A Tower, A Throne, A Role (Age of Decadence - Eventual Multicross SI)

Simpli · Jan 26, 2017

A Tower, A Throne, A Role

Picture does not belong to me - but together with the urge to feed some people from various RPs to tigers, its one of the reasons I wrote this~

The humming was getting louder, the shaking seemed to vibrate through my whole body as a strong prickling feeling tingled over my skin and dusty old air reached my nose and was greedily sucked into my lungs. With a start my eyes flew open and I found myself staring at a heavy plate only inches away from my nose, nearly total darkness claiming my surroundings. I tried to shift but my whole body felt sore and my hands didn't want to move, fingertips trailing powerlessly across the stone on which I rested. How did I get into a stone box? Was someone having some weird kind of prank on my costs after the sarcophagus seminar last semester? Whatever other thought went through my head was stopped as another jolt went through my body, making a dry rasp escape my throat as a deep piercing pain lanced through my forehead as if someone had driven a nail right through it. The humming outside of my little stone box seemed to get louder and I could feel the hair standing up on the back of my neck as the stone surface before me suddenly lit up like a firework.

Shining blue lines started to reach out from the side, broader strips illuminating the walls in evenly paced columns and smaller more filigreed arches connected them. The darkness was banished in favour of the pale blue light as the activities outside my prison seemed to peak once more, faint voices audible – or what I presumed to be voices. The lines started to form geometric shapes before my eyes and it…. hurt to look at them a dull pressure growing behind my eyes as I felt both: compelled to look away and unable to do so. Lines turned into shapes, shapes into figures, figures into something…more as the blue light ebbed up and away, pulsing before my eyes as it seemed to scatter into…a map? First a circle, then another - then a circle of circles and then the whole thing changed again as it shifted into a circle of orbs that turned into an orb made up by orbs that were intersecting with one another. Only two of the orbs were elevated from their mere depiction: one that was burning in a bright blue and was perfectly lain in the centre of the whole construct and another one that was on the topmost spot above it: pulsing in a pale blue that couldn't compare to the centre.

But as soon as the forms had appeared, they disappeared once more – the lights extinguished as I stared at them, feeling…something shifting inside of me as I took a breath, the motion less laborious than the small eternity ago when I had awoken. Even as after images of the bright blue lights danced over my iris, I could hear the noises from the outside dying down: the hum of the machinery falling nearly silent and turning into a tiny tired noise, while the voices grew ever louder…. only to end in shriek yells of surprise and then pain as the sound of many boots rushing into the room became audible to me. Wherever we were: it was inside and it had just gotten far more lively than only a moment ago and the voices were getting louder and more heated as two of them seemed to take charge in a fast paced exchange in a familiar language that made me unable to follow it through the stone of my box. That didn't mean I was ready for what came next as the first voice that sounded older suddenly cut off as a scream tore through the room outside and soon it was getting loud enough to reach through the stone of my sarcophagus – only that instead of the oppressive humming of the machines, the sounds of cries, hurried steps and... metal clashing on metal could be heard? Was this a burglary gone wrong and there was a brawl outside with crowbars or something else that could be right out of a movie?

I found myself breathing quicker as fear settled over me my whole body started to feel cold: where they going to hit each other and then forget me inside of here? Or would I get out, only to be taken away by the police to be asked about the burglary I couldn't say more about than that it happened? Maybe I would have preferred to curl up right now, but the space given to me was barely enough to roll on my side if I wanted to and even then I might have scrapped my shoulder or something along the lines. The sounds of fighting coming from the outside, didn't seem to stop – instead they only grew louder if anything and more people seemed to rush into the room as the clanking of metal and the cries of man and woman echoed through the chamber – their muffled remnants even piercing through the stone that surrounded me. I didn't know how long I stayed like this: biting my lips till I drew blood and clenching my hands as I tried to ignore the sounds coming from the outside and the urge to scream too. Whatever was happening out there couldn't be worse than being forgotten in the once more nearly complete darkness of the stone, or?

Whatever being was listening in one me seemed to have a terrible sense of humour as this was the moment in which the covering plate really began to move, but instead of someone having to lift it, it was pushed upwards by rods that were previously hidden in the walls of the sarcophagus and thus the whole roof-like panel simply shifted upwards and slide up and out of my view. Instead I found myself suddenly staring into roughly a dozen surprised faces, whatever fighting that had taken place stopping at the smooth movements of my container. Whatever hopes I had that this was merely a prank on my costs gone wrong went right out of the window as I looked at the grim surroundings and the dozen men that might not be part of a re-enactment group – going by the blood that was still on their swords and armour.

The two groups that were now standing before me – just as surprised to see me as I was surprised to see them- could easily be told apart: one was holding the small bridge that lead to me (finding out my whole sarcophagus was dispended over a very large open abyss filled to the brim with pipes, counters and more blue glowing machinery, didn't really inspire calmness in me) and seemed to be quite the motley crew. An older man with a beard that had clearly seen better days, but was still quite dark, reached onto his chest and the wide dirty grey pants and shirt he was wearing was dark with blood. His wound was also the reason a young woman was steadying his side, her face bearing quite the similarity to him with a hawkish nose and high cheekbones that were touched by equally dark hair – that her eyes were also wide and her lips seemingly moving in silent murmur didn't put me at ease at all. Before them three men in leather armour were holding the bridge, one of them already limping thanks to an arrow protruding from the stained leather on his calves and crouching behind a tall tower shield, while another was hefting a large axe and the last one had stopped in the movement of reloading his crossbow as I took a tentative step forward and out of the sarcophagus.

That seemed to be enough to break the spell and before I could do anything else then try to remain standing on my feet, one of the six heavy armoured man opposite of us flicked his wrist and a dagger of some kind flew through the air in a straight line, missing me just barely and nicking my cheek as I let out a cry of surprised pain as the cool metal dug in a thin line through my skin. Reaching up I pressed my fingertips against the bleeding wound and was rewarded with the red liquid sticking to my skin…far too pale skin. Something was terribly off, but whatever it was had to put back for now as a laughter rippled through the man opposing us, the one who had thrown the knife was already hefting a short sword instead and his comrades were linking up into a small wall of towering shields that were brought to bear against the three lighter defenders that had no place to retreat on the bridge they were holding. Shock, fear, pain: it gave way to a clarity that made me look at the man trying to kill us – and nothing else could they be doing if one looked at the unmoving figures sprawled out like broken dolls behind them. Their heavy boots resounded through the still chamber with only the moaning of a few unfortunate broken wounded behind them disturbing the silence as their blood spilled out onto the smooth dust covered floor of the installation. Their eyes were hidden under the ridges of their heavy helmets that had a faint Roman look to them and their short swords stuck out in the small spaces between their high rectangular shields, making the three lightly armed defenders back away nervously once more. They wouldn't stand a chance and as soon as they were finished with them and were would be next, only one more stop and…the head of the rightmost enemy soldier came off and tumbled to the side, his eyes looking up with frozen surprise over a death that no-one had expected. Standing behind the enemy lines with two arms that ended in blades, that were now dripping with freshly spilled blood now, was a construct.

Walking on four insect-like metal legs was the upper part of a stylized human armour – with muscles and even a naval on its torso- and a high crested helmet with two dark and foreboding holes for eyes – non-could be seen. It moved with the rigidness of a machine: quickly but stalking with a speed that was surprising and the line that was just about to finish us of could hardly start to backpedal and turn their shields towards the machine (at least I hoped it wasn't a living being – its movements seemed just too…rigid). But they were not fast enough and with one of them tumbling out of the line the Construct was already engaging the next, trying to part the line as it whirled its blades around like a mincer instead of a fender and the bronze coloured metal that seemed to have kept free of rust and had held onto its sharpness even with the thick layer of dust on it, easily dug into the wood of the shields, leaving huge marks all over them. Another of the enemies went down as the construct barrelled forward, using its metal body to push him off balance, the slashes of his comrades brushing off the metal armour the construct was wearing, and swiftly followed with a brutal cut that caught his sword hand just below the elbow and severed it cleanly, his tortured cry echoing through the chamber for a moment – till it turned into a gurgle as the machine thrust its blade into his exposed throat and blood silenced all cries. In a matter of moments two out of six had died but whoever they were: they were trying to pull back towards the single entrance of the room, even as cries of "Daemon!" slipped from their lips and their thrusts seemed to dig into the body of the construct, without slowing it down as its onslaught continued headless of its own vulnerability. Another hit of it send the top of a man's head flying as it cut right through the helmet from an angle and he fell over with things that should have rather stayed on the inside, spilling out of his cut open skull. As another of their comrades sank lifelessly to the ground like a sack of potatoes – arguably one that was also clad in armour and make quite the racket when doing so- the last remaining three seemed to see the virtue in fleeing and started to run towards the exit – only to find the door closed. The pommels of the sword hammered against the door, failing to accomplish anything or even tarnish the golden eagle emblazoned on it – even if seeing them do this did make me feel…aggravated? Here I was standing deus knows where, with people murdering other people in Roman re-enactment and I was feeling insulted because they were hammering against the eagle that decorated the door? I didn't think I had lost that much blood from the cut on my cheek and the pain was already gone – so it couldn't have been that bad?

