B4 Chapter 22: Unwelcome Visitors
B4 Chapter 22: Unwelcome Visitors
He’d known there was something off. Ever since he’d arrived, he’d felt it.
The dwarves clearly had a history with Rome, and not a casual one. They bore a grudge against the formerly dead civilization so deep that the story of their betrayal was still upon every set of lips to this day. It was ensconced in the foundational stories of their history, if those murals were any indication.
And yet, they hadn’t recognized Romans when they showed up at their doorstep? The tactics, the armor, the garb… Even if dwarves didn’t live long enough for any individual to have seen the Romans of old, something about their appearance or culture had to be known. Otherwise, the object of their hatred was just a boogeyman—formless, shapeless, so far removed from reality as to not practically exist.
But that fear… that confirmed it. They did know. These older leaders did, at least. They recognized the army at their doorstep for what it was.
Then why had they allowed him in? Confirmation?
“Impossible.” A red-haired dwarf scoffed in the silence. The consul’s skill had returned order to the senate chamber, but Marcus could still feel their emotions roiling beneath the thin veil of calm. “Rome is dead. It has been for millennia. Dead to their own weakness and cowardice.”
The speaker’s fear shone through his other emotions like a beacon, though he was making valiant attempts to hide it. His voice didn’t so much as quaver. There was also a hearty dose of denial in there as well.
Scanning over the other senators, Marcus found that denial reflected in others—about half the dwarves altogether. Interesting. A schism, then. Disagreement about the true nature of their foes.
“Impossible as it may be, it has happened.” Marcus continued. “Surely you have seen the golden eagle standard. Their armor. The distinctive fighting style.”
"The eagle is a common symbol," one of the senators in denial said.
“Exactly,” blustered another. “And who cares if they dress themselves in the garb of The Betrayers? I don’t care one whit about some upstarts who want to dig up ancient history. Imposters who see the time of our plight as ‘glory days’ worth aspiring towards.”
“I see,” Marcus mused. “And I suppose the return of the [Legionnaire] class is no indication that these ‘impostors’ may truly be what they say. Nor is the existence of the mythical [Emperor] class. Or did your people perhaps miss that global announcement?”
The denial intensified. Their fear washed over Marcus like a tide. The other half of the dwarves remained silent, simply staring. He saw a few gripping daggers tightly, their bodies stiff and ridged.
Well, at least they hadn’t already jumped on him. That was good news.
A few more voices muttered amongst themselves. Some still insisted on keeping their heads in the sand, but it was becoming harder for them to stubbornly block out reality. Now, their focus shifted to Rome itself, on how to handle the situation before them.
The consul raised a hand for silence once more. The chainmail toga slid over his skin like fine silk with the movement.
"We will have no dealings with the Romans.” Consul Stonegrip stated simply.
Marcus frowned. “While I understand the history that would lead you to make such a declaration, I must advise against that course of action. While the Romans may allow a friendly or allied nation to remain at their borders, they will not afford the same courtesy should you refuse to engage.”
A senator with hair the color of coal grunted. “Like they have the power to disallow such a course of action. Their people, their way of life, failed. It is a dead one. Even if its corpse has been reanimated by ill-advised necromancy, its fate remains the same.”
“That’s right!” The red-haired dwarf shouted. “We have outlasted The Betrayers by ten thousand years. Ten thousand! We have spent that time strengthening ourselves, strengthening our holds! We are so much more than they ever were!”
The confident facade was spiderwebbed with strands of doubt. Marcus arched an eyebrow.
“I see. So much stronger that the orcs remained a threat even to you and your people, as they were to the humans.” Before anyone could respond, Marcus continued. “Indeed, after having seen your entry hall, I have no doubt that it would exact quite a toll on anyone who sought to assail it. Although… I wonder if the entirety of your mountains are so reinforced. If they would survive being torn down and turned into so many paving stones and bricks.”
“Again with the threats. For a ‘peacemaker,’ you certainly seem determined to drive your people toward war!”
“My people? No.” Marcus shook his head. “As I said, I am no Roman. Simply a third party. Though should I fail to return, it would send a rather clear message to the emperor.”
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He slid that last comment in as a bit of an insurance policy. After all, he really did want to make it out of here in one piece.
He took a deep breath. Tiberius would prefer these people as allies or trade partners for now, eventually a vassal state under Rome’s banner. He knew that much. But the more that Marcus learned, the more concerned he grew that those wouldn’t be options. Not options that he could manage himself, at least.
