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Wizards’ World War (s.2) Dispatch 22: The End of the Beginning

Tweet of the Day: Character Trait Entry: Excitable


Season 1Dispatch (s.2) 1Dispatch 21 Dispatch 23


House of Commons, Palace of Westminster, City of London, U.K. 7 August, 9:56 hrs GMT

The tension between the Prime Ministers shoulder blades melded with the scent of desperation that hung low over the House of Commons. The “crisis”, for nobody dared to call it a war, continued unabated. The recent roll back of dragon attacks on military facilities did not dispel the doomed that wrapped itself around the politicians in the room. Everyone waited fro the proverbial “other shoe” to drop.The PM pondered the warning from his top general, no matter what he did, it would be the end of his government.

Well then, lets end it in style, shall we?

He sidestepped the podium. He had no notes to read from, all of his notes were locked in a safe back in 10 Downing Street. What he wanted was the floor, were his movements would serve to punctuate his words.

Political theater at the service of the nation.

Theatrics with a purpose.

He had gone over the salient points his presentations in that office over and over again. They were not the usual talking points, to be hammered at a debate for “points” in a focus group meter. No, they were hammered into the inside of his skull, signs to guide his mouth. In the end he did not have an actual speech written, only a hierarchy of ideas, a flowchart of thoughts. His mouth would do all the work and the rest of him would follow its lead.

“Today I am going to talk about truths and the Truth,” he said as he paced back and forth on the pit at the bottom of the House of Commons. “The Truth only hurts those who are unwilling or unable to accept it. For those who can it, “he emphasized the pronoun by pointing to the floor, as if to pin the idea in place, “liberates them.” The benches stood quite around him, waiting for the bomb they knew he was about to drop on them.

Here it comes!

“Britain is dead!” he said. The room exploded in nays and grumbles. His voice rose above the crescendo, “It is not the first time that she, like this very House, has been torn apart and rebuilt. Wars, rebellions, revolutions, bombs and fire have all left their mark, yet we have carried on. From Celts to Romans, Bretons and Anglo-Saxons, Picts, Scotti and Vikings, Danelaw, Normans, Welsh, the Act of Union and two World Wars. We have redefined ourselves countless times and the time to do so has come upon us again.”

He glanced upward at the MP of the EDL, whose pale forehead glistened with thick drops of sweat while his lips quivered in barely contained fury.

Take that you fat bastard, you are as responsible for this as anyone else.

“The responsibility for the current state of our island chain could be laid on the feet of many, but the Truth demands that it should fall squarely on one person, me.”  The announcement stunned MPs into silence. That gave the PM the opening he needed, “Through inaction this government, my government, failed to act quickly and efficiently to solve the crisis and as a result we find ourselves in the deplorable position we are in. Although the tide has turned, the facts of this abysmal failure remain. That will be of no comfort to those who have lost love ones in this war,” the word snapped the audience into noisy attention, “Yes, this war, for that is what it is,” again he pinned the thought in time and space with the same finger, “for which I am responsible.”

He took a deep breath. He was loosing his train of thought, somehow he had to bring it back to the points in his head, “I am also responsible for the lives lost both among the civilian population in Wales and our armed forces. I will not hide behind bland euphemisms such as ‘collateral damage’. That will be like pissing on the graves of the dead.” More shouts and grumbles, after all, in this hollowed space, no one, not even the Prime Minister was suppose to speak that way. But the Truth would not be denied. “There is a difference between us and our enemy, this so called Prince of Wales. For while we understand that the use of force will inevitably cause the loss of innocent lives, we do not deliberately target said innocents for destruction.” A chorus of yeahs from both sides crashed into him, “We do not seek to burn entire cities to the ground nor do we rained death on the helpless as a means to victory. Those tactics belong to another age, not this one.”

He stopped int the middle of the floor, “What then is the solution to this conflict? How can we mend what has been broken? Well, there is hope for a resolution. You have seen the deeds of one young woman on the banks of the Thames as our city burned. I can now reveal several things about her. First, she is Welsh. Second, she is, for a lack of a better word, a witch. Third, she has joined forces with us to stop, in her own words, ‘this madness’ and fourth, she wields  Excalibur.”


“That’s absurd!”



The PM seized upon the last word that reached his ears, “Unbelievable Mr. Whitman? Really? Dragons scorch the land, men in silver plate fire upon our troops with musket loaded with mercury shot, men shoot lightning from their arms and you choose to find this,” he bent his fingers in the form of quotation marks, ” ‘unbelievable?’ Did you not see with your own eyes how this modern Joan of Arc took down a dragon singlehandedly? Yes, she is real. As real as everything we have witness. And she stands with those whose hour of need has come.” He put a hand on the podium, “But that will not be enough. Victory on the battlefield will not secure a lasting peace. Recent events have exposed the festering wounds that bind us, wounds that we have ignored for too long. To that end I invite the peoples of these isles to form a new form of Union, not one imposed from here, but one for the good of all, a true Commonwealth of British Nations, a real alternative to the blood soaked history yesteryear.”

The MPs murmured among each other, with members of the Conservative party more frantic than their contemporaries among the Liberals and Labour.

Now for the grand finale.

“But in order to cement this peace, we must close the book on this chapter of our history and must do so openly, thoroughly and completely. Since this crisis came upon us while I was your Prime Minister, I ask that may see it to its end. And when that end comes, I will tender my immediate resignation to Her Majesty and submit myself to any and all inquiries, be they civilian or criminal, on the conduct of this war. I will accept any legal sanction without debate.” The House exploded again into more shouting. The glee from the Labour backbenchers was palpable in equal measure to the terror in the Conservative bench. Only the those Labour MPs closest to the floor held their tongues, for they sensed a trap of some sort.

No trap, my friends. Only a lot of work ahead. Killing a man is easy, healing a nation is hard. If I must be the villain of the story, so be it.

“That is the path that lays before us. To accept the Truth of our condition or to cower from it. I for one will not hide it any longer and neither should you,” said the PM with a voiced that echoed the greatest men and women to have ever taken to the same floor. He sat back down, free from his burdens for he had said his piece and made his peace.


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