One could say what you want about the people trying to kill me – but even faced with no escape they didn't break down into sobs and tears. Instead one of them bend down and grasped a heavy hammer from a corpse on the floor and was flanked by his two remaining comrades as they presented the damaged remains of their wooden shields to the constructs and surged forward with a desperate battle cry. I could only hope that the three leather wearing fighters between me and that ancient-mechanical version of a chryssalid would stand their ground just as well…even if they might offer far less resistance than the medium armed and armoured soldiers that were just able to force the bladed arms to the side with the whole weight of their shields and bodies. The ringing sound of an iron hammerhead hitting the bronze coloured helmet of the construct head on, resounded through the room and for a moment everything seemed to stop once more as the arms of the construct started to buckle under the pressure of the shields pressing against them and its head looked down like a partly dented pot.

That was the moment it used to pull back with its surprising speed and the two shielders nearly fell flat on their faces as the unmoving object they had been pushing against suddenly disappeared and they lost their balance. One of them never had the chance to regain his balance as the back of an arm hit his head from the side, sending him crashing to the ground and with precision the construct sank its sharpened legs into the back of his armour, cutting deep into the soft flesh and bringing up both blade arms to parade the attacks of his comrades as he cried out and died impaled on its feet. The man wielding the hammer was next as he found himself backpedalling frantically from the whirling blades of death that were thrust towards him once more and was to slow and thankfully ended up face first on the floor – sparing me and the others more of the gruesome spectacle. Intent on catching the last of the soldiers, the constructs arms swept backwards and a pained cry could be heard as he gained a long cut on his back, the armour taking the brunt, but not all of the damage as she stumbled forward and threw down his shield, starting to run: right towards us:

"Parley! Parley!"

He cried out with his eyes wide and mouth wide in fear as whatever discipline had held the soldiers together against the otherworldly foe had been lost together with the lives of his comrades and thus he turned to us: his original foes to surrender. The crossbow wielding man a few steps before me brought his loaded crossbow up to his shoulder and pointed the bolt at the rapidly approaching man, a grim smile on his lips as he went to pull the trigger. Not that this might even change, the construct was already behind the fleeing soldiers, bringing up its bladed arm to finish off the last of this group…

"Stop!"

The voice cut through the still air of the tomb like a blade and the crossbowmen awkwardly fumbled with his weapon as he had let go of the trigger so quickly, that it nearly fell out of his hand and into the pit below. Once more silence reigned over the chamber as all eyes were drawn to me and only then I finally noticed that this had been my voice – or at least I had spoken, but this wasn't my voice. Not only that, but when had I gained the experience or confidence to cry out an order -and it was nothing else- with the certainty of authority behind it? Whatever was going on seemed to get worse before getting better, even if at least one person was thankful for the sudden pivot in fate: the last remaining enemy soldier was on his knees and sobbing openly, murmuring small words of thanks as the constructs blade hovered only inches over his head and prior experience had shown, that it might most likely have cut right through it. With a small gulp, I looked up and into the two dark slots that were the eyes of the construct, its dented head staring back at me silently over the heads of the three more and more nervous man that blocked the bridge. Finally, its arm came up again and both of its bladed appendages crossed before its chest, starting to slowly hit against another in a small rhythmic beat…. before stopping as suddenly as it had begun, a held breath escaping my lips as it took a step back and opened the way off the bridge for us again.

"My….my grandfather needs a healer. Uncle Jurgen was…he…he is outside with the rest of the family. Your highness, can we…."

I had nearly forgotten the two unarmed persons in the room, the elderly man was breathing shallowly with his clothing dark from blood and the young woman that couldn't be a year younger than me, was clutching him helplessly as she looked up to me, her words seemingly having given away to an awed, or maybe shocked expression once again. Awkwardly I gave her a nod, wondering why she what she was calling me – and even more surprised as I saw the same mix of shock and awe on the face of the three warriors that had now taken the chance to look at me, one of them even sinking to his knees and murmuring something. Just what was going on? I gave the granddaughter (I had to call her something) a small nod, feeling too faint to listen to the voice that would come from my lips and wasn't my voice, and started to slowly move forward. Some kind of soft short leather shoes were wrapped around my feet and the garments that were swaying around my ankles and making the whole "moving over the small bridge across a deep machinery filled pit" even more awkward. The kneeling man was quickly pulled up by his comrades and they moved to the side as I shuffled past them, trying to make sense of whatever was going on here and hoping that running around in bright red clothes with golden embroidery wouldn't make anyone else take a shot at me.

Warily I crossed the bridge and even more carefully I did approach the Construct that was waiting next to it – it did obey me, didn't it? Carefully taking one step after another, hearing the softer steps and the small groans of the old man as they followed me, I stopped and turned as I stood before the machine, looking up into its metal face as I searched for something in those empty black eyes. Standing just before it I could hear the sound of blood dripping into the small puddle that had formed below its feet, mixing with other bits and fluids that were making me step carefully as I reached up and ran a hand over its armoured breast. Sharp intakes of breath could be heard from behind me and even I wondered when touching the mechanical killing machine had become a good idea – but no sudden pain laced through me breast, my head stayed firm on my shoulders and the gleaming blade arms stayed in their cross position as I took a step back. Standing that close to the killing machine when you only reached its shoulders was unsettling and it didn't make the next part easier as I tried to stay as confident as possible, looking into its "eyes" as I ordered it firmly:

"Open the door and escort us outside."

A small cracking sound could be heard and with the sound of heavy metal grinding against more metal the construct started to move and I forced myself to look at it with open eyes should this be my last moments. But now swords came down to make mincemeat out of me and no legs pierced through my clothes. Instead the machine -of this I was now completely sure with the sounds that came from inside of it with each step- scuttled on the spot for a moment, before turning and marching towards the door, its bladed arms pushing into the gap between the two halves of what was the most archaic looking automatic door I had ever seen. Metal between Metal, mechanic forces against mechanic force – the sounds were loud enough to once more make me wince as I feared the construct would break before the door…but instead we were rewarded with a loud click as something in the door broke and the construct pushed it open with its arms, starting to move through it and into a long corridor that was half filled with sand. Looking behind me I could see the small group of survivors following slowly, whispering between themselves as they looked at me with some sort of raw awe and hope that was making me completely uncomfortable. Looking around I bend down to pick up a nearby short sword, the hilt free of any blood and the owner was looking up to the ceiling with eyes that truly did show that he wouldn't care. I would have retched if my belly wouldn't have been utterly empty and after picking up a small round shield from one of the people that must have accompanied the survivors behind me, I started to follow the machine once again. The leather strap of the shield was pressing uncomfortably against my forearm as I moved forward, glancing at the half broken in ceiling warily: the grey cement that had been used to create it in one piece full of cracks through which even more sand was slowly but steadily dripping down onto the floor, covering the faded remnants of vibrant and majestic paintings that must have once covered every inch of surface around us.

We were moving slowly, not only because I hadn't even noticed that the room I had awoken in was illuminated by artificial light and these corridors were only partly, but also because the granddaughter and the fighter with the axe were carrying the old man on a stretcher that had been put together with two spears and a tunic they had taken from another man who wouldn't need it. As the lights grew even dimmer I started to follow the construct more through sound than anything else, the hilt of the sword getting moist with sweat as I glanced around, taking remnants of blue colour and inlaid gold that was reminding me of the time I visited the Pergamon museum in Berlin and saw the Ishtar gate with its blue bricks: it did have a Mesopotamian style. I could barely let out a sound of surprise as we came to an intersection and suddenly instead of the faded blue paintings, another dark torso armour with idealised muscles was thrust into my view – making me look up at another construct. The first one was still moving towards the exit, but this one? It sounded more battered, half of its legs covered in the ever growing piles of sand that had already filled the corridor behind it and its head seemed to have been half caved in by a part of the ceiling that had broken down above it and was responsible for the sand pooling around it. Did I know what was awaiting us outside? I was beginning to have my doubts, my guesses…and I hoped that I was going to be wrong, but could I really mistake this construct for anything else? Glancing towards it I whispered my instructions for it to follow and was soon rewarded with the sound of moving machinery, the four-legged guardian pushing itself out of the sand that might have swallowed it totally in a few years. A few fearful whispers from behind me soon stopped as the machine started to move after the first, brushing past me harmlessly and heading towards the exit.

