Post by bluesnailok on Mar 6, 2022 17:40:55 GMT
Tetlisun sat at his desk as read document after document, missive after missive, message after message on paper and datapad alike.
“While I have always assured you of my support for your administration, as I do now. However, circumstances necessitate that a new approach…” One read.
“I have made no secret of my undying respect for you and your administration, I do not believe in betrayal. However…” Another went on.
“Of course, on principle I do not oppose you. Indeed, historically I have shown support, time and time again, for your initiatives. However, that being said…” Rambled a third.
“For over a decade I have been a faithful friend to you, and a reliable ally. However, perhaps the time has come…” Came a fourth.
There were dozens of them. National representatives called upon to confirm their support for the election of a possible selected successor to him. For months now, the Stadtholder of Natar had postponed the expected ASN Elections, trying to stretch out his time and consolidate security for the election of his choice successor: Togarn Matras.
But far from time giving him more power, more authority, more certainty, things were only getting worse. The rats were leaving the sinking ship. Each defection to the opposition groups made support for Tetlisun’s cause less and less appetising to his supporters. With his core powerbase being composed of apolitical pragmatists, even his most historic allies were now taking to Tetlisun’s own principles of logicality and abandoning the Stadtholder.
Reclining back into his chair, Tetlisun deflated with an exhale, rubbing his forehead in tired frustration, the Stadtholder was beginning to feel the fatigue of postponing the inevitable. Nothing that he had come to rely upon worked any more. His triadic ingredients for ensuring support: Self-interest, apoliticality, rationality and duty, had all ironically departed from him. The greedy and corrupt had flocked to Arcamavir, the timid neutrals to Carela, the pragmatists to Thalerno, the dutiful patriots to Ketha. In such a short time, Tetlisun, once the unspoken autocrat of Natar, had been left with the scraps of supporters comprised of the naive, the doomed and the incompetent. Even his successor, Matras, was regularly calling the Stadtholder to question their chances.
Then a knock at the door came. The banging made a large, hollow echo through the wide marble office room that stretched across to Tetlisun at the far end.
“Come in.” The Stadtholder called back. From the distant door emerged the figure of Sarma Onoro, Tetlisun’s butler. Mose gave a small, relaxed smile, “Thank goodness you’re not another damned representative. I think I would’ve shot myself.”
Sarma didn’t reply from across the length of such a room. It took him nearly half a minute just to reach Tetlisun’s desk. Making his approach, the aged butler that had accompanied Tetlisun since before he became Stadtholder gave a warm beam to his master before offering a document.
“I don’t come with good news, sir.” The servant warned. Tetlisun opened the papers to read the update; he could feel the warmth of the papers from the printing as he gazed upon its contents.
Something about a ‘Yog Narr’, Aedleshaven in crisis… Orillia was planning to leave the CGSS? The more Tetlisun read about what had happened just minutes before receiving the papers, the more the Teliran’s soul turned to ash. Finally, he lowered the papers to the desk and gazed upwards out the window to his right.
It was midday already, he should’ve headed home hours ago, let alone be asleep already, but how could anyone sleep in a time like this?
“Well, that’s it then, isn’t it?” Tetlisun muttered in calm acceptance, “There’s no coming back from this… This is the killing blow. There’ll be millions more unemployed with the effects of this all crashing down on us… Radicals will demand a stance with Orillia or the Colonials… I can’t hold back elections any longer… Can I…?” He looked up to Sarma.
His butler looked back, pausing for a moment before replying, “...I’m not one for politics, sir. But there are some things that no willpower can change. The fate of Mr. Matras now rests in the campaign trails, I think the time has come for you to take a backseat… Even if that is only temporary…”
Tetlisun stayed silent to the advice, glancing back to the window, to the muffled birdsong of beyond. It was then that Tetlisun, after over a decade of governance, of sacrifice, or doing what must be done and refusing to compromise on his beliefs, thought to himself.
Perhaps he did deserve time to relax.
