The First Empire has entered what may very well be its last crisis:
the Emperor is dead by assassination and has left an infant heir.
Worse, the imperial mystique is but a fading memory: nobody believes
in empire anymore. Indeed nobody believes in much of anything beyond
the boundaries of self. There are exceptions, of course, and to those
few falls the self-appointed duty of maintaining a military-civil
order that is corrupt, despotic—and infinitely preferable to the
barbarous chaos that will accompany its fall.
One such is commander Anson Merikur.
This is his story.
The First Empire has entered what may very well be its last crisis:
the Emperor is dead by assassination and has left an infant heir.
Worse, the imperial mystique is but a fading memory: nobody believes
in empire anymore. Indeed nobody believes in much of anything beyond
the boundaries of self. There are exceptions, of course, and to those
few falls the self-appointed duty of maintaining a military-civil
order that is corrupt, despotic—and infinitely preferable to the
barbarous chaos that will accompany its fall.
One such is commander Anson Merikur.
This is his story.
The First Empire has entered what may very well be its last crisis:
the Emperor is dead by assassination and has left an infant heir.
Worse, the imperial mystique is but a fading memory: nobody believes
in empire anymore. Indeed nobody believes in much of anything beyond
the boundaries of self. There are exceptions, of course, and to those
few falls the self-appointed duty of maintaining a military-civil
order that is corrupt, despotic—and infinitely preferable to the
barbarous chaos that will accompany its fall.
One such is commander Anson Merikur.
This is his story.