"They obey their masters and creators; the Guardian Spirits stand to the Empire's last Scion…"

Half turning my head in the darkness, I could see the face of the man who had been kneeling when I stepped out of the sarcophagus, his face colouring as he fell silent and lowered his eyes once more. This was going from strange, to weird, to outright maddening rather quickly and if I wouldn't have felt the pain of the knife cutting my cheek only moments after seeing all this, I might have preferred to think of this as a dream – but I didn't really dream in such a way, did I? The doubts weren't helping me and clutching the sword tighter I simply did what I could: taking one step after another to get to the outside, find someone to take care of the wounded old man and maybe wake up to find all of this being only a dream and nothing more.

Soon we reached the end of the corridor: a large rectangular room decorated with female statues holding up bowels of some kind, while the middle of it was occupied by a large round platform of sorts – an elevator if my suspicions were right. The two constructs had already taken position on them, each of them flanking one side and their heads turned to face the direction from which we came. Easily stepping onto it, I also got a chance to look at the state of the survivors: all six of them seemed to be more or less well, even if our single prisoner seemed to be a moment away from trying to run or starting to scream as his eyes went from one silent construct to the other and then back to me – the fear strong and once more making me shiver as I grasped that we was more afraid of me than of the construct that had butchered his comrades: why? Because it obeyed me? I was already reaching for the single console at the back of the elevator, pressing the signs that read: Up. Only afterwards noticing that the signs did only barely resemble Latin ones at all. But then we were already on our way up and in less than a minute of awkwardly standing next to one another we could feel and see the platform slowly rise up, the shaft above us leading to another level of the complex or rather to what might have once been part of the complex, but had later been overbuild by a temple of sorts. Coming to a stop in the cella at the very back of the broken temple, we were finally on the surface.

The roof was broken, sunlight falling down mercilessly onto us and I had to bite back another reaction as I got a first glance at my exposed arms. They weren't simply pale – they were nearly completely white in a way that didn't look healthy at all and if I held them into the shadow I could see faint blue shapes on my skin – when did I fall into bleacher and get tattoos afterwards? The thought nearly provoked a laugh from me, but I forced my immediate collapse down once more as I looked around the temple – ruin might be more fitting. The walls were still standing, but whatever decorations, altar or statue had once turned this empty room into a place of worship had long since been lost or crunched under my shoes as I moved towards the single exit. The constructs seemed to wait on both sides of the gate, whatever door once closed it, most likely already having found its final use to lit a campfire of one wandering trader or another. Thus, I heard the people before I saw them: worried whispers, hushed words and open weeping greeting me together with the smell of burning fires and animals. When I stepped out of the temple they saw me – how could they not with its elevated position above their camp? Their tents in disrepair and even more unmoving shapes spread out between them: some wearing the mismatched leather equipment that I connected with the group trailing behind me and a far smaller group of death wearing the heavier equipment that had been favoured by its foes and bearing the ring of the snake that was biting itself as banner. Crassus…but…that was only a game.

The silence that had once more appeared as I stepped out of the temple was soon replaced by cries of fear and dismay as the two constructs moved past me, stopping on the stairs and then surprising everyone present. Instead of slaughtering their way through the roughly three dozen humans gathered before them, they moved onto the stairs of the temple, their sharp feet clanking against the hot stone as they found their footing and then reached out with their sword arms: forming an arch for me to step through. This turn of events was enough to silence the people in the camp once more even if many of them seemed just a step away from bolting. What truly changed the situation was the group that stepped out of the temple next, the woman letting out a cry of joy as she spotted an older man in the crowd. His face bore the same features as her own and those of the wounded elder and the stretcher soon passed me as the fighters made their way into the camp to, dragging along the prisoner and whispering me thanks. But what truly unsettled me was the look in the elder's eyes as he glanced up to me from his stretcher, there were so many emotions…pride, hope, exaltation and all of it projected at me or at something that had to do with me. Even as they joined their families in the camp and quickly carried the Elder into a tent I couldn't help but stare at the horizon: the dried land around us, the sickly brown sky and the harsh dry wind that was blowing over us. We were standing in a wasteland and the only thing of note as far as the eyes could see was the temple: so why had they come here? Were they searching for treasures – or had they been hired? My questions would find their answer far sooner than I would have liked, the granddaughter soon returning from the tenth her grandfather had been brought into, her face set in determination as she moved through the crowd till she was standing before me – and promptly knelt. Lowering her chin onto her breast she put her right arm over her chest and onto her hearth, calling out loudly for everyone to hear:

"My Grandfather, Miliatus, Grandmaster of the Resurrectionist Order that can trace its roots back to the military officers and Magi that first put you to your sleep – is alive only because of your efforts your majesty. If you wouldn't have commanded the Guardians of your resting place to defend us, the bravest and wisest of our number would lie death at the feet of the Zealot-Lord Crassus."

The words were not only intended to me, they were just as much directed at the people of the camp who didn't know what happened in the depths of the complex behind us. But while I was still struggling to understand just what she was saying – or rather trying my best not to believe it- they were already falling to their knees too, pressing their clenched fist over their hearth as they averted their eyes and soft murmurs filled the campsite as all of them listened to the voice of the Order:

"The attack of the false gods and their savages had driven the Magi to rush the ritual with which they protected your life and when the time came to awaken you from your slumber once more, there were no magi left to work the rituals and our ancestors were only servants that could see that the ritual done originally was flawed and that awakening you in such a state would kill the last Flower of the garden that was once the Empire. For seven generations, we have searched, for seven generations we have remained in hiding and kept your resting place a secret from every warring noble house and the Remnants that style themselves as the Imperial Guard. Only now we could fulfil our holy duty to the Empire and the Imperial Family. My Grandfather offered his life to buy mercy for the rest of us – but should you see the time it took us as failure, all of us are going to gladly give our lives to atone for our mistakes."

Were 384 years seven generations? Why could I only look back at the crowd with dark unreadable eyes when I would love nothing more than to shout at the world, cry for what I have seen and what I was likely to see – why didn't my control slip? Because I want to survive, I don't want to die in the wasteland, I don't want to die a slave to men or gods. Would ignoring what had happened to me help me? It would not – they are thinking I'm something I am not, but they couldn't possible check to make me prove if I really was who they thought I was. But how did I end up in a four hundred year old popsicle that had been put on ice long before the fall of the Empire? The only answer was the Sarcophagus, a device intended to pull in Eldritch Abominations and bind them to a human body to be used as the ultimate trump card of the Empire. Does this mean I count as one? Taking a small breath I pushed these thoughts back and put my whole attention back on the crowd, controlling myself to not react as the voice of a stranger spoke my words:

"I accept your allegiance; your Ancestors had sworn themselves to the Empire just as you did when you continued their work. They would be proud to know that not even the fall of the very Empire would stop you from performing your duty. You are not Magi, you are not Lord and you are not the Legion – but you still succeeded in an impossible situation. Kneel as you do and reaffirm the old bounds through your thoughts and actions: become part of my House as we resurrect the Empire as it had once been! Stay the Resurrectionists you are!"

Silence reigned after my words, somewhere at the end my sword arm had found its away into the air and I was stuck in the pose, unable to move till I got a reaction for the fear of looking foolish and holding my breath as I waited for something to happen. I was rewarded by the sound of a sword coming out of a sheet and then another and soon the three fighters that had been down in the complex with me were lifting their weapons over their head as they stood up and called out loudly:

"Long Live Empress Triumphant, Last Scion of the Old Empire, Rightful Ruler of the New Empire!"

Soon the cry was copied by those around them, more and more weapons finding their way into the air as the cries became a choir that went from chanting the whole slogan to chanting just my name: Empress Triumphant. Empress of half a hundred conspirators that had failed in a spectacular manner in the one task they had been given: something they are never going to know.

"Empress Triumphant."

>-]Arrival: Cosmos I – Age of Decadence[-<

tricholysis · Jan 28, 2017

The only Empress Triumphant I know is Practical Guide to Evil's.

SV readers are used to more frequent line breaks, but this still looks pretty good. Mechanical stuff is all there and I can see edges of neat world stuff.

Simpli · Jan 28, 2017

tricholysis said:
The only Empress Triumphant I know is Practical Guide to Evil's.

Well~ It is no total coincidence that I wrote this story after reading the Guide to do Evil Right. Wanting to have a dark tower and curiosity to see if I can write a multicross that isn't just slapping together technologies and building robot armies = here we go. Now I only need a flying fortress and I can give everyone in Praes and their neighbouring countries a hearth attack when the SI appears.

