Imperium

[Ayzek]

Halvadag, Lanlania, Holy Lanlanian Empire
Sunday, 1 Quartyr 1587

In the year since the new government entered power, the Holy Lanlanian Empire made leaps and bounds in its recover. The Social Democratic Party, in coalition with the Sentric Democratic Party and the Liberal Party, had a healthy majority in the riksdag which it used to rapidly restore the Holy Lanlanian economy in it's image. The crowds of militant Imperial Sentric supporters and their counter-protesters had largely dissolved, occasionally revitalizing by leaks of Sulkholm's trial. Little more than scars of battle remained in Lanlania, where the struggle between Imperial Sentric insurgents and government forces was at its worse—and even those were to be healed by government revitalization projects.

All in all, a bright and eager atmosphere had overcome the empire. Imperial pride and unity was on the rise. The Azreaen independence movement, having lost the referendum, was on the decline. The Moderate government of Syorid, having campaigned on maintaining the status quo, did not pursue Syorid's independence. The Empire's overseas territories were in the process of consolidation, and bills to annex Rylmark were working their way through the the Imperial and Rylmarker riksdag.

The words "Dan Sornidda Hardut" were engraved on the thick, heavy doors of the throne room. "The Empire endures."

But at what point does it prosper?

When did the empire become so docile?

Is it content being so pliant?

Those questions had always lingered in the back of Damen's mind. Ever since Lariss entered his life, they came forward more frequently. After their marriage, they were always there. The Imperial Sentric Party's conspiracy to overthrow him was a wake up call.

"The empire has become weak."

"It did nothing when its friend in Galeae was kicked off his throne."

"It's been decades since it last asserted itself."

"The Navy has become lethargic. The Army apathetic."

"The empire's is a history of decline."

"This is an opportunity to reverse this."

"The empire must not just endure. We must flourish!"

Damen snapped out of it. That one wasn't Lariss's voice. No, it was the television. Ah...he was watching the Prime Minister's speech.

"But we are being held back!" Akë Alburnstad continued. "The monarchy, as it is, is a relic of ages past. It is preventing the fully executing the will of the people."

The Holy Lanlanian Emperor scowled.

"Another clown," said his wife, Empress Lariss.

[Ayzek]

Damen sighed, pressing the back of his head into the headrest of the white, leather sofa in his sitting room. His wife had went to bed over an hour ago and left him to the silent, flickering atmosphere of a muted television, his thoughts, and the companionship of his father's liquor cabinet. He was enjoying that companionship a little too much, perhaps. There was a variety of bottles scattered on the coffee table in front of the sofa, all hard liquors and most half-empty.

He was frustrated, needless to say. With everything. The last decade had been stressful, with successive major political crises from the moment he took the throne. He'd inherited nothing but problems and fine liquor. Hazily, he managed to lean forward and serve himself another rocky drink.

Well, at least the Empire was in good hands. As misguided as some were, everyone wanted what they felt would best serve it. But who was right?

Sandlund was a relic of the past; a Moderate, he brought no new ideas. He was certainly a capable man who managed to keep the Empire afloat. But Alburnstad had a point: enduring would not bring prosperity. It only prolonged the Empire's steady decline. Sulkholm brought new ideas, but he was a vile, toxic thing that only accelerated the Empire's decline. He forced the Crown to intervene to avoid a direct confrontation between Imperial governments, and still the Crown had to risk Imperial disintegration.

The Emperor took another drink.

What was the new guy advocating? Did he want to dismantle the Crown or simply weaken it? Were either an option? Lariss didn't think so. What did he think? What would his father have done?

As Damen reached for the whisky again, he lost his balance and almost stumbled into the table. He sacrificed the bottle for himself, murmuring a curse as it clanked against the glass table. With an exasperated sigh, he fell back into the sofa and closed his eyes. That was enough for the night.

The last thing he saw was a bust of Feryn the Glorious, barely visible under the light that trickled through the curtains behind it.

His Imperial and Royal Apostolic Majesty, Damen II, did not wake up. Officially, he died of a heart attack. That wasn't  far from the truth: the alcohol poisoning he'd inadvertently drank himself into did stop his heart. His death was announced hours after his body was found, and from that moment his son, Feryn Wilhelm, was Holy Lanlanian Emperor. His sudden death stunned the nation and the previously upbeat atmosphere immediately turned somber. The damage was reversed almost immediately by the announcement of Feryn's accession.

The Empire saw hope in the accession of a young, new Emperor to lead a revitalized Empire.

