Ivory Towers

April 14th, 3001, 4 Years After Third Minotaur Conflict, Arcainia, Minotauria.

It’s been two weeks since my last journal entry, and this has happened for many reasons. Firstly, it’s been a busy two weeks, there was an assassination attempt on Emperor Xerxes the Younger of Zebrica, and a revolt of Hindia-occupied Algae Area and Arcturia, which used to be the northernmost Zebrican cities. There was also a meeting of the newly founded Harmonic Defensive Pact, a pact founded between Equestria, Saddle Arabia, and the Deer of the north. Sadly for my journal, those events are more important to the Minotaurian government than a changeling wanting to ask questions.

The city of Arcainia has always been admired for one thing, its functionality. Ever since King Cain took it over from the Storm Templar and rebuilt it from the ashes, Arcainia has been a utilitarian architect’s paradise, every building is built with a purpose in mind. Even the streets are narrow, to allow for defense, for pedestrians to walk around, and to stop potential revolts from being able to find much power. The buildings are all wood and stone, not a bit of gold or jewel wasted for appearance, except in the old Griffonian temples scattered around from when the Griffons owned the city.

It turns out I was wrong about the Minotaur’s style of government, as most would have others believe it is a monarchy much like Griffonia and Equestria, with nobles abound. But as I’ve learned during my time here, Minotauria’s Queen, Gold-Horn, leader of the revolution, is nothing more than a figurehead. Instead, all the politics are handled by Parliament, a democratically elected representative body who votes on legislation, headed by Prime Minoster Neville Silver-Heart, who I also plan to have a meeting with.

Queen Gold-Horn, full name Barbara Gold-Horn, is what would be expected of a leader of a revolution, the prime example of a female Minotaur. She stands tall, taller than Celestia by far, with muscles along her arms, her legs, and her stomach which are the size of foals, enough to crush someone without a weapon in sight. She takes a seat, looking impatient, her body covered in scars from hard-fought battles. She pours a clear liquid into a mug for herself, likely vodka, given the tastes of Minotaur, and snorts while motioning to me with a hand, “Talk, I don’t have all day.”

I would righten my posture as she speaks, her voice one of a trained leader, used to giving quick and short commands in the heat of battle, “Queen Gold-Horn, it’s a pleasure. I can see you’re eager to start, so I’ll begin. My first question is this, what caused you to lead the revolution, the Third Minotaur Conflict?”

She cracks a grin and lifts her mug, drinking down a lot of the heavily alcoholic drink, before lowering it, “Others will tell you a propaganda story about how my parents were killed by Griffons cracking down, but that’s not true. Truth is, someone had to do it, and nobody else was stepping up to the plate. So one day, when I saw a knight harassing a cow, I stepped in, hit him, caused a fight. Before I knew it, the whole garrison was coming down at me, and the whole of the city was stood behind me. From there, we just kept growing, and kept going, a fire in our hearts.”

I nod to her, and decide to drink my own drink, a dark brandy provided before she arrived, clearing my throat before speaking, “And what of the Minotaur who didn’t follow you? Who instead helped the Griffons? Do you view them as traitors?”

She grins wider, a well practiced expression, one she wears a lot, “Traitors? No, I view them as scared, and they’re damn right to be scared. When shit started going down, we didn’t have a plan, equipment, supplies, we were just angry and sending a message. We went up against the second most powerful empire in the world, right behind Equestria, armed with nothing but farming tools and anger. So yeah, I’d be fucking scared too, shit, I was scared the entire time. If it wasn’t for Griffon republicans having supply lines and feeding us weapons and intel, and the Equestrian Pink Butterflies, we would have failed and been crushed.”

She is certainly a brash speaker, one who doesn’t hold anything back. She speaks with her chest, no hiding intentions or fancy wordplay, it’s a bit refreshing to see, “That leads into my new question, why a republic? Did you become a republic simply because of the assistance of those Griffon republicans or was it because of an ideological want from you?”

She laughs, a deep, hearty laugh, ending it by drinking more, before setting her mug back down, “Ideological? I don’t have an ideology. I became a leader because I was good at leading, but if you want my opinion on taxes, welfare, communeighsts, I wouldn’t be able to answer them. We became a republic because I didn’t want power, just freedom, and so the intellectuals around the country worked to make a new system. And though I think Neville is a spineless coward who can’t hold his drink, he’s my Prime Minoster, so cheers to him. I know that isn’t what you want to hear, but shit, that’s what I think.”

