A year since Shroudbreak...

There were a bunch of them, and they were in high spirits. Christian White nodded in satisfaction at the line of horses and wagons, the latter with the new PMD designs trundling along, not needing someone to Cast or make Disks to shuffle people here.

They had alchemical bullets for their firearms, too, which wouldn’t just explode like gunpowder ones.

He was coming. Everyone knew he was coming. But they weren’t afraid, and they were in high spirits.

This was their land, this was their people. They hadn’t chosen him, some jiveass nobody from the East Coast; they’d chosen one of their own, and so his writ had no power here.

They’d face him down, and they would chase him off, and if they had to fight, they’d fight!

He was just one man, and they had Weapons. They could fight one man, even if he was a Ten!

“I think that’s him!” a sharp-eyed shooter called out, putting his binoculars up to his eyes.

Christian squinted at the dot in the distance, coming down the old road there. The asphalt had basically crumbled up into dust, rendering the old highway into just a well-made dirt road again, but there was something coming.

Coming pretty quick. He had really good eyes now, and he could see that, despite the figure seeming to be walking, he was closing in at a good pace. Lightfoot, sure enough, maybe some magic to speed him along.

Nobody knew what a King could do, after all.

Some of the boys were whooping and lifting rifles to take aim at the distant figure, as if they dared to take a shot at that range... or dared to shoot at all.

A cloud seemed to pass over the sun, and Christian looked up at the timing. It couldn’t be... could it? He shook his head and assured himself it was coincidence.

Sir Pellier, the Silver Shot, the Anointed, Acclaimed, and Acknowledged King of America, was coming here, seemingly alone and on foot.

But Texas didn’t want any part of him.

---

“That’s far enough, Pellier!” a voice rang out, and his eyes drifted over in its direction.

Yeah, that loudmouth White was calling out this bunch of idiots. There were about twelve hundred of them, in converted pick-ups, towed wagons, and a bunch standing on Sieged Disks. Some were holding Rifles and had coughed up the money for a few precious alchemical rounds to shoot, shaking them and pointing them in his general direction, as if they were dangerous or something.

Granted, there were a lot of people here, but that didn’t mean they were dangerous. They just thought they were, and they had no idea of the trouble they were in.

Sir Pellier didn’t stop walking, either. White had absolutely no Rank or authority to tell him to do a damn thing, especially on America’s soil.

The fool also had no gods-damned idea how much trouble he and his bunch of idiots were in.

He saw the ripple when he didn’t stop walking, but it didn’t mean much to him. He rather hoped these idiots would try something –

He saw the pop of smoke, and a bullet wanged off the ground a foot from his boots.

They saw a flash of silver, and then an explosion of argent light and alchemical ammunition as his pistol shot covered four hundred yards, smashed into the shooter’s Rifle, and blew it apart. The unfortunate shooter screamed and clawed at his face and eyes, now all covered with blood.

He put Lady Florentine back into her holster, and noted that the idiots were a bit taken aback.

“Pellier, if you keep walking, we’re gonna have to open fire!” White Called out loudly, lifting his own Rifle menacingly.

Pellier just kept walking forwards, ignoring the words. A wind began to pick up from the west, but because they had no Landbound or Druids among them, they couldn’t feel the Will of the Land in it.

To be fair, there weren’t any Druids or Landbound left in Texas, unless they had specific reasons for being there, reasons quite ominous...

Christian White was starting to flush, especially as everyone was looking at him to shoot first. There was no doubt he was intimidated by that shot. How the Hell did someone fast-draw with a pistol and hit a sniper from that far away? Was it because he was Smiting? Fred Harrison was an obedient guy, taking that shot with just a glance and a nod, but now he was screaming his fool head off, and his injuries were burning with silver and refusing to heal.

That wasn’t good...

Still, as Sir Pellier closed to one hundred yards away, Christian slowly brought his Rifle down, sweating as he did. Taking a shot at a Paladin, let alone the King of America... that was a big move. He could hear all sorts of clicks going on around him, and the spellcasters were pulling in power, ready to Cast and do what had to be done to defend their land.

For all that, there was no menace to the Paladin’s stride, or on his face. He could have been out there walking in the sun.

If anything, he looked... sad?

Christian White felt the wind rising, and looked around suddenly, lifting his Rifle back up as the Paladin walked closer. The guns eased back as he did, although there were definitely a bunch that only moved aside a little bit, eager to unload on the King of America.

Sir Pellier, in his browns and whites, came to a halt about twenty yards away.

Christian White swallowed, because Sir Pellier wasn’t standing in front of him, and indeed, wasn’t even looking at him.

