“Behold! Look not upon me or our great city above, but upon yourselves, and rejoice. For you have been bestowed the presence of everything you have ever worked for” He called out amongst the hundreds of ranked soldiers, lined up into neat squares that stretched out far across the fields. His voice boomed into the microphone, carrying with it his message of pride and tragedy.

“What you see is yourselves, the mightiest of forces amongst all of Equestria. Today, we reckon what we have feared the most, and that is why we now act upon the cruel dealings of the foes, for this great nation. Today, we have received word of the massacre at the hand of the Empire. Be saddened, and weep for the lost, for to forget and not to love what we defend is to destroy what we strive to accomplish every day. For every day that the two dictators sit in their thrones of lies, hatred, fear and denial, their prisoners they call subjects cower and suffer. Tyrants of dark and light, fighting and plotting not only against themselves, but against the ponies that they claim to protect and serve.”

He slammed his hoof on the podium as his emotions and rage peaked into one point. “Today is a sad day, but we can only be relieved in this event- this filthy crime derived from jealousy and spite, we now have a reason to unleash our Glorious Retribution. We march to their death. We march TO WAR!”

The ranks of soldiers began to chant in time, stamping their collective hooves and calling out their agony for war. They had all been told of the Great War before their time, the war that set apart the Great empires. But that would now pale in comparison to the new scale and ferocity of this age. Empires for decades, in a constant flux of espionage and border-warfare, now unleashed upon the world in barbarous, intense campaigns of military acquisition and calculated destruction.

“Victory is assured, so long as we never falter. And our greatest accomplishment, the army that surrounds us now, will become the fable of every bed time story, of every pub bard, of every preacher and historian. The saga of our Holy Vengeance shall echo out forever through time. Hyperion shall guide us to destroy Lunar and Celestia, and to free our kindred. Through us their deliverance is close at hand.”

His expression darkened into one emotion. His face cruel, with longing remorse for the little action they had performed. He longed more than them to avenge the peoples of Equestria, and deliver them upon to a world without chains and fear, without rank or prejudice. He burned with the passion for war, to destroy his ‘makers’. His defiance would ring out across time.

“DEATH TO THE FALSE QUEENS OF EQUESTRIA, ALL HAIL HYPERION!!!”

The army roared, drowning out his speech, deafening him to all other sounds. He held one hoof high in the air, while firmly placing the other on the podium underneath him, shaking his elevated limb to the adopted rhythm of the troops below. He swept up his microphone and screamed a mighty war-cry out across the ranks, his voice pure and high, but harsh and loud at the same time. Many other voices faltered far weakening the volume of the ranks, their distant faces all gazing up at him in awe and wonder.

“NOW PREPARE FOR THE CONQUEST OF THE SOLAR EMPIRE. BEHOLD, THIS IS YOUR TSAR!!! AT SUNRISE TOMORROW, WE TAKE CANTERLOT FOR THE PEOPLE!!!”

Again, the armies roared, louder than ever before. And even in the temporary festivities of the war-speech at hand, they began to pass out across the fields in an organised manner. They filled, still keeping in their ranks, out across to the Air-Docks. Atop the docks were immense structures, Engineered to Deathly Perfection. Ships, armed to the teeth with an arsenal that would put their foes to shame. Small, one-man fighters screamed overhead, faster than a Pegasus could imagine. Large, brutal engines of war scared the ground as they rolled ever closer to their victory. And vessels of the air, with technology to lift entire cities, clamored with instruments designed to outwit any opponent.

Without their technology they would be nothing. An entire civilisation based on freedom and democracy, built off the one thing that neither princess could seem to grasp before they could not control it; The one thing that seemed to perpetually defy magic in all its endeavours: Science.

He looked upon his work one last time before retreating back from the announcement Balcony. His expression remained the same. He was good at what he did, and what he did was public speech. The empire valued him once upon a time, but he left in anger over the blindness of the Princess, her inability to see beyond the few towns she loved to visit, and onto the majority of her subjects; But most of all, Stalliongrad, his place of Birth. He cast himself out of Princess Celestia’s court, taking with him the majority of aristocrats, and joined Hyperion and his glorious vision for universal exemption.

His name was Rising-Idiom, an individual of great significance in the political realm of Equestria, especially for his ceaseless ability to ignite the imagination of anypony simply through speech. His flank was emblazoned with two Olive-branches, twisting around each other in a symmetrical twist, centred by a long Stiletto of Gold.

He calmly (or as calmly as physically possible) stepped down from view of the Armies, turned to the peers behind him watching, and bowed, releasing one hoof and letting his head descend; his chin almost touching the ground.

