Templar Isthmo stood behind the bar counter gazing into the amber liquid in his beer mug, deep in thought as the party swirled and buzzed around him.
It wasn’t the first celebratory event the Superjug had hosted at short notice. Almost a set previous the fight outside the mayor’s office between the Efika Rebel leaders and the Razzaks accumulated in the only recorded loss of Razzak life. That in itself was a massive cause of celebration; up to that point TransAn’s shadow branch had been considered almost untouchable. Although the rebel-friendly mayor had been assassinated, it was as Templar’s father had said at the time: “‘the loss of one fat careless mayor in exchange for the head of one of those so-called invincible murderers? Now that’s a good exchange, son. Let’s see what TransAn make of that.”’
The sacking of the great tower six and a half turns ago, where TransAn showed their unfathomable arrogance yet again, allowing the girl Alma and her tiny crew tear the place to pieces. Something Templar could only put down to blind luck. It didn’t change the fact that the mighty was indeed not so mighty.
And five turns ago, TransAn’s catastrophic decision to send nigh-on its entire coalition army over to the unknown territory Saifa –a decision which cost TransAn and the Queen of Myagna dearly. No airships came back to Uropa Platinum after that. Not one. Cue the Efika Shield Syndicate –spearheaded by one Templar Isthmo. Its job? To strangle TransAn without a show of all-out aggression. To never allow the Company to rise up again.
Templar thought about all this, his eyes watching the countless bubbles abandon the widget at the bottom of the mug and sprint for the surface, giving the beer its life.
He let his gaze wander around the Superjug, looking at all the faces young and old he knew so well lit by the party lanterns hung around the bar. Members of the syndicate. Syndicate supporters and sponsors. And those too young to know, the future generation of Efika chasing each other around the legs of the elders, playing wild cherry. All bubbles in their own right, sparkling in the cup of defiance never letting the cause go flat.
Copyright R T Worth 2016. All rights reserved.