“Amos Willoughby.” The Paladin’s dry Voice, laced with steel from Pennsylvania’s forging towns, was clearly audible to everyone. “I’m here to deliver a message to you and the rest of your Six Amigos.”

The rancher in the classic Stetson, properly a-horse for the best image, looked at the Paladin staring at him, and realized something very, very wrong was going on.

“For all the rest of you, you should just know that this Christian White piece of dirt you’re following is a patsy and a mouthpiece for Willoughby here and his five buddies. Willoughby has another name in the Church of Harse: the Tyrant of McCulloch County. There’s at least fifty missing persons there who can be laid at his feet.”

“You, you shut your mouth, Pellier!” the rancher shouted, pointing at him with his finger, while his men all tensed around him. “I’ll shoot you down right here and now for that kind of slander!”

“Won’t change a damn thing about what’s going to happen now, you murdering bastard,” the Paladin replied without blinking an eye, his gaze drifting from one group of guns to the next, bright and knowing, and those men all flinched as his gaze settled upon them. “Guimo Hernandez’s boys. He’s called the Rapist of the Flowers, as he only has sex with pre-teen girls down in Houston. The Aethrans have been waiting a long time to kill him, but his victims all disappear after he catches them.

“Biggest drug lord in Texas. Nice to see his boys here, backing a useless patsy like White.” Sir Pellier spit casually to the side.

“Nathan Coombs, called by the Aruans the Dark Fist of Galveston. Runs the city, no law there but his, biggest smuggling operation in the Southwest. Specializes in human traffic... sometimes in both directions. Any of you white boys got missing female cousins, he probably knows where they were sent.”

Some of the guns there began to waver, looking at White questioningly, who blurted out, “Lies and damn lies, Pellier-“

“TRUTH.”

Screams erupted up and down the line, some men falling right off their horses as the Word hung in the air like silver and smote their souls.

No guns were able to point at him now. Ignoring the cries and screams of those clutching at their eyes and noses after hearing the Word, Sir Pellier went on conversationally.

“Yeah, we know about Hagman, Duffy, and Gray, too,” he said in the same grim, level, patient, and somehow sad voice. “You all spent a lot of money, slick marketing, played upon the grand lie of Texan independence, and you convinced the vast majority of idiots that they could ignore everything that had been said, everything that you were warned about, and that they could seize their own destiny and do as they liked, they didn’t need a non-Texan King telling them how to run their lives.”

He sounded grimly amused, he really did.

“Why the fuck are you here, Pellier?” White demanded, face and hand smeared with crimson right now at having his lies and life shown to him like that, both very afraid and very angry that he was afraid.

Sir Pellier went on as if he hadn’t heard White. “You Six Amigos got a nice patsy and mouthpiece, did the job. Congrats on your stupidity. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.” He sighed, looking over them all with a look a lot of them knew well.

It was the look you gave dead men...

“Sir, Sir Pellier!” Billy Joe Cranston blurted out, and the Paladin turned his eyes that way. “Why, why you here, Sir Pellier?” the ranch hand stammered, unable to keep something out of his voice, something infectious and nasty-shivering, as he glanced at some of the men nearby who belonged to Hagman, a sinfully rich once-oilman from Dallas, now a massive slumlord after hurriedly getting out of oil as petroleum became a deathtrap for wealth.

“I’m a messenger boy, is all, lad,” the Paladin finally answered. “Just a messenger.”

Hackles rose all around. This, this was the King of America! How could he be, who could...

The ground seemed to tremble oh so faintly against their feet.

“You made a line, you fools, and you dug it deep,” Sir Pellier said sadly. “You claimed something for yourselves, something that ain’t yours, and which is far, far bigger than you. She is pissed at you, and has decided to do something about you.”

There was a rumble this time. Those with lightfoot could feel it, those with magic felt a jolt of hot, hot mana running through the ley lines, and all of them jerked their heads back to the south, eyes wide at what they were feeling.

“You were warned that the lines you were setting down were not acceptable. You were given time to do something about it. And despite the good folk leaving, and those Sworn to the Land, you saw a chance at becoming lords and masters, and you decided to grab it.” Sir Pellier shook his head as they all stared at him, remembering the events of the past few months, and the people who’d left Texas, mocked as cowards and traitors...

“I’m here to inform you that America has decided to grant your request for Texas to be whatever you want it to be.” For some reason, that very, very welcome news only made their eyes bulge, because of the way he said it, like he was pronouncing a death sentence. “In return, America has decreed that Texas will be home to the Firelands of America, since She likes the country out in Montana better. They got good people out there.”