I try to use line breaks more sparsely, keeping the sections together as long as they are related to one another, but thanks. Neat world stuff comes from Age of Decadence having quite a nice fragmentated fluff to explore on your multiple playthroughs, I'm just adding to it here and there~ But I'm glad you are enjoying it.

Simpli · Jan 28, 2017

Resurrection
Of fainting officers and the importance of field promotions

We couldn't stay. The temple they had used to "bring me back" was known to our attackers, which my new…followers/Subjects/Minions helpfully identified as being part of House Aurelian's private guards, as if the dark purple cloaks and laurel wreaths on their shields hadn't been proof of that as soon as we brought the bodies from below to the surface. Now a small guard was surrounding me as we rode through the deserted wasteland, the man and a few women wearing the hastily chosen armour, that sometimes still had flecks of blood from their last owner on them. The purple cloaks had been turned into blankets and more fitting red had replaced it – even if most of these cloaks were the former blankets and my "escort" presented itself in all shades ranging from red to pink. Even so: they were keeping their pace with the ease of people who had grown up in this circumstances and while their marching was sloppy, the two looming companions on their sides were ever vigilant: their mechanical systems allowing nothing else. At first the people were quite understandably spooked by the mechanical constructs following me on either side and even the horse they had scrounged up somewhere had seemed ready to throw me off as soon as they came closer. But after the first two or three days of wandering through the desert towards what they called the "Tertiary-Imperial—Emergency-Command Centre" (we are not going to call it TIE-CC) with the same hint of reverence in their voices that others might use when talking about the great temples of our world, they were slowly getting used to my guardian's presence. Most likely the tales the survivors had spun about them coming down on the enemy warriors at my command and rescuing them from certain death had made for a lovely story at the campfire and while many were still rightfully uneasy around the ancient killing machines, they were at least marching close to them with their shields up and the hastily drawn golden eagles over them shining in the merciless light of the sun. What an odd group we were and what for an odd figure my still deathly pale form did make on the docile mare that had been given to me. I guess I should have named her after some famous person, or something along the lines of an endearing roach, but I guess the issue wasn't really going to appear: horses were just eating too much and needing too much water to thrive in this bleak land outside of careful care that swallowed too many resources for anyone but a few nobles to indulge in. Calling your horse, horse worked perfectly well when you could be sure that the number of these animals in the homelands of the former Empire would be below a thousand or even less. That the made was an peaceful and rather tame beast too, only made things easier for me as we travelled, thus my first few near-falls from the horse were quickly seen as small feigning spells that can from my long sleep. It was at least a better explanation for explaining why I was just as bad as a beginner than me telling them that I was only a pretender and fraud: it would have broken them and afterwards they would most likely also have broken me, just for good measures. I didn't really want to end up back in the coffin...

...the coffin that belonged to the princess and had kept her body in quite a good condition for nearly four hundred years: I wouldn't be able to run a marathon or join the legion with their minimum requirements for strength, but at least every sense seemed to work perfectly fine and most of the dizziness I had felt in and after the temple had passed after the first two nights of real sleep. At least I had an inkling about what had been done with the princess body before putting her into the stasis-tube the resurrectionists called coffin. It took me some hours to notice, but when I had washed my face clean of all the grim that had latched to us in the underground I did expect to see a long cut on my cheek, or at least some dried blood: instead my cloth rubbed the blood that was still sticking to my pale skin away to expose: nothing. No cut, not even a tiny red line or something else marred the skin on my cheek and the memories of the small moment of dull pain, were the only trace the reminded me that it had ever happened. Maybe the others hadn't noticed, maybe they knew about it – but it did leave me with a rather conflicted feeling of both relieve, that I might just have a little edge in a world like this, and apprehension, as some kind of dangerous magitech was more or less swimming in my blood and had supplanted my immune system. Having regenerative abilities was useful, knowing that it was the product of magical technology that made a hobby out of breaking the rules of this universe, while drawing from another, was less so.

Our group was following a deep trench that had seemingly been cut into the sandy and rocky terrain of our surroundings, just seldom a bush would catch my attention: more brown and withered than green and blooming – the vegetation made a pitiful first impression on me and I surely wouldn't have to even fake the worried and dismayed expression that the people around me expected from their "Empress" as she took in the changes of the last four centuries. It was only more jarring because the dried out and half buried channel next to me still had all the hail marks of a busy route: from the stone walls on its side that had once stopped it from changing directions to the half-buried remains of ships that must have tried to pass through at the very end of the war. Now the wind and sand were playing around their broken masts and empty rubs as they lay in silent witness to the steadfastness and foolishness of the Empire. The view was haunting, even more so as we followed the curve of the former river and spotted the great Bridge of Ivicium. Once one of the largest and most important bridges in the Empire, it connected the Eastern Vie Aeminiaf to the Western Via Egernio and for a small moment I envision seeing it in younger day, when the water of the river was sparkling under the sun and proud ships were moving beneath its large stone bulk as it started to rise in the middle, allowing the heavy merchantman a safe passage deeper into the Empire. Today half of the bridge was lying in the empty riverbed below it, the wondrous mechanical arms and runs that had allowed it to be lifted for the larger ships – already forgotten. On our side of the river, a large chunk of the bridge was still clinging to the wall of the riverbed, weathered and sun smoothened columns forming two additionally floors that could be reached over rough wooden scaffolds. The most visible features of the former bridge were the long multi-coloured strips of cloth that fluttered in the wind of the wasteland as we approached. Hundreds of larger and smaller banners clung to the thin columns that once decorated the bride, all colours swaying in the sandy wind: some bearing the symbols of the Houses, others of small lost and forgotten cities and villages and others were barely more than rags and other cloth that wanderers could spare when passing the monument. In the old days of the Empire the bridge had served as a connector and protector of the Imperial Heartlands and now in another time, another land, it was still of utmost importance to the travellers. Instead of being the impressive feat of Imperial Engineering and the art of the Magi, it was now a place of superstition, where wanderers and travellers left offerings and a sign of their own travels before disappearing into the desert once more.

What no one did expect at this moment was the loud horn signal that erupted from the dune to our right and the sounds of men and metal starting to form up in lines – lines that were forming parallel to the riverbed and above us as towering infantry shields locked with another and presented neatly ordered ranks of purple to us. Small sharp glinting swords stuck out at regular intervals, while lighter armoured troops on both sides began to fan out, each of them carrying axe, hammer, javelins and bows as they covered the path in front and behind of us. To say that it happened to fast wouldn't be perfectly true – I might have escaped this little trap on the back of my horse, but who knew if they had any scoped crossbows with them and I would first have to get past my guards and who knew how fast my mechanical ones could move? I wouldn't expect two of them to be able to stop what looked like a at least one century of heavy infantry drilled in Imperial style and two swarms of irregular infantry that would harness them from the sides: any battle would be a hopeless thing. Still I did appreciate that my guard was quickly moving to secure more from stray missiles, trying to cover me from all sides with their shields – while at the same time not daring to ask me to move down from my horse. It would have been funny if I wouldn't have to stare at a heavily armed line of people who might be out to kill me for the second time in three days – and this time the line was ten times larger.

"Miliatus you old fool! Now you have done it! Stealing the coffin of the princess out of the Mausoleum and carting her straight through the wasteland? Lord Aurelian will have you crucified for this! Before that I'm going to pull your entrails out through your ass and wrap them around your neck for decoration, you hear me! Stop this foolishness at once!"

The voice was not only angry, but also loud and accompanied by a movement in the enemy ranks as a shining steel helmet shoved itself through the lines of soldiers, its transversely mounted crest swaying with each step and fluttering in the purple colours of the House Aurelian as an impressive centurio burst out the shield wall, using his sword and heavy shield to make himself space as he started to descend the sloped surface of the dune, never stopping to hurl abuse at my oldest follower – who was currently getting carried by two of our remaining fighters, who found themselves away from the small clump of fighters around me and right in front of the seemingly mad centurio that was barrelling through the mass of unarmed workers and followers, who split before him like the red sea did for a certain prophet. Giving our single crossbowman a sign to hold his fire, I instead started to steer my horse towards the single intruder in our midst, telling the Guardians and guards to stay and don't move. I could see the reluctance in their gaze – but what other chance would we have? There hadn't been any convenient multi-ton killing machine thrown down at my behest and no magic that would enable me to blow up the offending soldiers around us. So instead I moved closer towards the angry voice of the professional soldier and this time the people moved away not in fear but in reverence – the whole scene must have looked completely mad from the perspective of the soldiers above us, but I found myself grinning: isn't street theatre a lovely thing?

"Ohhh no! You don't get to die on me before I have you quartered in the middle of the arena! I take just one, one measly night off to drink with some buddies from the days we were actively fighting against everyone and you choose that night to steal the Princess coffin?! I should have you whipped before I have you quartered!"

