There is a sense for greatness.

Some people carry it around like a bad smell. They make us stop on the street, and look their way, whether we wish to or not. Their appearance might be ordinary, but there’s something about them, something beyond the norm. Something that makes you almost wish to bend the knee to them.
Our kings have likely had that something, those that came from nothing but ashes and ruin, in times of trouble and famine, where the hearts of the masses are restless, and they need a cause to bind to. What makes them choose one man over another?

It is my contention that there is a true gravity to such individuals. That progress, or competence, or greatness itself carries a weight. That a man might grow greater in the dark, and whether he wishes it or not, by the sheer gravity of his existence, tigers will make their way towards his door, catching his scent in the wind.

The tigers hide themselves in the forests, in villages unknown, amongst the peasantry, but sooner or later, it does seem, that they are always cast into the light. It requires an immense effort of will to keep them hidden. A man of such a gravity will see themselves risen, without will, to ranks beyond that of the norm – in times of peace, they might rise high indeed. But in times of chaos? When the world is in upheaval, when every piece in up in the air? Then a tiger from the most lowly of starts, with a competency – a density – beyond belief, as if they were a different creature entirely – they might go all the way. They might be the creature that – though a peasant themselves – the peasantry themselves kneel to. They might go further, and make the soldiery kneel, and then even the nobles after them. And a special class, beyond all others, might go even further still, and snatch a crown the head of a king, on a flurry of brilliant victories, on a story so overwhelming it almost might have seemed preordained.

It is those men that we ought to fear, and it those men that we will eternally be at the mercy of. It is those men that we do the honour of addressing as our kings, and our emperors.

The steeper it became, the more Oliver was forced to slow. There wasn't much choice to be had. He didn't know the white horse on which he rode well enough to trust its sure footedness. The men after him grew nervous, as they too were forced to reduce their speed.


"Turn here," Oliver said suddenly, when they'd reached the top of another mound, right on the edge of the forest.


"Here?" The Minister said. "The path's narrow. We'll hardly be able to take out the head of their column…"


Oliver grinned in reply, and the Minister said no more, apparently able to pick up from Oliver's smile that he had different intentions other than shattering the enemy entirely.


The Minister took charge of his own men, and he saw them safely at the top of the hill, and arranged in battle array. Then it was Oliver who gave them the command to draw their weapons. "Playfully, gentlemen," Oliver said. "Slay whatever comes too close, but do not over chase. We will merely be sending a greeting."


Chapter 1696 - The Cause of a Tempest - Part 4