Succession
It is one of those perfect days in mid-Autumn, where the sun shines on a day that is refreshingly cool and awakening, and the wind blows copper leaves through the streets. Dressed in his battered and tarnished yellow suit, the Baron carefully places a sealed letter on his office desk, and, creaking and wheezing, emerges from the manor-like entrance to YIPPP, to his home for two-centuries worth of memories, and takes a deep breath, standing motionless for but a moment. With a sigh, he presses on. Limping at a snail's pace through the ever-changing streets of Ytic, wincing with every step, until he reaches the bridges that lead out of the city, into the Park, and beyond. He smiles with what strength he has left and waves at those he passes, but the further and further into the Park he goes, the more he is left to the peace of his own thoughts. Peace. Finally. No more investigations, no more contracts, no more bother. Despite his age, his pain, the exertion of such a walk, he cannot feel anything but a sense of completion, of happiness.
His duty is done.
By the time he reaches the hill, the sun is setting over the city, glistening across the rooftops, and into the great river. All can be seen from up here, His eyes follow the river along until he sees it. YIPPP's mill. Where it all began. The thought makes him smile. As golden rays turn bronze, he turns to the pile of boulders that sits on top of the hill, aged and eroded by the elements even more than he is, and joins it, falling to sit next to it, with a thud that shakes the hill.
A bee buzzes
“Oh, hello Father. I do believe a need a moment to rest.”
As the sun sets over Ytic, the last of its orange rays, a halo upon his chiselled head, his body seems to collapse into a pile of rocks and boulders that had first made it up, adding to the small mound. Baron Montgomery Yovir closes his eyes and falls into slumber with a last sigh. He will never wake up again1).
Algernon signs the work order, his hand starting to ache from even this slight exertion after an entire day of doing so over and over again. A few months had passed since disaster nearly swallowed Ytic whole, yet if anything his days had only gotten busier for the lack of imminent calamities. He'd been at the head of YIPPP (he'd kept the now famous acronym, though not the words behind it) as it sat at its peak, as it fell to ruin and now as it rose to prominence; with absolute confidence he could now say that the climb was more arduous than the fall.
Bee.
The day the final battles were waged and the dust had settled at last… he'd found himself to be the second most powerful man in Ytic. His father had connections with many of those that toppled the reign of Anton or imprisoned a God, he'd personally supplied valuable Notes for that final confrontation and he had perhaps the second largest stash of ink and Note-skin in all of Ytic. Power in one hand, favour in the other - he needed only to forge them into his new empire. And so he'd sat at the forge, hammering year after year on his creation.
First was the hilt - what would hold together his every endeavour. Ytic had been on the brink of starvation as the vital supply of Notes that fed its population dried up, and YIPPP was the largest enterprise to step up in fixing this. Carts that used to rush paper to NOTE now rushed across the city with rations; landowners were brought together to define more efficient practices; perhaps a few Notes were subtly used to make the harvests of those that sincerely cooperated with YIPPP a little more impressive. Agricultural reform was spearheaded as people gathered around the banner of YIPPP with the (only somewhat reluctant) blessing of royalty. As food went from a crisis to a mere worry, attention went to issues of convenience - transport, household utilities, metallurgic production and more. And who else, but the generous and entrepreneurial YIPP to invest in these fields of progress?
Then came the blade - what would cut through any obstacles before him. The Kingdom of Modnik under Queen Aina would not be as it was before - there came to be a weight to the words of the people. Algernon may never have been able to seize the crown, but the people were not beyond his grasp. On the one hand, he'd make sure to make YIPPP so indispensable to Ytic's economy that he would be offered a seat at the table where decisions were made. On the other, a few rumours, some incentives at the right time and place, could have the public clamouring for the very things he wished to push for. All it'd take at that point would be for YIPPP to pick up the torch and speak 'the wishes of the people' to the crown. A potent combination.
And last of all the pommel - a weight on the other side, rarely noticed yet no less necessary for that. Where prosperity towered high there would always be shadow. What Algernon could not get done in the light he would finish in the dark - he'd not come into the habit of simply giving up on what he could have after all. He was more careful this time around though, no direct dealings and only ever just enough to keep the balance between the lawful and unsavoury sides of Ytic.
Yet this 'empire-blade' he was forging was far from done and already had him drowning in paperwork. He tried asking his father for help a few times now, yet that hadn't born much fruit. His father was always busy on one project or another - building a statue of the hero Eris Snuffsmot, funding some restaurant venture, creating an Ytic arts fund. Algernon, of course, was only happy to see his father enjoying himself jumping from one endeavour to another, yet he did miss working by his side. Maybe he'd ask just a few more times, just in case his father had some spare time.
Amidst all his reflection over these busy months, Algernon finds himself arriving at his office at last. There would be at least ten minutes for him to rest before the meeting about that strange newfound discovery in the Residential District that people called 'trains'. As he quickly pushes open the door, ready to collapse into a comfortable chair, he can't help but notice a distinct white blot on his desk - a letter.
With a sigh, Algernon drops into that comfortable chair, resisting the call to lean back and relax, instead opening up the letter.
His eyes widen as he parses the contents, his breath getting stuck in his throat.
Quietly, slowly he puts the letter down on his desk.
A bee flies by
And quietly, he lets himself cry.
My Son,
You know what this means. I have left to go be with my father now. This is the way it must always be.
You are ready for this. I have seen it, and you have shown it on many an occasion. Times will be hard, they will be confusing, but I know you can rise from the ashes, and make an empire of your own, just as you promised. Not a NOTE, not a YIPPP, but of your own life's work, of your own duty. I am sorry I will not see it.
Be wise, be careful and know there are allies out there for you, from my associates in the nobility, to my friends in Kara and Jex, Jax and Jix. Know that when you feel lost, my legacy will be all around to guide you.
And most importantly know this:
I love you my son.
You have always made me very proud. Seeing you enthused on your own projects was the greatest pride I ever felt.2)