Illumination, The Story of an Antagonist

“My friends …We are gathered here today to mourn the tragic and anguish-ridden passing of the great Emperor Pelé, who led the Dominion for more than 50 years with a passion that burned so hot that not even the sun could hope to match its sheer intensity….”

Outside in a private courtyard of the palace, where the ancestral burial ground of the Griffin Dominion royalty lay stretched over countless acres of land, you and a great number of griffons stand in solemn silence for the funeral service of Pelé, who looks so peaceful and still within his gilded casket.

It has been only five days. You can't help but wonder if the maid had been incorrect in her dosage of the basilisk venom. If that's the case, then she will need to be punished. Your instructions are meant to be followed to the letter.

You look around at the weeping, tear filled eyes of the others in attendance, all of them in emotional agony over their emperor’s death. You feel the faintest twinge of pity for them all, before you ruthlessly crush the frail feeling like an insect under your shoe.

It needed to be done; if you were to assume the crown of the Dominion in a timely manner then this was inevitable. Halfway through the service, a light drizzle starts, as if mother nature expresses her own grief for the old griffin in the form of misty tears.

“And now,” the funeral director, a portly griffin with an eternally glum expression, begins, “if anyone would like to say a few words on behalf of the great Pelé, then please step forward.”

Many of them do so, mostly distraught family or politicians looking to subtly improve their lot in the power vacuum left behind. Some things are said, many of them tearful and stuttered while others border on poetry with their declarations for the Emperor.

Finally, it’s your turn. It’s expected since you’re to be the new Emperor.

Walking up to the front of the group of mourners, you keep your gaze aimed firmly at the ground to seem as if you were saddened as well. Once you are in front of the casket, you look down at the still form of Pelé, satisfaction welling up in your chest before you turn and address the crowd.

“Today…truly is a memorable day in the worst sort of way. Today the Dominion has lost a ruler, a father, a grandfather, and in everyone, a friend.” You pause to look at the attendants, seeing as they are all paying attention, you keep going. “His rule was long and memorable. He lead the Dominion through the famine of 971, the economic depression of 987, and the Diamond invasion crisis of 994...all while standing steadfast and true to the his morals and the spirit of this proud nation.”

Murmured agreements filter up from the crowd, almost all of them in total agreement with what you are saying so far.

“He was one in a million, a distinguished individual who will doubtlessly be remembered by history for his amazing feats to better and protect the Dominion,” you say, putting more fire into your speech. Another glance at the mourners tells you that all of them are listening closely. Each one pushes away their sorrows to better listen.

“I didn't know the proud emperor for long, barely a year even. However, I can say that he has shown me the kindness of the griffin race, shown me the remarkable spirit of this nation. He took me in, trusted me, and offered me work, where others would have turned me away! Then he offered me the ultimate honor: The throne of the Griffin Dominion. To me, a foreigner who found a friend and a leader in him.” The eyes of everyone are locked onto you, the passion you are putting into your words practically gluing their gazes to you.

You lower your head and force your eyes to water, giving them a misty and emotional appearance. Pulling back up, you bring your attention back to the attendants and continue with your speech. “To think, one so kind truly exists and is not a liar hiding behind a thin façade of false friendliness,” you choke out, forcing your voice to crack. “And today we have lost him… Great emperor Pelé, may your blessed soul rest in peace.”

You walk down from your place in front of the casket back to your spot in the crowd. Along the way you get the watery eyes of Pelé's family looking at you in gratitude, as well as nods of approval from the various politicians who attended.

The portly priest retakes his spot at the front of the service. “Friends,” he begins “we will now lay the emperor to rest alongside his father, and our previous emperor, Pepe.”

With a soft ‘clink’, Pelé’s casket is closed right before it is slowly lowered into the ground in front of a gargantuan marble gravestone.

On the obelisk shaped gravestone is Pelé's birth and death days. November 15, 919 to March 7, 1002. A permanent reminder of the years he spent as the head of his people. The service over, the mourners slowly shuffle out, save for the most grief-stricken.

You leave as well, seeing no reason to stick around at the gravesite when you have much more productive things to be doing. Walking the route around the palace, you can't help but look up at the large building and admire it. The griffons mostly use medieval style stone construction with a ‘bigger is better’ mindset when it comes to building important structures. It seems that no expense was spared when it came to building the simply gargantuan royal palace in the capital city of Koti Sydamemme.

Standing as tall as the mountains of the Dominion and looking twice as unshakable, the palace is a work of art just as much as it is a miracle of architecture. The whole thing the subject to rigorous upkeep and constant improvements from the griffons who maintain it. If you were correct, or rather if the books you read are correct… Then the palace has enough room to house all of Koti Sydamemme in times of crisis.

Looking away from the immense building to the city surrounding it, you see the largely nordic settlement is rather subdued today. It is to be expected, however, seeing as how their emperor passed away hardly even a day ago. Really, it would make for a great stroll through town without being harassed or pulled aside for conversation, so you decide to do just that.

With a leisurely pace you walk through a market district, taking in the pleasant sights of the large city that will soon to belong to you. You briefly and politely acknowledge any griffin to greet you along the way.

All the stone and wood buildings are connected together, forming large alleys of shops in between a cobblestone road, giving the area an attractive rustic look to them.

“Hey hey! Look who it is!”

You halt your walk mid-step and turn to see who called out. You can't help but allow a miniscule smile to come to your face at what you find.

Standing in front of one of Koti Sydamemme’s nicer bars is a middle-aged, gray plumed griffin male in an apron, who is leaning on the broom he was using to sweep the front of his bar.

