Post by Clipse on Mar 19, 2011 20:52:37 GMT -5
Freeform Fantasy Roleplay Promo.
Himring, Cornealia; The Imperial Capital.
Prologue.
Rarity and uncertainty were social norms never accepted by the Cornealian masses. Spring had come and gone, and summer had past its zenith, moving into the slow decline into autumn. And yet the summer storms had persisted, furious displays of power and rumblings which had plagued the capital for centuries. Even now, over the horizon across the vast ocean, a blackish hell, illuminated every now and then with golden flashes, was prowling towards the sleeping city. The waters raged in turn, and waves battered up against the sea walls. Over top it all sat the Imperial Palace, a silent sentinel and guardian. The Sacrum Sophia, named after the mother of the very first Emperor Marcus Constantine, was the center of power of the Cornealian hegemony. It had persisted, survived, and endured, just as the older generations had. Over tyranny and oppression, evils that still eroded every aspect of human civilization.
The grand city was fast asleep, its near million inhabitants having finished another day of labor in their lives were preparing for a new day tomorrow through their sleep. The streets were relatively quiet, for even the dogs and creatures of the night had sought shelter from the upcoming storm. Rain had yet to fall, and was expected again to drown the city of marble and stone from which had seen no blight upon its walls since a devastating revolution of the past. While the sewers and flood trenches were of the highest quality, even they too were overwhelmed with what Mother Nature could bring to bear.
Only a single figure walked the wide marble roads of the capital, walking slowly as if in a trance. A woman, dressed in a white robe with the hem dragging along the clean streets, walked towards the Palace. Had there been any watchers, they would have noted her departure from the Saint Maria Cathedral and have thought of her as nothing else then a late-night church goer or a troubled individual seeking prayer and aid. However, had there even been a witness, any notion of individual troubles or devoted faith would be immediately disregarded. Trailing the robe-clad female was a trail, which seemed to form spontaneously from the hem. It followed her where ever she walked, and in the harsh light given off from flashes of thunder, one could almost make out the nature of the trail. A reddish hue, staining the silk white marble of the roads. Blood.
The woman appeared or didn't even seem to be in any pain or hurt, as her hands were gently clasped over her stomach and her face appeared emotionless. The trail had reached the Vilgaric Forum, the center point and the greatest of all the Forums in perhaps the country, as it was the end destination for many roads, reaching in from other metropolis's such as Constantigrad, Nicomedia, Galam, Mutina, and Varna. Located just outside the Palace walls, it allowed the Emperor and other magistrates commune with many people across the nation. The woman continued her commute, staining the important trading center with blood, an unheard of atrocity in merchant life in Cornealia. No such concern seemed to be on the figure's mind though, as she headed for the Palace itself.
Designed to be a citadel within a fortress, the walls were fifteen feet thick and rose as nearly seventy feet tall. It was guarded by the powerful Palatine Guard, which was formerly three distinct classifications of Imperial Guardsmen of an older order. Inside was the main household of Cornealian Emperors, the current being Tiberius Constantine Claudia. The fifth of the Constantine house, he was only a decade into his reign, much loved though not very popular, and is rumored to possess a very powerful order of talented killers and powerful assassins. However, the figure turned away from the Palace, taking the trail on a parallel course alongside the Palace walls. She had yet to see, or be seen, by another individual.
She continued her stroll, walking alongside the tall white walls of the Palace. She passed them by, battlement after battlement, caring little for the emphasis placed on military culture which was once so highly praised by Cornealia. For war serving as a tool of diplomacy was to a degree extremely inefficient and idiotic, and by her caliber obsolete. And yet she strode, next to the very center which was built upon warfare and glorified conquerors. Uncertainty indeed.
Up ahead, the walls turned at a right angle, forming a dead end to her current path. The walls stood silently in the night, a watchful sentinel and a formidable obstacle. Thick walls and so massively reinforced that it was rumored to be the grounds for extreme chariot racing amongst the guards due to its width. The woman walked right up to the wall and ran her hand across it, gently stroking it as if it was a sleeping infant or a beloved pet. Any onlooker would have believed her mad or insane, had their been any, for she began to speak, muttering words of a forgotten language unheard of in present times. And then she vanished.