Obviously he wasn't in that much of a hurry to dispose of old Miliatus – after all his sword had already found its way back in its sheath and one of the surprised carriers found himself holding the large infantry shields in both hands as the centurio had pulled the old man into a standing position. A position that he seemed to be only able to hold because the heavily armoured soldier was holding him on both shoulders and proceeding to shout in his face with speckles flying all over and into the loremans white beard.

"When we get back to Maadoran you will go and stand trial, if they don't lynch you in the streets you madman! No one will care if your family had kept the thing working since before we brought the Princess back into the city and you will be lucky if your granddaughter is allowed to continue your duty! I'm half way tempted to declare you mad and adopt her as my own after all this, have you even thought about the future of your family when you went out? Of course, not! You have taken all of them along and turned them into accomplices!"

Said granddaughter, whose name was Sideria as I had found out in the last few days, was standing only a few steps away, torn between jumping in to defend her grandfather and pressing herself against the coffin to escape the scrutiny of the cursing officer in our midst. Unsuccessfully as one could imagine as he caught her movement from the corner of an eye and let go of the old man, who in turn sank back and nearly hit the ground if it wasn't for the two helpers that quickly caught him. Once more laughter seemed to ripple through the formation on the dune above us and it seemed as if the soldiers found the whole show just as amusing as I did – which was good because soldiers busy laughing, might not try slaughtering us on a wave of their officer, who in turn had now rounded up Sideria, who was trying to say something:

"Uncle Flavius…."

…but never got the chance as she was gathered into a fully armoured bear-hug, nearly crushing her more delicate figure as the officer pressed her tightly against his chest. Before letting go again and building himself up before her – which made for a quite impressive sight as he was looking more like a square stone of granite than anything else and was barely taller than her- as he raised his hand and lectured her in the same loud drill ground voice he had used on her grandfather:

"Girl, what did I tell you about keeping an eye on your grandfather, I sure as hell didn't tell you to help him steal the princess and her coffin when I wasn't looking! Can you even imagine in what kind of trouble you are now ? I knew your father and did let you two tinker with that ancient magic, but no-one else is going to be so lenient with you, just because you are caretaker. At best Lord Aurelian will let you keep your life as long as you show one of his loremasters the mantras. Please tell me you didn't break anything... "

Letting go of the girl once more the centurion quickly stepped past her and started to inspect "my" coffin with small careful movements that traced along the few dials and transistor that were standing out from the dark grey metal. The whole group seemed to hold its breath as if...well...no need for euphemisms: his verdict was going to decide their life, or at least that's what the soldiers around us thought. His careful inspection didn't take long, his movements were more ritual than true understanding, but such seemed to be the extend of non-Magi understanding if I remembered the text parts of the quests right. The centurio seemed to have calmed down quite a bit ad he found the coffin more or less untouched...that was at least till the moment he came to the small in built window, that should allow people to check on the patient in the life support system. Said system was only designed for eighty years at most, afterwards one couldn't guarantee that your brain wasn't mush: would explain how empty it is in here actually. I wasn't left idle with my thoughts for long, as only a moment later a blood curling and murderous scream erupted over the caravan, bringing the soldiers around us out of their relaxed posture and back to business.

"MILIATUS! What have you done with the body of the princess? If this isn't a waking nightmare of my own and you truly displaced the most important corpse in the whole world, then may the gods have mercy on because no one else will! If you don't have her inside in a moment, I won't be accountable for anything you have done and…"

Sensing that the mood had shifted – from the worried and angered tone of an old friend, towards the genuinely murderous and raging tone of a man just a short step and stab away from homicide- I urged my horse forward, putting on my loosest of smiles as I stared down at the centurio, who for his part only needed a moment to shift around, one hand on his sword and the other clenched in a fist as he looked up at me and had to blink. Horses were rather big animals after all and having to look up to the rider while craning you neck wasn't comfortable and having to do so in the wasteland, where the sun was burning down on you and making your eyes water if you looked to close to it and the light was reflected from all directions anyway, wasn't a pleasant thing to do. His face scrunched up as he brought his brows together and blinked in an attempt to get a clearer glance at my face, his mouth already moving:

"If I were you, I would get down from that horse when talking with others…"

My lips quirked into a real smile and some angry muttering could be heard from some of the followers that had rested around us, some of them lowering their eyes, others bowing completely and making the scene before the waiting soldiers of House Aurelian even more odd. What came next wouldn't help them make any more sense out of their day as I leaned forward till my long black hair gave my pale face just enough shadow to be seen more easily, while my hands tightened their grips on their reins and the centurio's eyes widened in faint recognition.

"…you wouldn't if you were me. I don't fancy being put back to sleep in the pod after my subjects took so many dangers on them to revive me. Wouldn't you agree so?"

The words were accompanied by a small arch of my eyebrow and the words were spoken in my best impression of Ciceronian Latin – and from what I had heard in the past days that was more or less the local way of either playing ancient drama's from the age of the Empire or the stuff lore masters and scribes had to translate every day. Together with a better look at my face that might have been too much – because centurio Flavius merely stared for a long unbelieving moment…. before he croaked out Miliatus name and his eyes rolled back into his head as he fainted right on the spot and fell into the dust along his whole length. Lifting my head once more I gave the reigns of my horse a small tug and started to edge it towards the purple line above us, the soldiers seemingly unable to make out what had just happened and using their moment of confusion I pushed myself half way towards them – just out of javelin range as some distant memories helpfully tried to affirm me- and pushed myself up in the stirrups, appearing even taller than I already was as I called out:

"Your centurio seems to have fainted, your medici should look at him."

Some laughter and snickers could be heard behind the tall shield as more and more of the man seemed to be more intent on staring at me than holding their shields as my clear voice carried over the field. Sensing the opportunity, I raised one hand and gestured towards the caravan behind me with one broad sweep, calling out as proudly as I could:

"I am the last Scion of the Empire and the woman you were send out to bring back to Maadoran! If Lord Aurelian is offering you as escort – how could I possible refuse? And what dangers should there be to fear on our way to the fortress city itself?"

Stirring my horse towards the light formation that was covering the street before us, I did make the small curve I had to ride as small as possible, giving each and every last soldier a chance to look at my face and appearance as I came closer and closer to the light infantry that was stopping us. I could see the recognition in their faces, the fear in some and the worship that was thinly hidden by others – it seemed as if my body had shared the same fate as the body of Alexander the Great: a tool to legitimize the rule of others. A testament to the glories of the past and the not-so-living proof that they were minding the old rules, the old family and the Empire itself: even while they carved out their own little fiefdoms and never moved into the direction of unification anyway. Too bad I wasn't death anymore – death martyrs were after all so much more useful than a living one and far less dangerous. I only had a rough picture of just what kind of meaning had been infused into the lifeless body that had been dispensed in stasis for four centuries by the surviving noble houses, but I was ready to use all tools I was given. Having the soldiers before me move back, sink to their knees or simply stare with wide eyes in the manner that someone would do when confronted with a miracle: that was truly a very useful card to play. Raising my hand and then pointing towards the direction the street was taking and which was also the one that would lead to Maadoran now that we have little choice but to follow House Aurelian's soldiers there, I called out:

"What are you waiting for! If we can continue our march till night time we will be in the city in just two days. Form up as vanguard and march as you were commanded, by the will of the Empire!"

The last mantra was shouted louder and seemed to electrify the bodies of the man before me as some started to quickly stumbled backwards and towards the streets, while others tried to hold their position and the officers in this irregular unit seemed to be too evenly ranked to form any other plan – and half of them was already moving to get their man moving under "my" orders, the orders of the last Princess. And thus it had taken nothing more than a horse, a bit of sun, a flair for the dramatic and a loud and honed voice to come through this situation without even a tiny drop of blood being spilled as I surveyed the hasty runners that were send between the three formations, a single stocky figure in purple in the middle of my servants once more standing and pointing at me agitated. A laugh slipped from my lips as I looked around and saw the street clear before me, the irregulars dispersing into a screen before us, while the soldiers slowly came down the dune and seemed just as confused as everyone else around them – but they would obey, one way or another and with a small smile I simply stayed like this: high on my horse and looking over the absolute mess I had created in a few minutes. Wasn't that lovely?

Was I basking in the attention? I sure was, an optio with his feathered helmet was running down to our caravan as the first auxiliary detachment seemed to move into marching formations in a confused state, while the other had send people over to see what was going on too and the legionaries from the dune had started to approach as well, breaking their shield wall in small groups that were surrounding our little caravan from all sides soon, mixing with the ressurectionists and stealing glances at me as I rode back towards my escort with a small smile, reaching down and grasping the waterskin I had been given I rode towards Sideria. The young woman was now busy frantically getting people to carry her grandfather into a tent as he moaned in pain – the not so gentle welcome by an old friend not the right thing for his still fresh wounds- and someone had gotten a bedroll to put under the head of the unconscious centurio.

