Prologue: King Ga'jam's Final Decree Document in Gokrenxia | World Anvil

Prologue: King Ga'jam's Final Decree

An expectant hush fell over the assembled masses as the robed figure ascended the dais to the throne. The markings along the folds of the well-known blues and browns of his garb marked him as one of the senior court historians. He eyed the majestic seat of the King for several breaths, sighing as he recalled the powerful figure of King Ga'jam Ch'luun who had filled it for so many years. The solemn duty and honor of reading the King's final decree weighed heavily on his heart. Turning slowly to face them, his back now to the majestic seat of power, the squat Vyrian held aloft a scroll bearing the unbroken seal of the King. Nervously, he cleared his throat and found it difficult to swallow. He broke the seal. Bits of wax fell to the floor in slow motion as he unfurled it and began to read aloud in a clear, strong voice:
Decree, Royal
Vellum / Skin
Authoring Date
56 1A
Signatories (Characters)
Signatories (Organizations)

King Ga'jam Ch'luun, second King of Vath'azen. Arjeev son of the most noble Marshall of the Great War, the first King of Vath, Batu Ch'luun. To all of the Kynekin and Myndikin who have called Vath their home.

  Long have I pondered this day, and these words. Long have I scoured the libraries of this ancient city in search of the wisdom of those who came before us. Yes, much to the dismay of many of you, even now as I pen these words I look back upon the thoughts captured by the great minds of even the Elves. I have sought to glean wisdom from our past, to look beyond our fur, our scales, our feathers, our skin, and broaden my mind with ideals and thoughts foreign to my own, that I might carefully challenge my own heart and ultimately, in this final decree, attempt one last time to orient our Kingdom on a well-reasoned course toward the brightest star.   My heart tells me these words will likely be met with great displeasure. I am beyond certain my imposing and revered father would disapprove, but perhaps this is just one more piece of the mantle I bear. History shall judge my actions. I have often returned in these later evenings to Amari Wa'la's vision of unification and, more importantly, freedom for our people. I have reflected endlessly on the Vyrian Seccession from Vath'azen during my own reign; their desire to be free from the "freedom" we have wrought with our own blood. I admire their courage, but their decision left a deep wound in my heart. How is it that our own people came to find such discord that could not be resolved through courtly discourse? How is it that they felt so invisible, so unheard, that they would rather set a course apart from our great Kingdom?   In my years of study, both in the libraries and out amongst you, I have never been able to understand the wisdom of having adopted the same structure of power set forth by our oppressors. It is familiar, but we have centralized all of the power and authority in the hands of a single soul. One seat. One mind. One King. What is to protect us from a tyrant of our own heritage? What is to keep a future ruler from shackling the illustrious Shar’elum or the noble Ja'nakh who so blissfully roam the barren Zuul’Hy Freelands?   No. I will not leave our future to chance. Thus, I have decided their shall be no heir named to take the throne of Vath'azen...

  The crowd erupted in a frenzy of angry shouts and panicked voices. The guard moved to the ready, hands to their swords. Two heavily armored horse-like males, Ja'nakh as they were called, members of the royal guard moved to the dais, positioning themselves between the historian and the crowd. From a balcony high above, a single raised hand from Vath'azen's stoic Grand Marshall, Davu Pa'lakh, kept them in their place. A bead of sweat crawled down the historian's furry brow as he looked on, suddenly fearing for his own safety. To his credit, he stood firm and waited for the commotion to subside. He looked up to the reassuring figure of the Grand Marshall, who nodded for the reading to continue.  
... But this does not mean I will leave you without leadership and guidance. Instead of a King, Vath'azen's next chapter shall be guided by my Inner Council. Together, this group represents many different aspects of the soul of Vath. They have proven through their actions a shared loyalty to the success of this Kingdom. They have my trust and my confidence.   However, recognizing the substantial risk posed by an equally split disagreement of the four council members, and in the interest of promoting open and honest lines of communication, I hereby name a fifth position to this new "Council of Vath'Azen". As my final decree, I name ...

The historian paused. His mouth hung open. His tiny gold eyes widened. The room fell deathly silent as the crowd leaned in, holding its breath in collective anticipation. Yet the historian stood stupified, too stunned to read the words   Taking control of the situation, the glistening black feathers and formal garb of Vath'azen's well-respected Head of Diplomacy, Inner Council member Yahri Negdahe, crossed the dias from one side. The raven-like male extended a taloned hand, took the scroll, and scanned to where the historian had stopped. His head cocked hard to one side as he read, an outward sign of Shar’elum confusion that was highly rare for the diplomat.   The towering Ja'nakh guards glanced up to the Grand Marshall, who made a series sharp, rapid gestures with his hands: Be ready. No death.   Yahri open his mouth and continued the reading in his typical sharp, yet gravely, tenor, as the historian slowly backed away.
As my final decree, I name Tashkerr of the Dwarven House of Dyber as the new "Voice of the Myndikin", the fifth member of the Ruling Council of Vath'azen, and the first Myndikin to formally serve this Kingdom in so vast a capacity...
  The crowd exploded once again. Shouts of Liar!" and "Traitor!" echoed above the din. People scattered, many fleeing the courtroom and the ensuing violence. Several noblemen rushed forward in unison, crying out to "Burn the lies!" Their feet barely touched the first step up to the throne before four royal guard intervened. With a trained precision, frightening speed, and incredible force the horse-like men formed a wall, lifting the front line of noblemen off their feet by their fancy clothes and used them as shields to push back the second line. The nobles were completely unprepared for their sheer strength and crumpled in a pile on the floor. With a single repelled wave, the will, and pride, of the nobles broke.   "This isn't over," shouted one as they fled from royal court.   The head diplomat, who had yet to move, cleared his throat and continued to read aloud to the mostly empty room.  
May the peace and prosperity,
Of Vath'azen,
Ever be the hallmarks of my reign.
  Mi'kur rop'ven
King Ga'jam Ch'luun

The End

Additional Reading

Cover image: by dream by WOMBO


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