Somewhere in a foreign land...

Lilbow's cane tapped against the cobblestones as he walked. Tap, tap– tap, bouncing between the narrow walls, echoes running down the sparsely lit hallway. Hot like in an oven, that place, tortuously hot. He was used to it.

Why do I do this?

It was a question he had asked him
self frequently in the last few weeks, and every time he felt annoyed—very often—he found the same answer.

I have to.

It was an honest answer. He liked honesty. Being true to yourself is important, after all. He knew his strengths, his weaknesses, and understood his motivations. He knew what drove him, and where his road would go, if he followed it.

Or where it should go, at least. Of late, he had found the answer unsatisfying. It rang strangely hollow, as if there was more to it. Victory. Glory. The damn throne, at last.. The campaign was coming to an end, and he was closer to a grand rise to power than he had ever been. Grand in the vein of the venerated Ilyes Satouri, perhaps grander still. He was on the cusp. What else was there that could be more important?

Why do I do this?

He came to a nondescript wooden door at the end of the hallway, swung it inward with the metal tip of his cane. A massive oak table stood inside, ten meters in diameter, a great map sprawled over it, covered in notes and marks, strategic predictions scribbled in a wavy hand across the parchment.

Why do I do this?

”Lilbow,”

He looked up, leaning on his cane. ”Firecake. I can't say it's good to see you, but here you are regardless.”

His jab was promptly ignored. ”How is the leg?”

”It stings, like always.”

”Damn Hydra.” There was a glint in the Zerg's eye, very brief, as if he wasn't quite as enthusiastic about his hatred for the one-eyed pirate as he seemed.

”Yes,” Lilbow agreed, stepping over to the lip of the war table, ”damn Hydra. Where do we stand?”

”Sources say they're fleeing back across the ocean. Something about finding allies. Or maybe it was about finding means to get back at you—” Firecake yawned, stretching his neck slowly, ”I can't remember which.”

”What do I keep you for?” Lilbow muttered, eyeing the maps before him. Glostalea was in turmoil, and his maps reflected it. Where the distant clans had previously been orderly arranged under the command of their respective leaders, they had now suffered a... falling out. An upheaval of significant scale. Open war had been declared between Jin Air and SKT and his reports seemed to indicate that it was only a matter of time until everyone else joined in. He had to admit, he had no idea who was presently doing what, and could fathom no reason for Polt and Hydra's imminent return.

”I do believe you keep me for my cool head and unflinching ability to gain incremental advantages over extremely long periods of time. Need I remind you that your average income has increased by over seven percent these last two years?”

Lilbow sighed, tapping the table absentmindedly with a finger. It stung to admit it, but the Zerg had been invaluable to his campaign. Maintaining a conversation with the man was much like pulling nails, but he possessed a clarity of vision. A sharp mind, if nothing else. ”Yes, yes, seven percent. What can we do to stop them?”

Firecake cocked an eyebrow. ”Stop them?”

”Yes, stop them! We can hardly let them go back across the ocean so freely. What if they bring reinforcements?”

Evidently, Firecake had not considered this. ”Huh.”

”Where are your pets, anyway?”

The Zerg looked suddenly distraught, a gloomy shadow sweeping across his sullen face. He sniffed and walked over to look out over the ocean through the window. ”I don't know what's happened to them, but my, they've become entirely worthless. That Polish fellow has embarrassed us multiple times, embarrassed! Not long ago, we would have made him a joke. Now, the hosts are incapable of doing anything.”

Fitting reflections of your own fighting ability, then. ”Eyes on the prize, Firecake, eyes on the prize. How can we stop them?”

”Eyes on the prize, yes yes, eyes on the prize. The victory, yes yes.” the Zerg dawdled back to the table, producing a pencil from an inner pocket. He very nearly stabbed the table with it, pointing directly at Glostalea's harbor. ”They will disembark here, if they're allowed to proceed unhindered.”

”They are traveling together?”

”Yes.”

That settles it, then.

For months, Lilbow had waged a clandestine war against the two rivaling rulers of Oegugin. He could not deny that it had been a combined effort, or that even Firecake deserved recognition for his aid, but he was the only one standing in the end. Well, he corrected himself, and those two.