[Ayzek]

Halvadag, Lanlania, Holy Lanlanian Empire
Tuesday, 3 Quartyr 1587

Feryn did not expect to take the throne at only nineteen years old, much less so suddenly. Only two days ago, he was in the middle of the Lagrain on his first tour of duty in the Imperial Navy, almost fresh out of secondary school. He was completely unprepared. Overwhelmed, even. Yesterday, his only break from briefings and introductions were the dozen or so minutes he'd taken to read a piece of paper to the Empire. Lunch had been with an array of politicians he'd already forgot and dinner with a slightly different gallery. Why did no one give him time to mourn?

"Your Majesty? Are you well?"

The Emperor rubbed his temples, letting his cutlery thunk against the wooden table. Why were these fools in his palace again? They looked vaguely like the same fools that intruded on yesterday's lunch. "I've grown tired," he said, rising from his seat. "Mother, please keep our guests company."

"Your Majesty!" Alburnstad called after him, growing red in the face.

"Now, now," said Lariss, Empress-Mother, "His Majesty has decided to retire for the afternoon, Mr. Alburnstad. It would do no well to force him to remain." She'd a wicked grin on her face. She was enjoying Alburnstad's dismay. Here he was, being ignored by the monarch who symbolized the monarchy he was attempting to press further chains on. While the Social Democratic Party though their political position was strong enough to make such a bold move, they were wrong. She would prove it to them.

Alburnstad scowled and nodded curtly. "I understand. Perhaps I am getting ahead of myself."

I agree entirely. Lariss thought to herself. "Quite." Alburnstad had joined the Imperial Family for lunch—again—in an attempt to nudge the Emperor to see things the Social Democratic way, but Lariss would have none of that. "Polling day's over a month away, after all." And your victory is no guarantee. She'd much prefer the Imperial Party's victory, though the Sentric Democrats were also fairly monarchic. How could she make it happen?

The ex-Prime Minister chuckled. "That may be, but I'm confident the people will again express their confidence in the Social Democratic Party. We've had a very successful year. This election is simply a formality, after all."

"Now, now, Mr. Alburnstad, it's unwise to be overconfident. Pride cometh before a fall, the bible says."

"I suppose you're right," he returned, between another laugh. "I should win before savoring its fruit, eh?"

"Mother," little Hilda, Princess, interrupted, "I've finished. May I go after Brother?"

"Of course, Dear," Lariss replied. "Haylay, go with your sister."

"Yes Mother," said the older Princess.

With the children having left the table, the adults carried on.

[Ayzek]

Halvadag, Lanlania, HLE
Monday, 9 Fein 1587

Ulrik Rithlund was a God-fearing man. Just entering his 70s, he grew up in different times. He certainly dressed like it, always seen in a black or gray suit and overcoat, with suspenders and a cane, his thinning, gray hair combed neatly back. He was one of the few high-ranking Imperial Sentric Party members who wasn't implicated in the coup, and while many of his old colleagues were now rotting in prison, here he was: Prime Minister of the Holy Lanlanian Empire. The Social Democratic Party's sudden defeat in the polls was quite unexpected but perhaps that's the result of challenging the monarchy.

Rithlund had no intentions of challenging the monarchy. That's where his colleagues went wrong, after all; rather than dutifully serving the Emperor, they wanted to control him. A sin, really. The Emperor was Holy, after all.

"You may raise your head," said the Emperor, having taken his seat on the Imperial Throne.

"Thank you, Sire," Rithlund replied, doing so, but otherwise remaining on his knee. He was a little surprised when the Crown decided to reinstitute old procedures and ceremonies, though certainly pleased. It was a return to the good old days, after all.

"I expect great things from you, Mr. Rithlund. We must turn around the empire's downward spiral and return to its glory days."

"His will be done."

The Emperor smiled. "It is no doubt that our rivals would disapprove."

"His will triumphs."

"It is imperative that the peoples are one."

"His will be done."

"My mother's voice is my own. See that you heed it."

A moment of confusion crossed Rithlund's eyes. "His will be done."

"You are dismissed."

[Ayzek]

"Return to its glory days," Rithlund mumbled under his breath. The Emperor was not being kind. Letting out another sigh, he poured another shot of whiskey into his glass and drank. It was from the Prime Minister's private collection and the taste was certainly to standard. The entire manor was, certainly. Ultheraholm, named after the first Prime Minister to take up residence in it, was a small, three-hundred year old manor not far from the Imperial Palace. Upon entering, Rithlund chose to decorate it as close to its original look as possible, going so far as to order exact replicas of the curtains and carpets.

