Their finest hour, or their final days... 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 Command Anson Merikur. This is his story.
Their finest hour, or their final days...
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 Command Anson Merikur.
This is his story.
Their finest hour, or their final days...
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 Command Anson Merikur.
This is his story.
Description:
Their finest hour, or their final days...
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 Command Anson Merikur.
This is his story.
Their finest hour, or their final days...
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 Command Anson Merikur.
This is his story.
Their finest hour, or their final days...
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 Command Anson Merikur.
This is his story.