It was quite clear that standard diplomacy would not work here. Despite all of his incredible people skills and extensive experience in such things, he could feel how deep this grudge ran. There was no way the dwarves would be able to simply overlook their history with Rome, let the past go, and work with the empire’s newest iteration. Even if he could somehow get their leaders to come on board with such an idea, could he get the rest of the populace to go along with it? That was another story.
Which was… problematic, to say the least. As much as these dwarves were testing Marcus’s patience at the moment, that didn’t mean he wanted them all dead. Worse, any amount of pandering or making excuses for the Legion would be a short-term solution, and a pretty flimsy one at that. He could just see it now—the consul and his senate taking Marcus’s promises of leniency and fairness as an admission of weakness. As proof that Rome, in its current state, really was on shaky ground. Shaky enough that it could be crushed by a well-placed blow.
Of course, he didn’t believe the dwarves would win a war. But even having one would ensure far more deaths than were necessary.
No, he needed a different solution. If allying with the dwarves with promises of friendship wasn’t possible, then perhaps there was another way. After all, they were already afraid. So why not use that fear?
A plan began to take shape in Marcus’s mind. He turned to regard the rest of the audience, keeping his smile in place and his demeanor as relaxed as possible.
“It seems that there has been a misunderstanding. A rather severe one, about the nature of the “peace” I bring.” He began to walk around the dais again, speaking softly enough that the dwarves had to lean forward to hear. “This ‘peace’... It was offered to the first group of humans the empire’s Legionnaires encountered when they arrived in this world. And because they accepted that peace, they flourished.”
“Arrived?” A senator with hair the color of coal frowned. “You mean to say…”
“Ah, forgive me. You would not know. These Romans are not the ones that you remember. They are not some weak echo of a civilization long forgotten by our world.” Marcus spread his hands wide. “They are closer to the founding Romans of ages past, rather than the soft and weak ones that you seem to recall. Used to fighting and dying in faraway lands without even a System to assist them.
“These are the Romans that happened upon a small border town, under two years ago. The ones who offered their ‘peace’ to all of Novara and the orcs in the lands beyond. The ones who, once spurned, overthrew that corrupt king and laid waste to an entire race. And now… the land is at ‘peace’ once again.”
“That is not ‘peace.’ Not truly. That is the peace of submission!” A senator roared.
Marcus turned to the dwarf, his gaze hard. “Better than the peace of death. For that is your only alternative.”
He let the words ring in the chamber, pausing for a long moment. A few of the senators were nearly purple with outrage at the slights and threats Marcus had sent their way. The rest… most of them had brows furrowed, though they attempted to keep up stony facades.
He really didn’t want to threaten them all. But really, maybe this was for the best. He had to get through to them somehow. Otherwise… there may be none left.
Marcus spun in a circle, meeting every dwarf's eyes individually. "There are two options. Trade with the Romans. Accept their peace and treat them as allies, regardless of your history. Then you will be permitted to continue more or less as you are, granted control over the governance of your lands. Or… you can fight, and be conquered.”
“You think us so weak?”
The consul’s tone was low and dangerous. His expression had yet to change. But Marcus felt as though the powerful dwarf was hiding indignation of his own beneath that facade.
“I do not think you weak. Simply… forgetful. More so than you realize.” Marcus said slowly. “The fact that you do not remember what ‘peace’ means to them is proof enough of that.”
He felt the dwarves flinch at the word ‘peace.’ Good. He’d accomplished the effect he was going for. Because the senators were right. There was no chance for true peace. It was just a matter of how much fighting there would be before Rome expanded their territory once more. And as much war as Marcus had seen, he still hadn’t developed a taste for it.
He cast one more gaze around the chamber. “I will leave you to consider my words. However, before I go… allow me to leave you with one final warning.”
Marcus clasped his hands behind his back, drawing himself up to his full height. He flared [Magnetic Presence] to ensure the entire chamber’s attention remained firmly on him. For a moment, he considered grabbing his lute, but decided against it. The guards had told him of dwarven musical preferences. And so, he simply tapped his heel, the sound ringing through the room with the grim inevitability of a funeral procession.
And who is this, the warchief brayed,
That dares stand in my way?
Just more of those weakling men,
For us to charge and slay.
His words were low and melodious. He half sang, half spoke the dirge into the now silent hall.
And so they jeered, and so they jeered,
These beasts whom nations fear,
Yet silence now reigns o’er their lands,
With bone and ash to hear.
Marcus paused for a moment, then decided to drive the point home.
And so they jeered, and so they jeered,
Those ancient dwarves of yore,
Until the drum of marching men
Came for them as before.
When he had finished, Marcus fell silent. The last echoing tap of his foot slowly dispersed, leaving the hall in ominous silence.
He bowed. “That is all. Please consider my warning well.”
Then, he turned and left.