It’s hard to not crack a small smile around her, even I can’t resist. It is true, though, that isn’t the answer I wanted, as it means a lot of questions will likely not have much answer, which just means it will be for Neville to answer. I once more drink my brandy and nod once it’s down and swallowed, “I think it’s refreshing to hear a leader who’s so honest, even if you truly aren’t a leader anymore. It’s obvious that you love your country, and your people. Truly, all I’m left to ask at this point is one more question. When you reached Griffonheim, why did you execute Grover the Ninth?”

Her good cheer decreases, though it doesn’t entirely disappear, as she answers, “Because it needed to be done. We needed to send a message to Griffonia that we were serious, that the war wouldn’t just end, unless we got our freedom. Now, either we could push further north, losing thousands of lives on both sides, or we could kill one cock and send the same message. I’m not happy about that moment at all, though he kept occupation of us, I do think the Ninth was probably a fine cock, one I’d want to share a drink with if there was an afterlife.”

It would take me a moment to digest her answer, before nodding once more, “Why make the Tenth watch?”

That would get rid of her good mood entirely, with her standing suddenly, turning around and looking at a nearby tapestry, showing the events of the First Minotaur Conflict, as she begins to slowly speak, “To make sure he wouldn’t seek revenge. Enough blood was shed already, enough pain, enough death. So we had to show him, and their top generals, exactly what would happen if it started again. I don’t know if I made the right decision. I question it a lot. Maybe someday I’ll apologize to him, if they ever let me go into their cities. All I know is that we won.” She snorts softly, and walks out wuicjlt after that, without a goodbye.

I would sit and think for a few minutes after, before the door opens, Prime Minoster Neville Silver-Heart entering in. He is, in many ways, the opposite of Gold-Horn, wearing a well-done suit, a small hat on his head, and with a much more slim body, though he is likely still strong enough to kill. He gives me a small smile and a tip of his hat as he sits across from me, offering new drinks, a honey mead made locally. As soon as he’s situated, he would speak, his voice professional and trained from hours of talking, “Good afternoon, Miss Friten, terrible apologies for the delay on this meeting. Very important and surprising events, of course, took the whole government off guard.”

I would take the drink and have a small sip, it’s fairly good, even if strong, making me quickly put it down, “Good Evening, Prime Minoster. If you might, would you mind reminding my readers of the events, and your reaction to them?”

He nods readily and speaks quickly, “The attempt on Xerxes’ life by the Chief of Bongo, Almohad, was a horrible attempt at a coup, and I wish all good health to Xerxes. The Zebrican Empire has always enjoyed a certain type of decentralization, more a collection of tribes working together than a proper empire, but in response to the ongoing famine, Xerxes’ attempts to centralize are good. Only with Zebrica marching as one could Xerxes truly utilize all the resources given to him, and I wish good luck to him, as I did when I visited him last week. The revolts against Hindia from the occupied Zebrican territories were violent tragedies, and the fifteen lives lost were fifteen too many, but it is a sign to the Hindian Premier that the occupation is wrong, and unpopular. As an occupied people ourselves, for many, many years, we know well the struggle and taste for freedom that Algae Area and Arcturia feel.”

I nod along to his answer, writing it down. His speech is well done, polite, open to his allies, yet not hostile to those he disagrees with, a true politician’s response. I look back up after a bit, “Many might question why you support the centralization efforts of Xerxes and don’t support the only other republic known to the world, Hindia. Many might assume that you and Hindia are close friends due to ideological similarities.”

He quickly shakes his head, “Ideology does not determine the morality of an action, rather the amount of blood spilled and the purpose fulfilled. If you are a monarch or a representative, even if you’re a dictator or an oligarch, you are equal. What makes the difference is what you do with the power vested into you. Xerxes is a monarch removing some republic-style power from the Chiefs, but he is doing so for the good of his people. Whoever we support, it is not out of ideological gain nor similarity, rather, it is out of a want for peace in our time.”

As he speaks, I sip more, and begin to ask another question. Before I can, however, an aide enters the room and quickly approaches him, whispering into his ear, making his eyes go wide. The aide walks out, and I ask him, “What was that?”

He looks at me, a small sadness behind his eyes, before nodding, “You should know if anyone should, Miss Friten. The Changelings are in a civil war. I need to go, I’m sorry.” He stands and quickly leaves, leaving me behind.

The Changelings are in a civil war? I knew there would be some difficulty after the failed Invasion, but a civil war? Not just the Green Hive, then, but other Hives must be involved. That’s not happened, ever, changelings don’t fight each other, we barely have enough to live off of as is. I need to investigate.

Signed Friten the Crossbreed, April 14th, 3001.