
  
  "Silence!" You pause a moment. "Do you surrender sir Myre?"
  
  He looks defeated, has his shoulders slumped and wants to say something. However, he doesn't get the chance. From behind the pillars, out of recesses and out from the decorations your agents come into play. The group of knights cry out at this obscene gesture of disrespect and tighten their ranks. Your old veteran is not so lucky.
  
  He is immediately cut off from the rest. As defeated as he looked before, this dishonor granted him a second wind. It spurns him into action, into a low battle crouch. His instincts kick in as he makes his first attack. From a low starting point, he sweeps his sword upwards in a wide arc. The spy, although a reasonable fighter himself, is simply not prepared for such an unconventional attack. First blood has been spilled.
  
  Elaria tries to get you to stand up, to evacuate. But this day had left you drained and feeble. You can do nothing but watch the deadly dance before you. The knights are surrounded. You can see the white in their eyes. They know their resistance is futile, that the opposition is too strong.
  
  The agents pick their targets carefully and only after a long combination of feints. Whenever they manage to cut blood, even barely, they retreat. One cut is enough, one cut is all that it takes. After the first knight falls to his knees, they themselves realize just how hopeless their fate is. They panic, disperse in one final and desperate attack only to be individually overwhelmed. It's not pretty. It's not honorable. It's ruthless and it works.
  
  Still, some pockets of resistance remain, mostly the most experienced of veterans. They've managed to regroup to their leader. Sir Myre fights like a bear. He has a wild look in his eyes and his blows are wilder still. He roars and charges into the fray. Long arcs of his blade cut through the spears, disarms the swords. He moves past three and fights four more. Every step brings him closer to you.
  
  His wild charge left him alone once again. His allies, his friends are subdued. You've known them for years. How dare they betray you. Their gesture was pathetic, useless. They underestimated you. You will make them understand everything. None will ever underestimate you again.
  
  Myre tries to reach you. However, his body has suffered badly. His ferocious style left him open and the poison is starting to do its vicious work. His arcs start to slow, then his arms stop working. His breathing becomes shallow and slow. Fear worms its way in his eyes, and he falls down. Face first and stiff as a plank. Somehow it brings you joy, fills you where you were empty before.
  
  Victory.
  
  "Myre..Myre," you start. "You must be feeling betrayed right now. Well, do you?" You pause, mockingly waiting for an answer that wouldn't come. "You've failed. Your rebellion has failed. Myre. Imagine how I must have felt when I got the news you were planning all this," you say while gesturing to the bloody battlefield your throneroom had turned into.
  
  "Have you even thought about what I was going through Myre? Even in my sacrifice, with everybody around me failing, I reimagined myself. I had help, yes, but I had chosen that help. Look around you, Myre. See how the new so easily dispatches the old. And this is only a start." You hear vague noises gurgling from his mouth.
  
  "What is it, Myre? Do you even have anything to say for yourself? I wanted to take you with me, you know? I wanted you to see how far I could take this barony, how much more I am than my father. But no. You betrayed ME Myre!" you howl your displeasure to the back of his head.
  
  "Very well. I'll give you a choice. If you speak up for yourself, I'll abdicate. Otherwise, sadly, you'll remain a traitor to this land. We both know what the penalty for that is, don't we."
  
  > He predictably stays silent.
  It's execution day. You let the world know of the victory you had gained over the rebellion. Elaria paid poets to write of their insidiousness and of your heroic victory. Of the eleven traitors, nine survived the ambush. They had been bound and gagged, put to decay in their cells until everything was ready. Until today.
  
  You allow yourself being carted out of your room once again. You've dressed yourself up, even invited your wife to accompany you on this occasion. You don't mind, you've let everything go today. You feel good.
  
  It all takes place in the courtyard. Attendance is open, some whisper even mandatory. A big wooden stage has been built specifically for this occasion, though you hope it will continue to be of use. Looking ahead you see the crowd. It's as large as you hoped for. You find the atmosphere positively electric.
  
  As you stand on the stage, supported of course by your trusty Brutus, you wave the traitors in. Chained together by their feet and with a forced hunch they make their way to their doom. They were all drugged, made meek, except for Myre. It makes for a beautiful scene. Let them all see how their so-called saviors drivel beneath you.
  
  You let it all sink in. The pure energy from the crowd, the horror from your wife, the smug satisfaction of Elaria. But no, today is your day. You strain yourself and walk towards the first of the once knights. You give him a good slap, order him tied loose from the rest and pull him by the hairs towards the edge of your podium. He follows you like a naive puppy, totally lost, totally vulnerable.
  
  You show him to the crowd, let them take in the sight, and finally slice his throat, dumping him like the sack of shit he is.
  
  So you make it down the row. Each execution is more depraved, more theatrical than the last. It stimulates you, it stimulates the crowd. You can hold back your laugh. Doing this dulls your pain. It fills your void.
  
  Until you have only Myre left. You see yourself reflected in his eyes, coated with fresh blood. You see a monster. It's simply glorious. Then, using a dull knife you cut him open. You open his wounds as you feel your own knitting shut. This is what you missed all those years. It's overwhelming. Still, you need two more. Always those two.
  
  "Well done my Lord."
  
  It's Elaria. She stands by your side. She always stands by your side.
  
  "Want.. wife too." You can hardly say a word. Your face twitches as you dive deep into the pleasure you feel.
  
  "Another day my Lord. The people will need to be reminded in the future." She's right. She is always right.
  
  "Very.. well."
  
  And so the months pass. Elaria is good at her job. She consistently finds traitors left and right. It keeps you busy, content on just performing the executions. Every new kill gives a rush better than the last. You can't believe why you were happy hunting animals before. Every kill dulls your ambitions, your love, and your hatred.
  
  Eventually, you forget about it all. You live to take life. Every waking moment is spent thinking about it. Yet somehow you never reach the death of the two you wanted all along. It's never enough.
  
  Your story ends in you becoming a mindless monster, the bloody baron.