Doing so set an fitting atmosphere, considering he was tasked with making the empire as unopposed as it was then. At the end of the 13th century, the Empire still controlled the southern coast of West Brigidna, from Florinthus to Gehenna. Rithlund doubted he'd live long enough to see the empire return to those territories, but he could at least lay the foundation for it.

It was almost undeniable that the Lanlanians had grown decadent. The people were in the streets, throwing fits over frivolous things; the army hadn't fought a good war in decades; church attendance was on the decline as sinful lifestyles spread like a disease. Children went undisciplined, foreigners refused to assimilate, no one was asking "what will the Lanlanians do?"

At least the Imperial Navy still ruled the seas and the general population still knew the fear of God. Though difficult, his job was not impossible. He simply needed to mobilize the Holy Lanlanian peoples, to get them all moving in the same direction.

[Ayzek]

Ultheraholm Manor
Halvadag, Lanlania, HLE
Thursday, 5 Zechyr 1587

"Lukas, welcome!" Rithlund greeted the elderly man who strolled into his office as if they were old friends. Much of the Holy Lanlanian rich and powerful was like that; if they weren't acquaintances, they'd at least heard of one another. Many were likely loosely related, the vast majority of them being nobility or their descendants. Ulrik Rithlund and Lukas ë Rydstroge had a much closer relationship, however. Rydstroge, media mogul, was quite eager to support parties whose views coincided with his own. And products of the same generation, Rithlund and Rydstroge had very much in common.

"Ulrik!" replied Rydstroge, just as warmly and with a firm handshake. "Congratulations on your stunning victory."

Rithlund chuckled, patting his benefactor on the back as their handshake came to an end. "And thank you for your support every step of the way, old friend. Come, join me."

The Prime Minister lead the media mogul to the sitting area in the center of his office, where coffee and biscuits waited on a marble coffee table. Rithlund ushered them both to the same sofa, each sitting at one end, as opposed to across one another. A good host, Rithlund served the drinks and took only a moment to signal his aids and guards to leave the room. They were left alone.

"I wasn't expecting to join you again so soon," Rydstroge said, accepting his tea and finishing it to his liking—black with a single cube of sugar. Rydstroge had been in attendance of the Prime Minister's victory dinner back in Marth.

"To be honest, I didn't either," Rithlund replied, enjoying his black. "But the Emperor is expecting much of me and I feel your cooperation is crucial."

"Oh?" The atmosphere around them took a sudden dive, as they went from friends to business partners. Or perhaps "partners in crime."

"Indeed," Rithlund continued, meeting Rydstroge's curious gaze. "He has decided the Empire must 'return to its glory days'."

"That can mean many things."

Rithlund chuckled, a sly smile creeping onto his face. "Right, but in a later meeting, the Empress Mother alluded that it would be good if her descendants ruled in Galeae."

Rydstroge's eyes widened. Returning to Galeae was a dream many conservatives in the Imperial nobility shared. It had likely been a motivator behind the marriage between the them-heir apparent Prince Damen and Princess Lariss of Galeae. The Galeaen Revolution and the Empire's Moderate government's failure to intervene had been a great disappointment. After 200 years, the empire had been so close! So for the Crown to finally be more proactive in the pursuit...Rydstroge's face light up. "Madness!"

It had drove Rydstroge mad, that Galeae was so close and yet so far. His riches had been unable to reach across the wall that non-recognition of the Galeaen fascist government created over the Sea of Galeae. When the wall was lifted, he'd eagerly reopened many of his business contacts and contracts. Though the Social Democrats that took power after the Imperial Sentric conspiracy were weak, he knew a willing government would eventually come along. And here it was.

"Monarchism is currently unpopular in Galeae," Rydstroge continued. "The population was poisoned by those godless fascists. But given time, I'm sure we could turn public opinion."

"And that's all I'm hoping for," Rithlund said. "It is imperative that the Galeaen population be willing to accept a monarchy."

"Nonsense! You think too little of me. I can achieve much more than that." Rydstroge smiled deviously, taking a drink of his coffee to allow his words to fester. After a few moments, "For the Sornid to rule in Galeae is a goal many of us dream, even strive for. I know your position makes it difficult for you to really communicate with us, so allow me to be your proxy among our brothers."

Rythlund smiled. "That would certainly help."

"Many of my business partners are interested in expanding into Galeae. It'd only take a little push for many of them to participate. It is profitable, after all. In fact, I don't believe you need do much more on this front."

