"On the merits of firearms, or why we need personal Musketeers, by Baltika9"
—
"It was a fine game you played, Sir Camna. A very fine game, indeed." He said to you, loud enough for you to hear, but not enough for anyone else.
Jannik Inge's voice was stern and strong, as befitting an Emperor, even if a false one. And that was not his only virtue. He was strong, fast and cunning. Not a very good breath, though.
"Posing as a criminal with rebel sympathies...worming your way into our trust. Alas..."
Smug and proud, too. No wonder he rallied so many men to his cause. He was an inspiring figure. Had you yourself not known better, perhaps you too would be under his banner...
"Even the most elaborate lies cannot escape the Emperor's judgement." Such thoughts, however, were useless now. Damn this cold weather. Standing in nothing but a pair of linen pants and a flax shirt on your back next to the guillotine did nothing to keep it, or your worries, at bay. You fidget, uncomfortable. The dungeons did little to help your composure.
Inge turns to address the crowd behind him.
It all lead up to this. One year...one whole year you spent in Skane.
"For your crimes of Murder, Subversion and Heresy..." a whole year of this frozen backwater. Killing, lying, manipulating,
"...For the murder of countless innocents and loyal faithful of the True Emperor, for the malicious infiltration and corruption of this land, in the service of a False Throne..." cajoling, bribing and extorting,
"...and, most heinously, corrupting the IMPERIAL TRUTH!!!" Inge's voice rose to a furious roar. Truly, what a magnificent man, you thought as you stood on the execution square outside his palace on this freezing morning, with the whole region coming to witness your death.
"I sentence you, Diogenes of House Camna, servant of the False Throne..." even his foreign supporters from Free Scania came to bear witness to his triumph. You can't believe you actually wrote a whole tome extolling their independence. Bloody parasites.
"TO DEATH!!!" the croud roared in excitement and approval. And now, here you stood, your head about to get chopped off for a false revolution, in the name of a false emperor, and no matter his talents, he still is a complete, foolish puppet.
A million voices would yell in triumph once your head fell of your shoulders and the life left your body. Your corpse would become Inge's proclamation to the entire world. You can't resist the urge to grin.
Just.
As.
Planned.
"Any last words, servant of the False Throne?" Inge's voice was challenging, mocking. You see, out of the corner of your eyes, a brief flash of light in the distance. And then more. Ten in total.
"Why yes my dear, dressed up puppet. As a matter of fact, I do. You lost." You look him straight into his eyes, a smug grin plastered all over your face.
"Come now, Camna, even a delusional fool like you cannot be this stupid, or did my dungeons finally break you? Your conspirators are captured, your secrets exposed. The whole of Skane knows your deception. What could possibly give you hope right now?"
He laugs, loudly. A mighty, boisterous laugh. You will enjoy ripping his throat out. After a moment, he faces you with a sickeningly amused smile.
"What can possibly save you?"
"There is one maneuver!" your voice is now raised, heard far and wide across the crowd, hushing them. Bless your powers. Unbelievably, his smile got even more disgustingly amused.
"And what wha-" the words die in his mouth, as two of the guards next to him fall dead. He really should have worked on the security.
"Multiple!" from the roofs this time, two more corpses.
"Simultaneous!" another shot, again from the crowd. They begin panicking, the guards unable to reach your men through the press of bodies.
"And devastating deep strikes!" the four guards that ran up the stairs fell dead from the bullets that hit them, oddly in sync with your words. The last guard frees your arms and hands you a knife. You give Inge a wicked grin.
"W- w- what is this?" shock and disbelief are on his face.
"STEEHL REHN!!!" the last bullet, through his skull.
Masterful.
—
P.S.: to the esteemed gentelmen that are currently reading this. It is my sincere hope that the above entry, even being but a mere shadow of the most esteemed treave's genious, is enough to convince you of the merits of arming our own squad of professional sharpshooters.
Note, however, that this is a fan work exclusively and in no way, shape or form is canon. Unless it becomes canon.
And now I bid you good night.
Best regards,
Baltika the Ninth.