“Working hard or hardly working, Allto?” you ask

Allto smiles, stretching his cheek feathers and revealing a scar he likely got from breaking up a brawl. “Don’t be like that, I thought that you were the one who told me ‘Work smarter, not harder’ didn't you?”

You raise an eyebrow in amusement. Allto seems to have an eternal case of smartass, or at least he does when he talks to you.

“What are you standing there for? Come in!”

Seeing as you have nothing better to do until you need to report back to the palace, you comply and walk with the griffin into the aptly named “Allto’s” pub. The whole place is rather small, making it a favorite hangout of small groups of friends and those who seem to attract more attention than they like. Right now the whole place is empty, seeing as how bars aren't allowed to serve until four o'clock in Koti Sydamemme.

Allto hops the counter with a flap of his wings as you sit in one of the chairs around the bar.

“So, what brings you here, Anon?” the griffin asks as he restocks a shelf of liquor behind him. “I figured the suits-n-ties of the ministry would have you up to your neck in paperwork with what happened to the emperor.”

You shake your head. “No, I was just out for a walk to clear my head I suppose. The last 24 hours have been beyond hectic.”

The bartender nods thoughtfully. “I would think so. Who knew that Pelé was so close to the end? He seemed like he would live forever.”

You give him some silent agreement in the form of a slow nod. Now if only he knew that you were the one that ordered Pelé's death…

Allto looks at you with a sideways glance “You don't seem to be all that upset over this. I figured you would be coming here looking for a drink,” he quips with a questioning tone.

Plastering a look of fake affront on your face, you give him a swift response. “I’m not so low as to go and try to drown my sorrows over something that would've happened sooner, but unfortunately not later. Doing so would be an immense disrespect to him and set a horrible example for everyone around me.”

Allto raises his eagle talons in a sign of mock defeat. “Easy there, I'm not out to get on anyone's nerves, just saying what's on my mind.”

You level him with an unamused look. “Be careful when you think out loud, Allto. It's not hard for someone to misinterpret what you said and take it the wrong way.”

He snorts and smirks. “Words of wisdom from the ever so intelligent Lord Anonymous,” he playfully snarks. His smirk melts into a worried look “Say Anon? Have you heard some of the rumors flying about around town yet? Not all of them bode too well for some circles of the ministry, and an uncomfortable amount are about you.”

Here is where Allto really shines in terms of usefulness. Being a bartender means he hears almost everything interesting there is to hear in this side of town.

You can't help but narrow your eyes at him, making the griffin squirm in discomfort. “What exactly are you hearing?” you ask, lightening up on the glare you were giving the bartender.

He sighs and thinks for a moment. “Everyone is going on and on about how there is corruption in the ministry, despite how many say that you fixed it. The ones who are getting ruffled feathers about it had even gone as far to say that you brainwashed the emperor in his illness.”

You grit your teeth and grip the bar counter so hard that the wood quietly groans in your hand. The act may be a little extreme, but it's best to keep up your righteous appearance in front of anyone and everyone not directly under your control. Taking a deep breath, you make it look like you are calming yourself. There's no real need to be upset over this, you can easily take the little momentum the rumor starters have and throw it back at them 10 times as hard.

“Any idea who the one is spreading this around?”

Allto scratches his chin in thought. “Hmm, I know it's some high-ranking, suit-n-tie sort of guy. Stick up his ass, snooty, and bad at tipping,” the bartender mumbles to himself. “But for the life of me I can't seem to remember his name.”

Oh, you know exactly who he's talking about.

“…Tell me, did he have dark yellow feathers, green eyes, and a nasally voice?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Hey yeah! He did! How did you know?”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose between your finger and your thumb. “I’ve dealt with him before... The bastard’s name is DiVargin…”

Allto grins in the most infuriating way. “Sounds like you know him well. How are you going to manage with his mudslinging? I mean, it wouldn’t look good for an emperor-in-waiting like you to let him keep it up.”

You pull your hand away from your face to address Allto

“I’m not for sure the emperor yet, the Vähemmän Lordit still have to gather and name me as such.” You set your jaw as plan after plan rushes through your mind, creating a complex spiderweb of thoughts with all of them centered around the cocky visage of a young griffin “As for DiVargin…Yes,I do know him. His not-so-subtle smear campaign? I’ll deal with it…”

You rise from your spot and make for the door.

“Thanks for the conversation Allto, but I should be getting back. I have things to do and a letter to send to Gilda.”

The bartender grins widely. “Anytime!”

“Sister! Is it true? Has Pelé fallen?”

Celestia, the Sun Princess of Equestria, looks up from the pile of paperwork in her study to see her younger sister Luna standing in the doorway. The news was rather jarring to Celestia when the letter arrived, as the old griffin emperor seemed to be made out of steel. But it seems that word travels far faster than she anticipated if her sister knew without any sort of official channel.

“Indeed Luna, Emperor Pelé has fallen prey to the same illness that took his son. It was rather unexpected,” the ivory alicorn says, a twinge of sadness coloring her voice.

Luna’s ears fall back as a melancholic expression finds its way to her face. “He was such a kind old griffin. It's so unfortunate that he has passed away.”

Celestia silently nods in agreement.

Luna seems to perk up for a moment. “Pray tell, sister, have they decided a successor for him? With the tragic passing of Prince Gildart they would need a new griffin to take the throne.”

The sun goddess picks up the letter sent to her from the Dominion in a golden glow, re-reading the current status of the neighboring nation. “As of now they have an individual named ‘Anonymous’, who was selected by Pelé before his death to be his successor.”

The moon goddess tilts her head “Anonymous? I have never heard of a Dominion official with that name before,” she says with some confusion.

“Neither have I,” Celestia replies, keeping the ‘and that worries me’ out of it.