Jumping of my horse next to them, landing on my worn sandals – I had to loan them as shoes didn't seem to factor into life support systems- and throwing up a bit of dust, I opened the water skin with one hand and then unceremoniously poured part of its content onto the hard but still slack face below me. The effect was nearly immediate, two steel grey eyes opening and staring at me, before a small cry left his throat and he shot upwards, nearly throwing Sideria onto her back as he pushed her hands away and just stared…till I quirked an eyebrow and he took a small step back, seemingly floundering for a moment, which was the right moment to say silkily:

"It was custom for soldiers of the Imperial Army and House Guards to salute before a member of the Royal Family – of course that might have changed but, there weren't many members of the Imperial family to train this with, centurio…."

"Flavius Aventius….your majesty…"

He croaked out, still of balance and falling back into just the right patterns to follow when confronted with nobles and superior officers – something I was quite intent on keeping him think of me. Smirking lightly, I stood straight once more and waited for a moment as he hastily put his right hand over his chest, inclining his head deeply as he called out more clearly:

"Centurio Flavius Aventius, Third century, Guards of Lord Gaelius House Aurelian."

Giving him a small nod I moved back to the horse and swung myself up into the saddle once more, looking at him as I gestured towards his soldiers that were now forming a widely spread group of purple flashes in the brown that was the normal clothing around here. I was just clad that no one had gotten too close to my personal escort yet – otherwise it might have been quite a hassle to explain just why they were wearing still bloodied armour and hastily painted shields that were purple before. If anyone of the soldiers did notice they didn't say so and from the way they were quickly relaxed around the civilians, the soldiers that had attacked us in the temple weren't part of their unit. Giving the officer a small friendly nod I gestured towards the mess I had made out of his manual ambush and called out lightly:

"In the case Centurio Aventius – shouldn't we make haste to reach the fortress of Maadoran as soon as possible? I'm looking forward to seeing the current head of House Aurelian after all."

With a small gestures, I shooed him off towards his man and soon his shouting was audible over the whole wasteland once more as he slowly but steadily pushed and pulled his man apart from my followers, parting them into two formations that were taking formation behind and in front of us, while the lighter elements soon formed a proper vanguard and rear-guard. Pushing my horse forward to my small escort again, I smiled at the people scrambling around below me, waving from time to time and that seemed to be enough to elicit new cheers from them as they had gone from a situation that looked as if they were going to be butchered – to one in which those they had feared, were escorting them through the wasteland, making us an target unassailable to even the most hardened and oversized raiding group – if they weren't downright suicidal that was. My way back took me a bit closer to one of the groups of soldiers that were currently trying to get through in either direction and one of them -with terribly large ears- called out to me:

"Weren't you a Princess when we were send out to get you back – how comes you are Empress now!"

Only a few people away I could see a feathered optio fighting his way through the people and already raising a stick to discipline the soldier. Turning towards the joker once more, I smirked once again and called back:

"The only way you are ever going to make centurio: field promotion! Duck!"

The first answer elected a chuckle from his comrades, the second part only a confused look from him…before a heavy straight wooden stick impacted his shoulder and rung out as his armour rattled with the moment and the laughter only seemed to get louder, before even some of the soldiers broke into cheers as I raised my hand for a wave and then returned to the safety of my mechanical escorts, urging my horse forward…and them falling into step with me only increased the cheering after a moment of blatant surprise from those that hadn't belonged to our initial group.

The soldier that had called the question out to me was now jogging past us, with his Optio breathing down his neck…and still used his free hand to wave once – gaining another hit on the shoulders for his trouble. Smiling ever so lightly I surveyed our now easily five times as large group and tried to fight down the trepidation inside of me. These soldiers were going to get us safely to Maadoran and from there I would have to …improvise, after all there was not only one of the last three remaining houses that was down on its last breath, but also a whole part of the city crumbling and falling to organized crime, but more importantly: there was one of the enemies, a last vestige of the last war and whatever traces of the princess remained in the back of my head was looking forward to taking care of that unfinished business.

I could only agree with a thin lipped smirk of my own.

doruma1920 · Jan 28, 2017

Considering I just got off binge reading 'A Practical Guide to Evil' and am likely to reread it several times, this is an intriguing read. I would recomend breaking up the paragraphs a bit however.

Simpli · Jan 29, 2017

doruma1920 said:
I would recomend breaking up the paragraphs a bit however.

Are you sure about that? I kinda like the look of it in a text document - because it seems more ...novel-ish? Can't say I have to decide that often, with most of my texts being papers anyway~

sdarian · Jan 29, 2017

I second on breaking up the paragraphs.

Simpli · Feb 12, 2017

All the fun of decadence
In which no one gets suffocated by flower petals

Maadoran had once been one of the central fortresses that held the plains in the center of the Empire – a way station on the Expansion into the rich regions that would become the bread basket of the old Empire where Legions remained in quarter till the times they were called out to defend the riches against those who would prefer to steal them, then to pay. As with all temporary and especially the permanent camps of the Legion, a settlement had soon grown around it akin to the way mushrooms claimed the surroundings of a cowpat in record time. Even today it was still visible on the approach from the surrounding wastelands that the city known today had grown in, around and through the ancient fortress walls that had shielded the city through the last war. The drab and hazardously built huts of the slums were clinging to the outer wall like nests of birds and where breaches had been laid through the war, stones had been repurposed and used to build more hardy structures into the protective corset that was holding the city and only allowed parts of it to spill out where the Abyss was too close to them for anyone to dare repairs.

The Abyss: the part of the city where an Qantari spell had taken out a whole chunk of the city and left its true target unharmed – albeit trapped underneath. My palms itched as I gripped the reins tighter, hoping that we wouldn't ride into the town just in time to see it being destroyed by the mad creature that was tormented underneath it – or to be blown up by an overly self-sacrificing Player Character that rammed a nuclear missile into it. Where they even a thing? Player characters? I hoped not – having them mess around with a world that was standing at the edge didn't sound like something good. Maybe it was just the Abyss putting a damper on my mood, but that wasn't really a surprise. Magic still radiated around and over the crater it had left on the side of the city like a large festering wound: one that seemed to have a constant grey and brown fog settled over it and I wouldn't discount the rumours that it still carried the dust and screams of the citizens that were vaporized in the attack. One really shouldn't underestimate the effect that sort of Magic could have centuries later – a bit like nuclear weapons to name the most fitting comparison.

Looking around the rather large group we had become I searched the faces of those around me and the soldiers a bit more far off to see their thoughts on it…I didn't find any: neither fear, nor apprehension nor any other reaction that should have been normal to seeing something like this just next to them. Most likely that comes from living next to it your whole life, unlike me they didn't see the Abyss as a huge glaring danger – but as simply another part of the city that had always been there and was "just" dangerous if you went close to it. Sometimes ignorance could be comforting – couldn't it?

Pulling myself away from such thoughts once more I carefully observed our surroundings: the soldiers that had turned into our escorts where keeping us firmly in their middle – for our protection and most likely also to make sure that we wouldn't get any idea of running away. I personally wasn't sure if it truly was for my protection – or if they knew themselves. For now, we had the same aim and as the days after the ambush went by and I made no attempts to disappear into thin air like a dream or to return into my sarcophagus to wait a few more centuries they had to see: I was alive – or rather: their imperial princess now turned Empress was alive and riding in their midst. For some that prospect seemed to have been more frightening than the Abyss we could see from here and even I was able to hear the faint rumors that talked about the end being near with my return. They weren't wrong but I was quite sure that the whole remnant of the Empire being just one step away from going up in flames was (most likely) not completely my fault. At least they had stopped trying to build small shrines dedicated to me – instead they were now praying for my health and that wasn't really all that comforting either as the people around here tended to a cynic agnosticism most of the times.

Riding over the dusty street that had once taken the ancestors of my body and their Legions towards the northern borders with the Urdu, I could only hope that things wouldn't change too badly with me being thrown into the ticking bomb that was Maadoran. From what I could see so far any hope of keeping my "resurrection" a secret went out of the window as soon as we had entered the Imperial Streets leading towards the city. News of my "theft" or rather "kidnapping" had spread quickly through the whole city and the surrounding areas and there seemingly had been a riot or two when people demanded more to be done to get back one of the most important relic and memento of the Empires Golden Age. That many of the people who encountered us on the street had seen "me" before and either shared the centurios reaction of falling over in shock or loudly proclaiming my name for everyone else on the street to hear, didn't make the whole arrival easier.

