[FADE IN. A man dressed in imperial Roman garb is sitting on a golden throne, also in the Roman style. Atop his head rests a golden laurel wreath, while a gold eagle clasp holds his immaculate white toga with purple and gold trim. When he speaks, it’s in a booming, commanding voice]
Emperor: I command silence, on penalty of forfeiture,
From all my gathered audience.
Of my highest and mightiest
I will it be known to all the world, universally,
That of heaven and hell I am chief ruler,
To whose magnificence none stands equal!
[As the Emperor on stage continues speaking his lines from the Digby Mary Magdalene, we ZOOM OUT and can see that he’s high above a stage. We ZOOM SLOWLY OUT further, as we watch various stage hands preparing scenery, props and costumes. A couple of actors are practising their lines, as we continue out, through a set of oak doors. We PAN ROUND as we pass through the doors into a mahogany-panelled corridor, with a lush crimson carpet with gold and silver embroidery. To our right, the windows let in a rich natural light, while on the left is a luxurious tapestry showing scenes from various military campaigns; a keen historian’s eye might make out scenes from the siege of Acre during the crusade of King Richard I of England, with some later scenes showing the Royalists fighting the Parliamentarians. As we reach the end of the corridor, a door is opened for us, and we pass onto a stone spiral staircase. We climb the stairs, the light fairly strong despite only coming through the murder-holes and arrow slits. Finally, we arrive at our destination – the top of one of the towers of Lord Coyner Pollard’s summer estate. The sky is clear, giving us a perfect view of the ornamental lake in the centre of the gardens. We can also see the Lord himself, leaning calmly with one arm atop one of the battlement stones. He’s wearing a pressed white shirt with ruffled collar, and his hair is tied neatly into a pony tail as he watches the water below]
LCP: Oh, but did We not find, upon the blesséd field of battle that night, our enemies torn asunder with limbs ripped from their bloated malshapen corpses? Tho the morning did seem darkened and the air gripped by death’s strange malfeasance, and the vile serpent of dread did drive its fangs deep into the heart and try to force Us into flight, the day did not see Us falter. The day saw Us turn aside Our foes, by the will of God, and victory… was Ours.
We wonder, Mister Daniel Ryan, whether you have the courage for what you are about to face? Generations of the Pollard family have fought for Crown and Country, and whilst some may claim that you are wrestling royalty, you are about to be in the presence of a true great.
Many Colonists, and other lesser species, might be confused as to why We accepted a contest against a barbarian who is spoken of in such hushed tones that many inferior persons believe him to be an unbeatable god. They may feel that We, in Our quest to show the Colonists the error of their ways, would be better served showing Our superiority against lesser opponents.
But, Mister Daniel Ryan, that is not Our way, nor is it necessary. For whilst you may have a reputation as a monster in this profession, you are not a match for Us, and your reputation is a great boon to Our cause.
It is a basic stratagem, Colonist, but as effective now as it was when employed by the earliest civilisations (a word which the Colonies cannot use to describe themselves). Rather than committing forces unnecessarily to pitched battle, one pits oneself against those that your misguided enemies see as great. One proves to them, through single combat, that their heroes are naught. And as for some unfathomable reason, the… We cannot think of a word lowly enough to describe the Colonial public… yet they see you as a hero. An icon.
That is why We are to face, and defeat, you. Not that it shall be a challenge. How you became an idol to the rest of your colonial brethren would be beyond Us were We not aware that the Colonists whom applaud your efforts are impressed by shiny trinkets as are magpies, and believe that brute strength is ever-important. They, like you, fail to appreciate the finer things in life, the finer points of strategy. When they witnessed your destruction of Bloodhunt, they probably thought that they were witnessing something legendary – the rebirth of a monster.
What they really saw, Daniel, was one of their own defeating another one of their own. Nothing more.
What they will witness in Cleveland, on the seventh of July, is something much, much greater. They shall witness Our triumph. For those who have scraped through their collective detritus to find the money to gain admittance, they shall have the honour of being in Our presence when We do demonstrate how, despite your false-accolades, you are nothing more than a mange-riddled mongrel to be tossed aside as We pass.
For that is all you are, by definition. Only an enlightened Colonist could hope to become more – one who accepts the faults of their forefathers and goes on bended knee to beg forgiveness from Her Majesty’s representative for the vile trespass. But We do not imagine that you have the integrity to do such a thing, which is why We shall take great pleasure in forcing you to admit your fault. And in so doing We shall demonstrate to your fellow colonists that their greats – the people they admire and applaud – are as naught against the might of the Crown, and some may, if they have evolved sufficient intelligence, see the light.
For We are superior, and you, Daniel?
Are far behind.
Now, if you shall excuse Us, We have to oversee the preparations for tonight’s festivities.
[FADE OUT]
