Red Queen Rising (1)
By JVN
After infinite darkness, a ripple in space-time sparked a recurring saga of rulers and the ruled, anchoring gameplay, and echoing an eternity.
It began with the emergence of Spirit, its expansion of consciousness, and its subsequent movement delineating light from dark, pitting good versus evil.
As illumination reached the edges of the galaxy, a period of upheaval ensnared its inhabitants, conscripting every citizen, Royal and Player alike into the throes of endless battle.
During an extended campaign on a remote frontier, a princeling from the House of Clubs, while battling a terrible foe, breached an Interdimensional barrier surrounding Oban, the home planet of the Imperium and the birthplace of the Royal Society, opening a gateway to an unknown Metaverse. The tear allowed Metaverse Players, legions of Apes, Hounds, and Monkeys to pour into the realm.
Rising from the chaos, the mythical House of Hearts, governed by a widowed queen and her two benevolent sons, the Eternal Light and the Gilded Blade, rallied the army closing the breach and restoring order as they took up governance of the Imperium on their home planet of Oban.
The Message
A ferocious wave of exhaust swept across the landing platform as the Imperium transport rose into the starry sky, leaving Joker 16 covering his eyes and clutching his overcoat as it disappeared into the distant horizon. It’s good to be home.
Following Noble House traditions, Sixteen had spent the last ten years studying trans-warp engineering in an adjacent star system, never far from his home planet of Oban but outside its sphere of influence enough to absorb new ideas, methodologies, and techniques.
“They’ll let anyone land in the Imperium these days,” a familiar voice said.
Sixteen paused a moment, then turned to face his mentor, the Gilded Blade, “Yeah, security’s getting pretty lax, brother. Maybe we should have a chat with the City Administrator?”
Blade scoffed, throwing his arm around his mother’s sister’s son and kicking open the hangar door, “Noted.”
After the Great Interdimensional War, the Imperium pivoted from an exploration-based military to a more defensive posture, sealing agreements with several neighboring societies at the Council of Akuriand through cross-community holdings, increased trading, and technology transfers, including factions from the Monkeyverse, the Mutantverse, and several other war-weary communities. The agreements included mutual defense treaties as well as a blueprint for joint monthly war games, something that resonated with Players across the multiverse. And for over a century, peace and prosperity reigned throughout the multiverse.
“A belated congrats on the promotion, cousin,” Sixteen said as the pair pushed their way into a nearby saloon.
Blade cocked his head to the side, flashed a smile, and rapped his knuckles on the marbled countertop as they sat down at the end of the bar, “Two Nibirian Nebulas.”
Sixteen snorted a laugh. “It’s good to see nothing’s changed.”
After downing several shots, Blade ordered another round and turned to Sixteen with a troubled brow. “We’ve received a mysterious letter from an Intergalactic Secret Society.”
Sixteen quirked an eyebrow and leaned toward his cousin, “What?”
“There’s nothing of any substance, only an interest in our intentions with the Council of Akuriand, but I know there’s more to it,” Blade replied. “With the Jokers spread across the kingdom, the Eternals deployed to the Monkeyverse, and our queen abdicating her throne after 170 years, it’s essential we bring the collective together to address this threat.”
“What did it say?”
The middle-aged royal pulled a folded letter from his pocket, placed it on the table, and replied, “Well, let me think. I believe it said something along the lines of blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…resistance is futile.”
Sixteen snorted a laugh then picked up the letter, doing a double take as he perused its contents, staring up at Blade several times before continuing his inspection of the note. As members of the nobility and veterans of the war, the two men knew better than most what the letter meant. After a few minutes, he cut an eye at his red-faced cousin, sat upright, and asked in an assertive tone while pointing to a line in the letter, “What’s this?”
The confused administrator snatched the note from his cousin’s hand and slammed his empty tumbler on the table as he re-read the cryptic letter, “hashtag U’Arineen Sa’Anlce? No clue,” the frustrated royal said, squinting his eyes and pausing for a moment before tossing the letter on the table and ordering another round.
Sixteen cleared his throat, “It’s begun.”
Blade snorted his disdain, “We’re ready.” He grabbed the drinks, took another swig, and began detailing his reasoning.
Before the Breach and the First Interdimensional War, the Imperium had been a relatively peaceful place with interplanetary trade reaching historical heights, expanding trade routes diversifying portfolios and opening up new markets, and warring houses setting aside their ideological differences for common prosperity; the war changed everything.
A parade of patrons busied the market street in Oban’s capital city, Lerenia, as a lone silhouette crept up the back staircase of an imperial landing tower, heaving an extended case over its back and shifting in and out of the moonlight. Within moments it’d crested the service ladder overlooking the market square and unpacked its case revealing an elaborate set of tools, including an MZ85 Sniper Laser Rifle with scope and bipod.
“Redstar to Alpha Leader,” the sniper whispered into his headset.
“Go for Alpha Leader.”
The sniper checked his scope, “Eyes on target. What’s the word?”
A short pause, then the order followed. “Take ’em down,” the voice replied.
A frigid easterly breeze sliced through the notorious frog’s body armor as he slowed his breathing, gauged the distance to the target and squeezed off several quick bursts. “Good night, sweet prince,” the sniper whispered.
Pandemonium erupted as the laser bursts ripped through their target and exploded on the kiosk adjacent to an upscale speakeasy.
“Six…,” a voice roared in horrified anger.
The Gilded Blade, the newly appointed Administrator of the capital city, son of the reigning Queen, a prince of the House of Hearts, and cousin to the fallen, tore his blaster from his holster, spotted the shooter, and sprang into action as onlookers hurried to the aide of the fallen royal.
Adrenaline raced through the Blade’s veins as he closed the distance to the tower and the fleeing assassin, but like all veterans of the Interdimensional war, he knew where there was one, there was another. Assuming he was also a target he scoped the landings as he hurried toward the assassin, but didn’t shorten his stride; everything depended on identifying the assassin. Within moments he’d landed on the crow’s nest where the sniper had laid, but rather than finding a cleansed scene, he found a graffitied message.
DO WE HAVE YOUR ATTENTION? U’ARINEEN SA’ANLCE
Burning with rage, Blade scoped every possible exit, hurrying toward the eastern railing where shouting in the open market confirmed his suspicion; a notorious frog assassin. You were right six, it’s on. Without a path to the market square five levels below, he yelled to the market patrons.
“Assassin, stop the assassin.”
Before he could descend upon the square, the frog had leaped into the air, extended his hidden wings, and cleared the city barrier without a scrape, disappearing into the desert night.
Blade slammed his fists on the wall as he stared at the polished stone, slowing his breathing as he turned to the captain of the royal guard. “Take a patrol, take two patrols, recall the damn Eternals, but hunt him down. I want him alive.”
#GAMEON