Christian White paled so hard he might have been a Cultivator for a moment there. “The, the Firelands...?” he squeaked in disbelief.

Sir Pellier still ignored him.

Another rumble swept past them from below, making the horses shake, and those holding spells ready saw Elemental Fire spark on their hands for a moment.

“Yeah. The Land went and drained the supervolcano under Montana and is putting all the lava into the drained oil fields and aquifers underneath Texas. Some of them are pretty unstable. Oh, you might not know this, since there’s a lot of psychic static in the way, but volcanoes just started spewing up in Dallas, Houston, Galveston... and McCulloch County at a certain ranch. El Paso, Austin, and San Antonio all just got their own volcanoes, too. Pretty much every capped oil well in the land is starting to burn right now.” He tilted back his soft cap slightly, no Stetson for him, eyes looking far away.

“No...” gasped Christian, staring at the Paladin, unable to not believe him, only deny him blankly.

“You’re all not Americans anymore, either.” For some reason, that simple statement came down like a load of bricks, despite everything else. It stuck in their minds like a knife of condemnation, severing any fancied connection to the proud thought that they were the only true Americans left with a razored edge. “So, you Texans better not be coming back to America if you decide to run. She don’t want you here.”

Sir Christian shuddered, and suddenly realized that the King’s Voice could be heard by every soul in Texas. He could feel the Loyalty of the millions of people who’d flocked to his Lone Star Allegiance, the true Allegiance of Texas, plummeting like a rock as they realized what had just happened.

“Kill you!” he screamed, snapping his Rifle Ranger down at the man there. “I’ll kill you-!”

The ground dropped out from under all of them with a roar, before a single gun could fire at him. Their screams were lost in the much louder grinding of the land giving way and swallowing them up.

No ‘porting, and no flying here, either, and that gravity might just have been several times standard in strength, given how fast they fell.

Sir Pellier watched the ground collapse before him, coming right up to within a pace of his feet, and the whole line of ‘Texan Defenders’ dropped away with it. Superheated gases erupted around the dirt and stone, and he could see hints of lurid red glows below.

A lot of City Spirits were dying right now as the Mother Land casually started volcanoes right in the middle of them. He rather doubted they’d survive what was coming next, but it was out of his hands entirely.

Sometimes you just need to teach people a lesson they would not forget.

There hadn’t been much attention paid to the dimming heat of the Yellowstone Firezone, the volcanoes all going cold with remarkable speed over the past year. The pressure of uncounted billions of tons of magma simply went down, and the stuff was vented over here, into a lot of empty spaces filled with ancient fluids, explosive gasses, and half-drained waters, watched over by greedy fools who couldn’t realize the times had changed.

There was a geyser of fire before him, and something big and fiery and skeletal not-a-horse, burning with a noble flame, came rearing out of the gash bisecting the roadway in front of him, landing next to him in a spray of flames Elemental and Celestial.

Jaelez Morningfire was sitting atop The Old Steed, who was now ringed by a Crown of Flame about his horned head. She glanced back down into the pit behind her that was rapidly filling with red lava before turning her attention back to Sir Pellier.

Very properly, she slid off the great Eidolon smoothly, and curtseyed to him perfectly, while The Old Steed bowed his head over extended hooves to the King of America.

Sir Pellier tossed The Old Steed a ham. Two metal Hands zipped out from the eidolon’s saddle as the Not-A-Ring on his front leg glittered. They caught the ham, and the eidolon happily began to munch on it with very sharp burning teeth.

“Idiots,” Morningfire sniffed, turning south. “I can confirm the other Amigos are dead, too. Apparently, a volcano opening beneath them is not conducive to the survival of the unprepared, their immediate families, and their closest subordinates.”

“Dumb bastards,” Sir Pellier sighed, but this decision was out of his hands... and maybe it was totally unavoidable. “Did they think she lied? She NEVER lied. Not once. She couldn’t...”

He knew that intimately, now.

Morningfire’s golden eyes flashed once. “Azaia thinks the gods did some back door deals with the Land. You know a lot of Americans headed to Texas once it declared independence, right?”

“Getting rid of them all in one fell swoop?” Sir Pellier was far from an idiot. As a matter of fact, despite his façade, he had stepped beyond the intellectual power of baseline humans some time ago. Benefits of knowing the most powerful woman in the world... “Clever... and ruthless. No wonder the attempts to persuade them otherwise didn’t work...”

