@JD- No need to apologize. I'm just... going to be gone for a while. There's no way I can possibly come back as Medea, and andis-1 has assured that my people are too crushed to rebel.
@andis-1- As were you. A well fought war it was, and I OOC congratulate you for it.
IC:
The Last Words of Medea
Following the fall of Agbatana, the Monarchy had attempted to flee. Many were killed, but it was discovered that Emperor Iaxeres III was not one of the deceased.
An Urrian search was conducted, and the Emperor was to be found in his innermost sanctum in the palace of Agbatana.
Dozens of Urrian troops poured into the room. Iaxeres III put down the parchment he held and slowly turned around, holding out his Khalish (Medean Battle Axes), one in each arm.
The Urrian commander shouted, and his troops surrounded the Emperor. With a cry, one overeager Urrian soldier, possibly dreaming of fame and glory, the soldier who slew the last Emperor of a once-mighty nation, flung himself at Iaxeres III. The youthful Emperor deftly faked a step, throwing off the Urrian and slamming one Khalish into the man's neck as he passed.
The rest of the force attacked. Iaxeres struck down, one, two, then felt a searing pain in his left arm. The room fell strangely silent, as if muffled in water. The Medean saw the blade retract from the front of his shoulder, feeling only dulling pain.
Iaxeres' mind began to drift away, as the coldness began to spread through his body. He was dimly aware of falling to his knees.
His mind lay in the past. All of the campaigns, wars, successes, and glory of his ancestors would be for naught. He thought of his father, seeing stern anger at his son's failure. He saw his 3 year old sun, struck dead by an arrow while his family tried to escape. The only direct heir to Iaxeres I. The dying Emperor thought of his return to the palace, his command of the last heroic, but unsuccessful, defense. His letter...
All that Medea had fought for was lost. A single tear welled up in his eye.
To be cut short by an Urrian axe, smashing in the head of the last Emperor of Medea, Iaxeres III.
Silence reigned for a brief moment. Then one Urrian cheered, thrusting his spear into the vanquished man's gut. Others followed suit.
"Stop that you, show some respect to the fallen!" shouted the Urrian commander, but in the euphoric moment his words were lost to his men.
The commander stepped around the jubliant group to view the papyrus the Medean had placed on his throne before the fight. He picked it up, and to his great surprise, saw a message in excellent Sumerian Cuneiform.
I can only assume that, if this is read, I will be dead.
I am Iaxeres III, son of Sarmayas I, grandson of Iaxeres II, Emperor of Medea.
As I write, I feel crushed by despondence. My family is dead, my people enslaved, and soon, I doubt not, my city destroyed.
You are victorious, but be warned. Success is a fickle thing. Short centuries ago, Medea too was a mighty and successful nation. As with all empires, yours too shall fall, and I hope in a manner far more painful than mine. Only then shall you feel the pain, the guilt, and the overpowering sense of doom.
As my last act as Emperor of Medea, I declare that the remaining Medean lands, not including those which historically belong to Ur, are to become part of the League of Sea Peoples on the condition that they are not willingly given to Ur. Should my good friends the Sea Peoples decline this offer, I extend this offer to Atyria. Should they too decline, then I beg of my surviving generals, make the invaders pay for every inch of land, bleeding for all the destruction they have wreaked in this war.
Farewell.
The Urrian commander looked over at the mutilated remains of the man who had just minutes before been carving this message. A strange combination of both aversion and respect filled him. This was a man who had lived and died fighting, an uncompromising leader and patriot.
The ruined head of Iaxeres III decorated the burning walls of Agbatana that night.