It truly did make me even more thankful than before to have talked the soldiers to escort us – because we might otherwise not have gotten into the city at all with the amount of people trailing all around us. It had begun with only a few traders that were sticking to us partly because they were seeking safety in numbers and partly because some had recognized me and decided to follow us for whatever reason: awe or the hope for a quick profit: neither was disappointed. The closer we came to the city, the more and more people trailed on both of our sides next to the street: farmers, refugees, merchants and mercenaries. All of them seemed to spend the day walking and staring at me as if I was some sort of icon and a mere glance at me wouldn't be enough. Instead I found myself under hundreds of gazes that seemed to be glued to me for the whole day and some of the more feverish followers could only be dissuaded from getting closer by the forceful application of a man-sized infantry shield or worse. At least the centurio had given me his tent as the resurrectionists had preferred to travel light and thus the canvas at least gave me a bit of privacy in the evening – when I could spend part of it staring into the small handheld mirrors, trying to make our my "new" features except for the paleness and the dark hair. But I didn't even have the time or rather the peace of mind to do that (and so far, I could say whole heartily that trying to make out your own looks with nothing more than a bit of polished bronze was really not worth the effort).

The constant chanting of "Long live the Empress" and "May she live forever!" and other exclamations in the vain were slowly but steadily wearing down my nerves as I tried to hold the blanket and pillows over my ears for the whole night and I'm sure many of the people following us had the same opinion as the soldiers had to move out and break up fights that broke out in the night and continued till the morning. As such no one had gotten much sleep when we finally reached the walls of Maadoran and entered the city proper – even if one could say that the city came outside to swallow us whole.

When we took the last steps and crossed the unmarked border between the city and the wasteland surrounding it, a cry went through the whole mass of people around us – some tried to cry slogans, other attempted to sing verses, but in the end all of it melted together into one long terrible human sound of loudness and cheer. Before us the gates were wide open, the purple of the Aurelian Guard and the Red of the Imperial Guard lining the street in double lines: one of them facing the crowd while his neighbour was facing the street and raising his sword or spear as a form of salute.

It was this artificial alley that channelled my group forward while allowing us to shed the trail of followers that had gathered around us, only the core of heavy Aurelian Infantry remaining with me as we passed through the gates of the last remaining major city – the stones dry and cracking over our heads as the crowd outside – and inside cheered even louder. The centurio must have send a message – of that I had been sure already, but I had expected a silent passageway to the palace of Lord Gaelius or an arrival in the dark of the night. Instead someone had decided to make my arrival public and trigger a full-blown celebration: the number of suspects could be counted on my two hands and…. rose petals?

I had to blink in complete and utter bafflement as one of the red flower petals landed straight on my nose, making me shake my head to get rid of it as we passed through the imposing arch and the whole sky seemed to be suddenly dotted red and pink as soldiers threw more and more of the flowers down from the gate itself and the surrounding buildings. I wasn't Heliogabalus and I sure hoped no one was trying to suffocate me with flowers now – but this must have cost a fortune to get so many flowers in such a short time and in a wasteland like this. That had to be the Commercium, no one else would have the resources and contacts to organize this with just a few days of notice – but why weren't they running the show alone then? Had the other decided to jump on too stop their influence in their track, or was the Commercium jumping on the idea of the others?

The Imperial Guard was here in force too and they had fallen in with the rest of my escort, forming a proudly marching red square before and after my group – as if they had been there from the very beginning. Their helmets were glistening in the sunlight and various crests were set onto them and swaying back and forth with every step as they moved in their parade gear. That they were here was only natural: they were loyal to the idea of the Empire and my body most surely counted towards the most important things to represent this belief and to unite them. On the other hand a dead symbol was always far easier to manage than a living one and they could only hope that my "return" would serve to deal with the bickering noble houses.

Matching them nearly men for men were the purple clad soldiers of house Aurelian, holding back the cheering growth as well wishes impacted by ears from all directions and I feel back to the rather easily performed duty of smiling and waving – electing even louder adorations from all manner of people: ranging from those wearing nothing but rags, to those in the jewelled robes of nobility. The city was looking at me and House Aurelian was sending the clear message that they were protecting me and them in the same breath…and seeing the various wagons with bread and water spread through the crowd and seemingly handing out their goods without asking for any payment, I was sure that Lord Senna and Lady Lorenza had found their own ways of reminding the good people of just why they were some of the most important people in the city.

The triumph this was turning was passing the Arena with its tall column adorned walls, the firmly set apart camp of the Imperial Guards and then moving through the market district with the golden capped dome of the Commercium shining like a promise of wealth and prosperity as we left it behind and the crows got thinner and thinner – while their income seemed to rise and their clothes became more and more extravagant. The villa district was around us now and people were sitting on the roofs of the houses to see us – servants most likely, as the rest of what might be labelled a middle class was taking all the space left between our own route and the buildings.

It only came to an end when we reached the palace of House Aurelian, the barrier one might know from the game put aside and the towers adorned with even more flowers and large Imperial Banners that swayed in the wind and gave the eagles on them the impression of moving impatiently as they clutched their lightnings. And between the two towers was a small platform and the question of just who was behind this whole circus became quite less important: everyone was present. The elderly Lord Aurelian at the front with his Nephew to his left and Legatus Pavola standing to his right in full parade uniform, while the two vassals and Strabo of the Commercium had to share the space behind them. They were all here and their efforts could be joined…or aimed at one another – even if they were only trying to stop their rivals from becoming more popular than them by pleasing the crowd with one trick or another.

Taking a look around I pulled on the reins of my horse and moved down in one swift motion, my two mechanical guards moving before me – and turning as they once more performed the arch of swords before me, their blades meeting with a loud ring that made everyone look towards me too. Quickly the legionaries saw what had to be done and like a well-oiled machine they parted in the middle, raising their sword arms height and crossing their blade with that of the man before them as I slowly and steadily walked towards the gathered elites of the city – under an archway of glistening steel.

My sandals were just touching the platform when they began to move – where they had once looked like age old statues, they were now performing their movements as flawlessly as a clockwork puppet theater. The part of my mind that had been taken from the century old corpse of a princess turned vegetable was impressed: someone must have preserved the official court manners in the instance of an Imperial visit – or the families had kept on remembering it because they were using it for themselves. Either way. As soon as Lord Gaelius Aurelian began to move to kneel, I had to take my last steps quickly, my hands reaching out and lightly touching his shoulder as I said slowly:

"Lord Aurelian, as the head of one of the great seven houses there is no need to kneel."

The aging man, his hair short and mostly grey already, showed impressive control over himself as he stopped in the motion, not fully kneeling, but neither fulling standing either. I had extended my grace to him by touch and stopped him from lowering himself completely before me. Still, he had to acknowledge the superiority of the Imperial Family and thus he replied formally:

"Not before the last remaining Scion of the Imperial Family."

He wouldn't really disagree with the notion of not-kneeling of course and if I would now take back my hands he would have to – and thus I would have slighted him terribly with the last two times that happened in the past hund- …. past five hundred years being shortly before the Lord in question was either executed or rose in rebellion. As such I repeated a bit firmer, my hands performing the motion of pulling him up as he straightened:

"You may stand before me, House Aurelian, Defenders of our colonies, protectors of the distant shores and today: protector of the Empires remaining Heart."

I was making up the last part – because House Aurelian was truly tasked with the protection and subjugation of the colonies in the days of the Empire and seldom visited the Capital as they tended to be either administrators or generals- but it seemed to please the crowd as another cheer went through the crowd: not that Gaelius was showing any satisfaction from this fact, his face a polite mask as I stared down at him till he slowly and straightened once more, taking my hand and kissing its back lightly: just enough for the whole crowd around us to indulge in cheering once more.

"I welcome you to Maadoran, Princess. A productive, peaceful and loyal city-fortress in this tumultuous times."

The words were smooth, but there was just enough emphasis on his address of me that I knew that no matter what the others would be chanting: Gaelius was aware that one usually needed the majority of the houses to affirm one's ascension to Emperor or in my case Empress – and I'm sure it's not going to be cheap at all. After all: Maadoran was neither productive, peaceful nor especially loyal to any person that was currently standing on the platform with me. But donning the brightest smile that was acceptable and inclining my head lightly was the appropriate response as I bit out:

"I'm thankful for the welcoming and I do look forward to see what has happened to the city in the last four centuries. Lord Aurelian."

With the last words and a small half bow by him, I stepped past the aging Lord and sized up the other people on the platform: the nobles and the merchant were still bowing deeply and warranted no public attention right now: the time for that would come later in the evening: after all they would have hardly created such an entrance for me and then didn't prepare a fitting banquet for everyone. Walking towards the only other person that warranted a personal greeting in public, I gave the Legatus of the Imperial Army a small nod as he saluted sharply and lowered his head as much as possible in full armour with his medals and other decorations being spread out on it.