“Walking right into Hell, thinking their eyes were open, only to realize at the last minute...” Morningfire shook her flaming tresses softly, but there was little mercy in her eyes. “You have to give them credit for balls. Pissing off a whole continent takes some nerve. I wouldn’t dare offend even wee Mother Ireland.”

“The ones complaining that they had nothing to do with this are already whining,” Sir Pellier sighed, his square pupils shifting hues as he looked past the horizon.

“Then they should have done something, instead of doing nothing. The Land cares about them as much as they do about Her.” She patted The Old Steed automatically, who huffed agreement, and a couple more things.

Sir Pellier shook his head with a wry smile. “Well, there’s other ways into the north.” The illegal immigrations from the old Mexico lands into California had died off after America had casually shifted Cali forty feet along the San Andreas fault line over the course of an hour, cutting through a whole lot of bridges and roads in so doing.

Texas becoming the very large Fireland that might end up venting lava from a lot of places along the Continental Divide was definitely going to affect the traffic in people, too...

They were probably not really comprehending that what had been Mexico was now in America, too. Central America was kind of an ambiguous neutral ground to the two Continents in terms of influence, although They were discussing right now if the Panama Canal made a convenient boundary between Them, considering the waterways involved had watersheds to both north and south...

The three of them looked up as a voice /spoke to them coolly, and Sir Pellier winced.

“I stand corrected. They were talking to ALL the Mother Lands,” Morningfire made a face. “I wondered why he was traipsing over to the other Continents,” she said, cuffing the not-horse finishing up his meal lightly.

The Old Steed rolled his burning gold and scarlet eyes innocently.

The capitol buildings of twenty-three different countries, as well as the legislatures and homes of those in power, had collapsed into sinkholes and buried everyone within them alive. There weren’t necessarily volcanoes rising in all those locations... but there were in some of them.

The Mother Lands had moved together to express their dislike of what the dust mites atop them had done.

“America is showing off again,” Morningfire sniffed. “Always have to be impressive.”

“Aye, Americans can be a bit exuberant,” Sir Pellier agreed dryly, glancing at her hair with a raised eyebrow. She tossed her flaming locks with a smile, completely ignoring his meaning.

“Vampire King! We have STYLE!” she just smiled smugly, quite dazzling, and Sir Pellier could only shake his head.

It wasn’t true, of course. There weren’t any vampires in Ireland. The Mick had personally slaughtered all nine of the Clan Ancestors sleeping there, all of their Spawn, and all the Ancestors there of all the Tomb Clans, as well as every Illuminati who couldn’t exit the Land in a panic in time. Supposedly he had an old bloodthorn Shillelagh soaked in the ichor of vampires that was very, very suitable for the occasion, and it had even become his Scepter of Office.

Tomb Clanners from across the world willing to become Tome Clanners were immigrating to the Emerald Isle, forming a new and very unique population there... and instantly pissing off the Elders they left behind.

That was totally fine. The Blood of the Irish and the Queen’s Guard there needed things to whet themselves on, in between a lot of the other projects they were working on.

“Anything new on the English front?” Sir Pellier asked, glancing east.

Morningfire sniffed. “The Scots won’t accept an English King, the English won’t accept anything else, and the Welsh are yammering about independence while everyone is insulting all the other Candidates, and nobody has Acclaim. The old Queen might have been loved enough to do it, but Charles and Camilla don’t have the charisma.” She sounded very unperturbed. “Azaia is considering offering them a chance to fall under Europa, but doubts it will come to much. King Mick would have been a better choice, like as not, probably because of his age. That cool vampire vibe he has going just cuts across the generations.”

His personal tailor was being overwhelmed with orders now, too. Irish ‘noble’ fashion was becoming quite the thing, and proper hats were making a comeback.

Sir Pellier had retired from the United States military with a brevet rank of Lieutenant General, acknowledging his sterling command of the American Powered overseas. The reorganization of the national military was still underway, as was the retraining of the common people and the militias that had to come into effect, because they were all seeing use...

The cities had started to get antsy and proud, especially the bigger ones. He could already feel the ripple effects of today’s actions. Sliding California around had been one thing, and even if it had agitated half a dozen boilers, that had been very, very different from just opening up a stack right smack in the middle of a city.

“I expect by tomorrow even Philadelphia and Atlanta are going to be enthusiastic about cleaning up their messes,” he mentioned, and she nodded understanding.

“Aye, everyone and their bastard fathers wanting a bit more power on their own. Still, that’s going to be the way of things. They just have to remember who their Mother is!”

The Old Steed huffed, his floating metal hands tossing the hambone back into the lava below before stowing themselves away.

