Arche wrinkled his nose at that with a look of vague distaste.
"Ugh, no, I should have. But I was standing in the middle of twelve Dark Lords with the thirteenth dead at my feet, and the senior Councilor looks over at me and gives me the fancy title and tells me to get in the seat. At that point, you're stuck. If I'd said no I imagine they would've slaughtered me for the sheer cheek then and there."
He spread his hands in a careless shrug.
"Not that it doesn't also come with all the usual sort of... fabulous wealth and privilege and that sort of nonsense, I suppose I don't mind owning a house and five sets of battle armor, but the records-keeping is horrendous. My branch is the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge and do you even know how many reports and reams of data a few hundred archaeologists can make in one week?..." He shook his head with an exasperated sigh.
"...But I've muddled along with it. It's a vote on the Council, and occasionally I get the other twelve idiots set on some slightly less stupid course that will get fewer sentients killed. As you said. I do what I can."
For a moment, he stared off contemplatively again at that, pursing his lips a little. Hopefully, if he dared to hope for it at all, things weren't going completely to shit without him. He'd been kidnapped away here just on the heels of cementing the most unprecedented alliance in Imperial history, ekeing a moment of peace and togetherness out of a time of war -- but the work wasn't completely finished, and the whole thing was still fantastically tentative.
Still, as he'd said to Eleven just earlier -- he certainly hadn't done it all on his own. Now that he was stranded here, he'd simply have to trust in the allies and followers he'd left behind. A tall order in some cases, given the backstabbing nature of Imperial politics; but they'd managed to band together in the face of a greater threat once. All he could do now was have faith that high command was shrewd enough to recognize when it needed to happen again.
no subject
"Ugh, no, I should have. But I was standing in the middle of twelve Dark Lords with the thirteenth dead at my feet, and the senior Councilor looks over at me and gives me the fancy title and tells me to get in the seat. At that point, you're stuck. If I'd said no I imagine they would've slaughtered me for the sheer cheek then and there."
He spread his hands in a careless shrug.
"Not that it doesn't also come with all the usual sort of... fabulous wealth and privilege and that sort of nonsense, I suppose I don't mind owning a house and five sets of battle armor, but the records-keeping is horrendous. My branch is the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge and do you even know how many reports and reams of data a few hundred archaeologists can make in one week?..." He shook his head with an exasperated sigh.
"...But I've muddled along with it. It's a vote on the Council, and occasionally I get the other twelve idiots set on some slightly less stupid course that will get fewer sentients killed. As you said. I do what I can."
For a moment, he stared off contemplatively again at that, pursing his lips a little. Hopefully, if he dared to hope for it at all, things weren't going completely to shit without him. He'd been kidnapped away here just on the heels of cementing the most unprecedented alliance in Imperial history, ekeing a moment of peace and togetherness out of a time of war -- but the work wasn't completely finished, and the whole thing was still fantastically tentative.
Still, as he'd said to Eleven just earlier -- he certainly hadn't done it all on his own. Now that he was stranded here, he'd simply have to trust in the allies and followers he'd left behind. A tall order in some cases, given the backstabbing nature of Imperial politics; but they'd managed to band together in the face of a greater threat once. All he could do now was have faith that high command was shrewd enough to recognize when it needed to happen again.