"Legatus Pavola, at your service your Highness. In command of the first legion of the Imperial Guard…. The name was changed after the war didn't leave enough for us to be continue getting called the Imperial Army. Today we are keepers of peace."

His tone was professional, strong and perfectly played by the book – meaning that there might have survived multiple books about protocol: just what we needed. Still it showed that the people around here were seemingly content to see me as their Princess – but as they had made clear so far: not as their Empress. Pavola seemed to be a soldier, with all the political wit one needed to become an Legatus in the legion and the last four hundred years seemed to have changed little in that regard, still…

"There's no noble house of Pavola. Trained and Promoted from the milites?"

I said with as much benevolent inquisitiveness as I could muster, the Legatus nodding after a moment and I could see a hint of pride in himself at this achievement: well the Legion was always a place for people who wanted to advance through ability instead of connections, that's what the house forces were for after all.

Turning around once more I found Lord Gaelius already standing behind me and gesturing towards the entrance of his palace – and I noted the ranks of purple and red that had closed behind me, parting me from the pitifully small group of loyal followers that had "resurrected me", not that those were noticing it, as servants were bringing wine and food to them and the cordon around the street was broken down. Thus, the ressurectionists soon found themselves in the middle of a steadily growing crowd that was celebrating them as the heroes of the century for bringing the Princess back to life. That was going far too smooth to be random and I could only smile thinly back at the lord as I glanced to the steps of the state and with the sound of grinding gears, the two automatons that had followed me since the temple turned and climbed up behind me, flanking the Lord Aurelian before his bodyguards could intervene and with another smile of mine they stepped forward and fell in with me as I turned on my heels and strode towards the palace. Leaving the crowd behind me and exchanging small greetings with the aristocrats and the single trader, I entered the palace, the prospect of a comfortable bed beckoning me forward….and the small pleasure of seeing my guardians leave large scratches on the marble floor we were walking on.

>-]That Night[-<

The bed was comfortable – not to say that it was the most comfortable bed I had ever slept in. Most likely that impression came from sleeping multiple nights on the best of the sorry excuses of bedrolls my followers/cultists/caretakers had brought with them after they had forgotten that certain bodily functions might indeed be restored after reviving me. Some of their expressions when I first voiced that I would have to go to relieve myself a little were downright horrified as they seemingly weren't able to bring their mental image of the glorious Hope from the ancient golden days, in line with a pale lithe young woman that might actually need to go find a toilet. It was a break from my plan to play to their expectations, but it was downright hilarious as Sideria had to come along and take care of all those pesky poisonous scorpions that were scurrying around in the dark.

At least I didn't have to worry about that so much inside of House Aurelians palace – that means I didn't have to worry too much about scorpions, the whole sudden death due to poison was still pretty much on the table and as I found myself staring upwards at the ceiling of the room I had to close my eyes as the sounds of celebration were suddenly broken by the by now painfully familiar sound of blades hitting blades and I could hear the guards shouting around in the garden outside of my windows. Thankfully the commotion seemed to be far away from the guest wing of the palace I had been quartered in and I did have the sinking feeling that things might actually happen as they did in the game…

…the affirmation of said theory came in the form of a hurried messenger, who bowed deeply before me – and nearly fainted on the spot when he stood up once more and found himself between two more than man high automatons that were staring down at him from the shadowy spots in the room, where their armour blended in quite well.

It took a few moments to coax him out of his shock once more and another few moments for me to jump out of the bed and into the comfortable and sparkling new boots I had gotten shortly after arriving in the room and donning the red cloak was easily wrapped over the rest of my new garments. After all, why should I sleep without them on if I had the fairly certain suspicion that at least an assassination attempt or something similar would happen?

When I pushed my doors open a moment later and exited the spacious chambers I could call mine in the company of my two mechanical guardians, the messenger wasn't waiting alone but had two dozen red clad legionaries of the Imperial Guards with him that were eyeing their surroundings warily but quickly came to stand at attention as I left my room. I had to say: I was indeed surprised in regards to what the Imperial Guards were doing inside the palace, especially if House Aurelian wasn't broken yet. But showing confusion wouldn't be very inspiring and after a few terse words between me and the Decurio that was leading the detachment and had the orders to protect me as I moved towards the throne room of the palace for an emergency meeting of sorts, we were underway.

The palace had a feeling of tidiness and newness to it, at least till you looked under the brightly polished layer that was presented to you. When you did, you found the same things that were so openly visible outside of this walls: decay, spolia and ignorance. If you looked just close enough you wouldn't find more than four columns that were really the same, you would find that many of the mosaics were missing parts or had been copied badly in the way their composition was worked out and many pieces of technology had been partly melted or reworked and were now serving as nothing more than ornaments. But to be honest: at least the later could be done deliberately with House Aurelians eagerness to destroy all traces of dangerous (and not so dangerous) technology as soon as they were excavated.

The throne room itself wasn't an exception, but It was done far more skilfully and the huge columns were draped in just enough shadows to hide the irregularities and the large colourful windows and purple rugs were hiding the marks that showed where pickaxes had torn the nicely quadratic stones out of older buildings and then put them into the floors and walls of the new palace. The same outward impressiveness could be seen on the person that was currently rising from the throne before the great banner of House Aurelian. A young man with short shaven brown hair and features that were similar enough to Lord Gaelius for me to take an educated guess who he was:

"Lord Serenas Aurelian. You do have my condolences for the death of your Uncle, I do hope the perpetrators were caught? Your guards were most dutifully searching the garden next to the Guest Wing and I had hoped the assassins didn't succeed."

For a moment his face seemed to show utter surprise at me seemingly rather close prediction of the situation, but in the next he had schooled them once more – even if he didn't even compare to the poker face his uncle had shown at the parade only hours before his ultimate demise. Using the moment of surprise, I quickly stepped forward and put my hands on his shoulder, looking into his eyes as I said most earnestly:

"I only did have the pleasure of knowing your uncle for a few scant hours, but I'm sure he has done the best he could do for this city and the people living in it and I'm sure he is going to watch over your reign from the far beyond."

It was a formal wording, but my voice was anything but as I gave him a small pat on the shoulder, hiding a smirk at what was most likely a rather severed breach in old Imperial protocol, but was taken without someone screaming at me in this time: barbarization of manners could be useful for a change. Looking at the young man before me I could see the emotions warring in his expression and while I wasn't a great reader of single humans, I could see that he wasn't really agreeing to my description of his Uncles reign, but sure: everyone did think they could do it better before they really attempted it. He might also not be too happy with me right now, but he hide it quite well as he instead bowed once and replied:

"You honour our House with your praise your majesty and I'm sure my uncle would be please to know that you have already held him in such high regards after just one meeting. The assassins who claimed his life have been attempting to flee and were slain except for two that are now being brought into the cells below the palace for interrogate."

Looking at my face for a moment he seemed to think about what he was going to say…till he finally inclined his head once more and said slowly:

"My uncle always told me that we would have to learn from the ancients and be wary to not repeat their mistakes. My reign is as of now as young as this night and I find myself with only the advisors of my uncle…"

…the same advisors that had his uncle assassinated and were standing behind his throne: quite literally even at the moment: the Lord Senna and Lady Lorenza as if they were truly loyal, Strabos standing in a corner and silently resenting everyone for being called out of bed this early…and Legatus Pavola taking reports and sending missives through legionaries that were running to and away from his as fast as he could dictate…

"…and therefore would invite you to take a seat on my new advisor council to share your wisdom and experience with us. Your highness I know that it is most unconventional, but I would greatly appreciate your aid in bringing order back to Maadoran: the last remaining bulwark of the Empire as it stands."

Inwardly I could feel a large smile that was threatening to slip onto my lips: he was well and truly stuck and knew it. Serenas had great plans, plans that might lead to the destruction of the whole city and his own assassination if one didn't push him into the right direction: not that he knew that. Instead he found himself confronted with three advisors that might not listen to him and had their own personal interests while also hating each other, while the Legatus was more likely to do nothing than help him with anything he might come up with. As such: he wanted to get me on his Council to use my weight against the rest, knowing full well that they couldn't openly oppose me…but neither could he. A hint of the smile showed on my lips as I looked at the newest ruler of the city: utterly reliant on good avise if his reign didn't end up a very short one…

"I do of course give that help freely to you, Lord Serenas. I'm sure there are many issues on which I could give you a better perspective on…"

tricholysis · Feb 12, 2017

The 'Princess' ought to be able to give handy advice, even if she's feeling a little out of time and place.

LordCassius · Mar 2, 2017

I have no idea what this is, but I like it!

A Tower, A Throne, A Role (Age of Decadence - Eventual Multicross SI)

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