Story: Zachary I of Wyrsia - Liberation

*Main Article: Zachary I of Wyrsia*

10th of Greenburst, 652 AW.

It was a sunny day, with a couple of clouds in the sky. Yet, future storytellers would undoubtedly make things more dramatic with thunder and fog. Zachary Mitthel, Knight General of Wyrsia, approached the main gate of Woodhall, accompanied by some 500 men. He heard distant shouting from the gatehouse as soldiers lined up on the walls to take a look. Yet, there was no hail of arrows. The gate opened before Zachary and his small retinue walked right into the capital.

The local captain approached him, shook his hand, then wished him the best of luck. As they marched through the streets, people stopped and stared. Some of them cheered. Yet, Zachary felt the undeniable stare of the Red Dove upon him as agents snuck into alleyways. He and his men made it to the city's center when they were beset upon by a decently sized company. The captain ordered them to draw blades and push Zachary's group back, yet his soldiers dropped their swords on the ground. Some of them just left.

When they reached the Wyrsian Royal Palace, the Royal Guard had all but left. A handful of scattered guards remained, yet they didn't even bother to stop Zachary when they saw how outnumbered they were. Some of them even opened the large doors of the palace, and before long, Zachary stood in the throne room alongside his band of soldiers. Before him sat Edward III, his council of corrupt nobles, a few Red Dove members, and their corrupt guard.

"Knight General Zachary Mitthel," the king began, his tone of mockery failing to hide his anger, "From Wyrsia's golden boy to its biggest traitor," he said.

"It's over, Edward," Zachary simply responded, not breaking eye contact with the king. The people surrounding Edward looked nervous, the twenty-or-so guards looking pale before the mob standing before them. Yet, that simple comment was enough for the king to drop his mask. He rose from his chair, his face red.

"How dare you! You upjumped peasant! I should have you hung from the walls and your body burned. I am the King of Wyrsia!" he screamed, his voice echoing through the silent throne room. Yet, Zachary was unfazed by the screams.

"You are a puppet, and the Red Dove pulls your strings. You're no king," he replied softly. Edward stared at him, his eyes bulging. He gave the order for his guards to attack, to slaughter Zachary where he stands, yet they didn't move. Edward tried again, yet, once again, they did nothing.

"Mercenaries fight for money, not for lost causes. They're not going to commit suicide for you," Zachary said, approaching the throne. Sure enough, the mercenary guard simply moved out the way and left the throne room. Edward was alone, abandoned by everyone except for his corrupt inner circle. Zachary almost pitied the man. Almost.

The desperate Edward dashed forward, pulling a dagger out of seemingly nowhere. He charged at the general with a scream, yet he was no fighter. Zachary sidestepped him, and the king fell flat on his face, with a few snickers coming from Zachary's soldiers. The king got up and tried again, yet the general dodged another slash before punching the king straight in the face, sending him falling again with a cry of pain.

"You broke my nose, you fucking peasant!" he snarled. Yet, Zachary didn't respond; he simply turned his back on the king and ascended the throne. As he sat down, his men cheered, yet Zachary raised his hand to quiet them down. "My first royal decree is to arrest everyone in this room for high treason," he said, and once again, they cheered.

Perhaps things would be alright for Wyrsia after all.