Polt and Hydra, the opposing rulers. Polt and Hydra, the eternal rivals. The brutal fight for power over in Metzennala had lasted the better part of a year, ceaseless battling for territory and power. All a sham.

”You expected this?” Firecake asked.

”I suspected. It was hard to know for certain. They're criminals, those two, but they're clever.”

”Very clever!” Dayshi yelped, waking with a start. Where he sat hunched in a corner, half-wrapped in a dirty blanket, he was hardly the image of a great Terran warrior. Then again, Firecake hardly looked the part of a Zerg warlord, either. Lilbow adjusted his suit with a resentful snort. Dayshi had fought both of them in the last year, and put up no fight. None whatsoever. It pained the Protoss greatly that they had to keep him around. Alas, he knows too much to be disposed of.

”Finally woke up, did you? Anything to add?”

The Terran wobbled to his feet, leaned slightly to the right while he dragged himself to the table. He produced a pencil of his own and drew a circle around a spot between the capital Glostalea and the second largest city, Spostalea.

”What's this?” Lilbow demanded.

”The—,” he coughed, then chuckled slightly, ”you know about the scepter, yes? You've heard?”

”Of course,” Lilbow snapped, ”what do you think this meeting is about?” It struck him that Dayshi had been sleeping soundly for twelve hours and probably had no idea.

The Terran continued, ignoring him, ”The scepter bestows great power upon whomever possess it, enough in excess to conquer Oegugin. The clans overseas are content not to—there's nothing they want here,” the Terran chuckled again, as if he had said something funny. ”Well, nothing they want enough to warrant a campaign—”

”We know,” Firecake drawled, ”it's why that Captain Crook came to power in the first place.”

Yes, Lilbow mused, and why his one-eyed friend could so easily make his way here to take what was left.

”Then you know it's what they all fight for over there. There's no consensus on who should lead, and somehow the scepter got lost along the way. No scepter, no ruler,” he marked the empty plain between the two cities with a glaring red cross, ”no peace.”

”How do you know this?”

The newly recruited spy winked. ”I have my sources.”




Rolling waves squelched against the pier, taunted by the cries of fat seagulls circling high above. Lilbow stood on the farthest end and looked out over the ocean. Somewhere out there, the two that had caused him so much pain now flopped across the waves in a mad dash toward their homeland. Somewhere out there, the only two people to have hindered his conquests now edged closer to a permanent victory.

It would not stand.

The Hangover lay anchored before him, a half-dozen crew members milling across the deck with sour faces. The weather had not been particularly pleasant of late, the biting salt-wind wearing and tearing at the harbor stones. But in spite of the wind, in spite of the chill, in spite of the crushing waves, the ship—a gift from the tribe's last great warrior—was unmoved.

One of the crew's members wobbled across the gangplank with a slightly nauseous expression. ”The Hangover is prepared and all ready for departure, sir!”

Lilbow nodded appraisingly. ”Fine work. And the weaponry?”

The sailor's eyes darted briefly to the massive cannons that peeked out through openings in the upper hull, then back to his captain. ”Enough to level a small city.”

Lilbow bared his impeccably white teeth in a mean grin. ”Like, say... Cracow?”

The sailor's eyes went wide. He took an involuntary half-step back, suddenly anxious to be on his way. He giggled, somewhat nervously. News of Lilbow's conquests to the northeast had spread far and wide, and the mere mention now instilled considerable fear. ”Ah, of course. A city just as Cracow, if I may say so. Now, there are some things to...” he turned, scurrying back across the gangplank.

"Why do I do this?" the Protoss muttered, rubbing his aching leg.

Lilbow cast a final pensive glance at the ocean. Somewhere out there, headed for Metzennala, were his two greatest rivals. The only two obstacles between him and what he most desired. Somewhere out there, headed for god knows what. For battle, for victory. Headed for great glory. Glory that should be his, not theirs. On their way to power, if they could only reach it in time.

He strode across the gangplank, the tip of his cane tapping against the wood as he walked. Tap, tap-tap..

He would make sure they wouldn't.