“You alright with this?” Sir Pellier asked them both, gesturing between the two and the fire below. “Bit of an imposition on the two of you...”

“Please, Your Majesty,” Jaelez waved it off, and The Old Steed huffed in amusement. “Being a Fire Lord of his caliber means he might get summoned by some of the other Continents to help out with minor problems, and even underseas, as well as helping deal with any Elementals with delusions. My being a Morningsun means I have carte blanche to ride him anywhere I care to go, so we can see the whole world without any issues.” She patted him fondly, totally unafraid of his flames, and he nickered at her, nodding.

Well, that was certainly good enough.

There were very, very few people in the world who knew that the Bridle the Old Steed was wearing was a Hat of Difference... and Disguise. If they looked, they’d just think it was something to help with Ride checks...

The Old Steed was far, far more dangerous than anybody not in the know realized. When facing Steed and rider, they weren’t facing one overpowered Fire Caster, they were facing two!

And as a Firelord, the Old Steed was totally ranked right there with all other powerful Place Spirits as something that could have Druidic followers of Fire... and appoint Warlocks of Fire, too.

If a darkly handsome halvyr with burning eyes was being seen fairly often in public with Morningfire, well, that was certainly par for the course, wasn’t it?

Sir Pellier was Landbound, not a Druid, whose viewpoints were unpalatable with the duties of a Paladin. His job was to obey the Land when She called on him; no more, no less. As he was backed by the Divine, She would not demand anything of him that would threaten that link... but America was definitely not held to the standards that he was, and if She wanted to take punitive action on some dust mites who were deliberately causing Her pain with their actions, well, he only had some words and Good advice he could impart to sway Her so that She didn’t kill everyone straight off.

Still, She was America, and influenced by the spirit of the people here, so She appreciated spunk and cleverness, just not when it was carving lines into Her. Baking the whole land in a heat wave for six months as She vacated all the water supplies would also have destroyed the inhabitants, especially if She had physically opened chasms all around that they couldn’t cross.

This way, they might still flee and leave Her shores, and they were certainly going to lose their Texas identity as the Firelands overwrote it. It was satisfying enough, and, it turned out, She’d shared the idea with the other Mother Lands, and they’d all agreed to do something similar for effect.

The Lands were all aware something had happened, and the arrival of powerful magic, the gods being Right There, and a totally new sun and moon being around were totally jarring to them, a sign that their dust mites were actually Really Important now.

It could be said that the vastness of the Continents was interacting with mortals quite frequently, and Place Spirits were popping up with ever more frequency, as were Fey of various sorts.

The world was becoming a more magical place, and even if humanity and the other mortal races still dominated it, it was going to change...

=============

The King’s Equalizer, Lady Florentine

“We are all equal before the Land.”

The Weapon of the First American King, Sir Pellier, is an enhanced Gritworks Model G-2 Shotgun. When he stepped down from his office after two generations, Lady Florentine was left leaning against the Seat for his successor to take up.

Lady Florentine is a +VI Greater Ki-Bound Enmity/Evil Vivic Blooding Holy Rifle with the Morphing trait, able to become any kind of firearm or ranged weapon, and is typically carried around as a Pistol. It is widely believed to be the most dangerous Firearm in the world.

Within the bounds of America, it will not run out of Ammunition, there is no cover or concealment against its shots, and it has the Distance, Accuracy, and Cyclonic Enhancements. The wielder can swap freely between any kind of alchemical ammunition once per round.

In the hands of a Paladin on American soil, Lady Florentine displays the full power of a Holy Avenger, granting the wielder Spell Resistance = 10+Divine Caster Level, +10 Damage against Evil (and potentially all non-Good with Zealotry), and Dispel Magic 1/rd at Caster Level on the wielder or any target struck by a shot, as desired.

Lady Florentine also serves as a Warlock’s Weapon, and will apply the full power of an American Landbound’s Wrath to every shot (as opposed to the normal 1/round restriction).

Lady Florentine is instantly recognized by any servant of the Good gods, any American born of Her soil, and any being Sworn under the American King or to North America.

Stored within the stock of Lady Florentine are over a dozen shrunken Baneskulls and several Tokens, fully Enchanted and ready for use, which can be swapped into place with a standard action.

Lady Florentine is a Lawful Good intelligent Weapon, with Int 17 and an Ego of 35, the ability to Detect Evil at V (300’ range, cannot be obstructed within America), Know Alignments within 60’ (also), and the Special Purpose of Defend America against Foes Natural and Unnatural, giving her the Power to Teleport w/o Error herself, her wielder, and a number of allies anywhere within the bounds of America as needed.