The viewers were still stunned, either their imaginations captured in the unrelenting grip of his words, or their awe for the newly established morale that burned like a fever throughout the ranks of the armies below. The group of ten on-looking ponies, blown away and wrapped up into oblivion by his Poetic Requiem of War and Action, needless to say hadn’t a clue on how to respond or congratulate to something as successful as what had just transpired. “That was amazing!” exclaimed a Mare Democrat, her jaw agape in shock. “You just gave all those recruits the confidence of seasoned veterans! How… I…” Rising held a hoof up to her mouth, stopping her rambling. “Now, now, we cannot get our hopes up just yet until they prove themselves in battle. Besides, I have done nothing… everything I said wasn’t some foul ploy to make fresh-grunts go headlong into battle without hesitation. Every word was true, it was merely the way I said it.” He said, still holding his hoof to the flustered Democrat’s lips, which still trembled in excitement and disbelief.

He swung back to the podium, turned off the microphone with a tap of his hoof, and grabbed the large, leafy manuscript, gently placing it in a small saddle-bag left to the side. He swung the luggage onto his back and quaintly trotted back into the large marble building, leaving the observers behind- attempting desperately to decipher the repercussions of the currently transpired event.

He began to reflect on it to. “What did I just do… well I roused up an army of patriots into what may be the greatest war ever conceived by pony kind…” he slowed, down to a walk before he completely stopped in his tracks. There was no other way of putting it. He just had a hand in sending millions of lives to their death, innocent or otherwise.

He trembled, his composure snapping into two halves of morality. “Why did you do that- because the ponies of this world have suffered too much- so you will have them suffer more torture and hardship?- it’s not like that, we can save the innocent from the tyrants’ rule!- Why? So they can be free for a time in peace before they are snatched up by a Fanatic or preacher like yourself- No, they will rule themselves in harmony without the influence of leaders or corruption- And how did you plan on doing that, by conscripting an army to serve another empire- It was never meant to be like that, ever- Well, then what was it meant to be like, trading one dictatorship for another?!-“

Rising seemed to sway, and almost buckle in self-pity and disgust before a saving grace blessed his presence. His intense lime-green gaze seemed to gash at any doubt or fear that Rising had. His coat was a deep, dark purple, almost black in comparison to the same green of his mane. Around each of his legs was a dark metal cuff, signifying not only his position and rank, but who he was.

Lord Hyperion, the only Alaecorn in existence other than the two sisters of the Sky. He was the leader and sole survivor of the most recent Celestain Regime. He fled Far East, further than Celestia dared look for him, and hid till she gave up searching for him. He built an entire society based on freedom and democracy. And as the world grew from his inventions of electricity and power, so did the ‘notorious’ Empire of Hyperia, an “evil, corrupt, and violent society of treacherous deviants”, or so the propaganda would have you believe. He had been good friends with Rising-Idiom ever since the second revolution of Celestia’s government where Rising had escaped her piercing clutches.

“Rising?! You look like you’re going to be sick?” He laughed, his youthful voice striking out at the strum of the armies synchronised hooves. “Are you okay, friend? It appears your Pseudo-leadership is working wonders” The words were like ecstasy, the charisma and charm of the Prince-Lord smiting all and any conflicts and doubts in Rising-Idioms heart.

Rising-Idiom realised he had held his breath from the moment his mind began to race with morale questions, but those doubts seemed to shred away in Hyperion’s presence. He let out a huge sigh, and walked closer to the Lord.

Hyperion glanced over Rising and gazed over the Marshalling-grounds, his eyes widening at the level of activity and organisation of the troops below the Acropolis of the Military HQ. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to controlling my own army. Too much stress and worry to bear, in my opinion.” Hyperion laughed nervously, and too gave out a sigh, but not from lack of breath.

“You should have been there, my lord!” spoke Rising-Idiom, “All the Democrats that attended had to scramble around for their dropped jaws. Apparently I was marvellous, again… I don’t think I have ever been able to understand why I am so ‘charismatic’ and ‘empowering’. To me it’s just telling it how it is. Sure I’ve always admitted that I have a certain way of speaking that boils the blood of anypony. But I have never had the real capacity to listen to myself talk-“he trailed off as he realised that Lord Hyperion wasn’t paying him an ounce of attention, his gaze still focused out across the flat grassy plains, eyes wide with the stark realisation of how far his empire had actually come.

Rising-Idiom sighed with weariness, this wasn’t the first time the young Lord had been distracted during one of their conversations. He carefully stepped aside, raised both hooves to Hyperion’s ears and clapped them together as hard as he could. The Lord jumped and looked around wildly before his gaze fell upon Rising again. “Oh- Uhh- I’m sorry Rising. I did it again didn’t I? What was it you were talking about then?”

Rising just grinned foalishly. “Oh never mind, Lord, let’s get back to the war room and tell the generals the status of their armies morale!”