"I'll leave it to you, then, old friend."

The two men shared a moment, before each grabbing a treat. "So how's the wife been?"

[Ayzek]

The sudden death of Empress Mother Lariss, only 44 years of age when the Lord called her to his side, was a staggering blow not only to the Emperor, but to the Empire as a whole. Leading an active social life of charity events, woman's rights activism, and even fashion setting, Lariss had grown unexpectedly popular since Feryn took the throne only five years ago. Her popularity and role as a face of the Crown was only aided by her largely uninvolved son, who rarely made any appearances when not pressed by the Prime Minister or matters of state. And though Hilda, the Emperor's grandmother, was popular among conservatives and those who remembered Wilhelm IV's reign, she had largely retired from the public light with the death of her husband. Consequently, the unexpected death of the Empress Mother left a vacuum in the Imperial Household, one that the Emperor and his wife, Princess Aelia Alexandria of the Mestran Imperium, may struggle to fill.

All the deaths among the Imperial government had a demoralizing effect on the population. Wilhelm IV, who many expected to reign well into the new century, had been assassinated barely two decades ago by Azreaen separatists, while his son Damen II died only five years ago after only thirteen years on the throne. And now the Empress Mother died peacefully in her sleep? At least the Social Democratic administration was still in power, albeit losing ground to the Democratic Sentric Party as the Imperial Party gained ground to the old guard's detriment.

It was likely the Holy Lanlanian Empire would soon transform again, another vestige of its previous era gone. The only question was how. Would Feryn remain an uninvolved Emperor, reeling under the early loss of parental figure after parental figure? Would the empire's ambitions on the mainland, having lost their driving forces, disintegrate? The successors of the reactionary Imperial Sentric Party, now moderated, were again gaining political fervor and signaling an end to the historical domination of the Moderate and Social Democratic parties. The world was stagnant and the Empire floundered without a rival. Would Azreaen national rebound under Feryn's weak reign and again threaten to end the Empire?


Miklafornstad Palace, Lanlania, Holy Lanlanian Empire
Monday, 2 Zechyr 1592

The heart of the world's oldest great power was the most recognizable emblem of the Ancien world order. Born from the residence of Feryn the Glorious and having evolved with the Lanlanian nation, the "Great Old Town" palace was the perfect representation of an empire breed at the height of absolutism. Its most recognizable facade, the South Front, was constructed over 200 years ago during the height of Lanlanian Baroque architecture and faced the King's Park. Less than a decade ago this symbol of Lanlanian endurance attested to what was perhaps the greatest threat to the ancient regime and the only significant action the Lanlanian Isles had seen for over three centuries: an attempted insurrection by reactionary forces, the death throes of Alfred Aria Sulkholm's Imperial Sentric Party.

The only remnant of that fateful night was a plaque on the outer walls containing the names of the eleven Imperial Guards that lost their lives in defense of their Emperor. The palace grounds and the King's Park had been completely restored, with great care taken to ensure no other impression of high treason remained. Remembrance of such a crime was fit only for books and media, never to blemish the Empire's dignity.

Though the palace had been closed to the public for two years after the battle, it was once again welcoming the Imperial peoples and foreign tourists into its grounds. The Grand Fountain was again at the center of a bustling crowd, the Four Great Kings and their divine guards still watching over the Lanlanian peoples from the empire's heart. The Queen's Garden to its east was as vibrant as ever, while the Imperial Guard staged demonstrations by the administrative grounds to the west. The crowd was larger than average; the Empress Mother's Quartyr death was still fresh in the population's mind and many were here to pay their respects at the Imperial Crypt beyond the garden.

Unbeknown to the guests, their Emperor too watched over them. Feryn, in the midst of his twenty-fourth year, had decided to enjoy some fresh air at the roof of the palace, wandering into the smaller garden and sitting area that hid there. It'd been the first time he'd exited the palace for pleasure. Aside from matters of state, he'd spent the weeks since his mother's death grieving in private. But having endured, he was now feeling refreshed and saw the world in a new light.

Indeed, barely into adulthood and without the guidance of a father and mother, Feryn was finding himself finally ready to face his roles as the head of a leading country, the face of many peoples, and an upcoming father. His wife had just yesterday shared with him the news, and today—now—they'd told his grandmother. Soon, they would tell the rest of the family and the empire. Perhaps new life in the Imperial Family would rejuvenate the empire; the dawning responsibility had certainly slapped Feryn out of his limbo, pushed him to come to full terms with his status.

He felt a new man and planned to usher in a new Empire.