“Sarma…” Tetlisun’s eyes glinted with curiosity, “...Can you find me some brochures on Mirach?”
“While I have always assured you of my support for your administration, as I do now. However, circumstances necessitate that a new approach…” One read.
“I have made no secret of my undying respect for you and your administration, I do not believe in betrayal. However…” Another went on.
“Of course, on principle I do not oppose you. Indeed, historically I have shown support, time and time again, for your initiatives. However, that being said…” Rambled a third.
“For over a decade I have been a faithful friend to you, and a reliable ally. However, perhaps the time has come…” Came a fourth.
There were dozens of them. National representatives called upon to confirm their support for the election of a possible selected successor to him. For months now, the Stadtholder of Natar had postponed the expected ASN Elections, trying to stretch out his time and consolidate security for the election of his choice successor: Togarn Matras.
But far from time giving him more power, more authority, more certainty, things were only getting worse. The rats were leaving the sinking ship. Each defection to the opposition groups made support for Tetlisun’s cause less and less appetising to his supporters. With his core powerbase being composed of apolitical pragmatists, even his most historic allies were now taking to Tetlisun’s own principles of logicality and abandoning the Stadtholder.
Reclining back into his chair, Tetlisun deflated with an exhale, rubbing his forehead in tired frustration, the Stadtholder was beginning to feel the fatigue of postponing the inevitable. Nothing that he had come to rely upon worked any more. His triadic ingredients for ensuring support: Self-interest, apoliticality, rationality and duty, had all ironically departed from him. The greedy and corrupt had flocked to Arcamavir, the timid neutrals to Carela, the pragmatists to Thalerno, the dutiful patriots to Ketha. In such a short time, Tetlisun, once the unspoken autocrat of Natar, had been left with the scraps of supporters comprised of the naive, the doomed and the incompetent. Even his successor, Matras, was regularly calling the Stadtholder to question their chances.
Then a knock at the door came. The banging made a large, hollow echo through the wide marble office room that stretched across to Tetlisun at the far end.
“Come in.” The Stadtholder called back. From the distant door emerged the figure of Sarma Onoro, Tetlisun’s butler. Mose gave a small, relaxed smile, “Thank goodness you’re not another damned representative. I think I would’ve shot myself.”
Sarma didn’t reply from across the length of such a room. It took him nearly half a minute just to reach Tetlisun’s desk. Making his approach, the aged butler that had accompanied Tetlisun since before he became Stadtholder gave a warm beam to his master before offering a document.
“I don’t come with good news, sir.” The servant warned. Tetlisun opened the papers to read the update; he could feel the warmth of the papers from the printing as he gazed upon its contents.
Something about a ‘Yog Narr’, Aedleshaven in crisis… Orillia was planning to leave the CGSS? The more Tetlisun read about what had happened just minutes before receiving the papers, the more the Teliran’s soul turned to ash. Finally, he lowered the papers to the desk and gazed upwards out the window to his right.
It was midday already, he should’ve headed home hours ago, let alone be asleep already, but how could anyone sleep in a time like this?
“Well, that’s it then, isn’t it?” Tetlisun muttered in calm acceptance, “There’s no coming back from this… This is the killing blow. There’ll be millions more unemployed with the effects of this all crashing down on us… Radicals will demand a stance with Orillia or the Colonials… I can’t hold back elections any longer… Can I…?” He looked up to Sarma.
His butler looked back, pausing for a moment before replying, “...I’m not one for politics, sir. But there are some things that no willpower can change. The fate of Mr. Matras now rests in the campaign trails, I think the time has come for you to take a backseat… Even if that is only temporary…”
Tetlisun stayed silent to the advice, glancing back to the window, to the muffled birdsong of beyond. It was then that Tetlisun, after over a decade of governance, of sacrifice, or doing what must be done and refusing to compromise on his beliefs, thought to himself.
Perhaps he did deserve time to relax.
“Sarma…” Tetlisun’s eyes glinted with curiosity, “...Can you find me some brochures on Mirach?”