Himring, Cornealia; The Imperial Capital.
Prologue.
Rarity and uncertainty were social norms never accepted by the Cornealian masses. Spring had come and gone, and summer had past its zenith, moving into the slow decline into autumn. And yet the summer storms had persisted, furious displays of power and rumblings which had plagued the capital for centuries. Even now, over the horizon across the vast ocean, a blackish hell, illuminated every now and then with golden flashes, was prowling towards the sleeping city. The waters raged in turn, and waves battered up against the sea walls. Over top it all sat the Imperial Palace, a silent sentinel and guardian. The Sacrum Sophia, named after the mother of the very first Emperor Marcus Constantine, was the center of power of the Cornealian hegemony. It had persisted, survived, and endured, just as the older generations had. Over tyranny and oppression, evils that still eroded every aspect of human civilization.
The grand city was fast asleep, its near million inhabitants having finished another day of labor in their lives were preparing for a new day tomorrow through their sleep. The streets were relatively quiet, for even the dogs and creatures of the night had sought shelter from the upcoming storm. Rain had yet to fall, and was expected again to drown the city of marble and stone from which had seen no blight upon its walls since a devastating revolution of the past. While the sewers and flood trenches were of the highest quality, even they too were overwhelmed with what Mother Nature could bring to bear.
Only a single figure walked the wide marble roads of the capital, walking slowly as if in a trance. A woman, dressed in a white robe with the hem dragging along the clean streets, walked towards the Palace. Had there been any watchers, they would have noted her departure from the Saint Maria Cathedral and have thought of her as nothing else then a late-night church goer or a troubled individual seeking prayer and aid. However, had there even been a witness, any notion of individual troubles or devoted faith would be immediately disregarded. Trailing the robe-clad female was a trail, which seemed to form spontaneously from the hem. It followed her where ever she walked, and in the harsh light given off from flashes of thunder, one could almost make out the nature of the trail. A reddish hue, staining the silk white marble of the roads. Blood.
The woman appeared or didn't even seem to be in any pain or hurt, as her hands were gently clasped over her stomach and her face appeared emotionless. The trail had reached the Vilgaric Forum, the center point and the greatest of all the Forums in perhaps the country, as it was the end destination for many roads, reaching in from other metropolis's such as Constantigrad, Nicomedia, Galam, Mutina, and Varna. Located just outside the Palace walls, it allowed the Emperor and other magistrates commune with many people across the nation. The woman continued her commute, staining the important trading center with blood, an unheard of atrocity in merchant life in Cornealia. No such concern seemed to be on the figure's mind though, as she headed for the Palace itself.
Designed to be a citadel within a fortress, the walls were fifteen feet thick and rose as nearly seventy feet tall. It was guarded by the powerful Palatine Guard, which was formerly three distinct classifications of Imperial Guardsmen of an older order. Inside was the main household of Cornealian Emperors, the current being Tiberius Constantine Claudia. The fifth of the Constantine house, he was only a decade into his reign, much loved though not very popular, and is rumored to possess a very powerful order of talented killers and powerful assassins. However, the figure turned away from the Palace, taking the trail on a parallel course alongside the Palace walls. She had yet to see, or be seen, by another individual.
She continued her stroll, walking alongside the tall white walls of the Palace. She passed them by, battlement after battlement, caring little for the emphasis placed on military culture which was once so highly praised by Cornealia. For war serving as a tool of diplomacy was to a degree extremely inefficient and idiotic, and by her caliber obsolete. And yet she strode, next to the very center which was built upon warfare and glorified conquerors. Uncertainty indeed.
Up ahead, the walls turned at a right angle, forming a dead end to her current path. The walls stood silently in the night, a watchful sentinel and a formidable obstacle. Thick walls and so massively reinforced that it was rumored to be the grounds for extreme chariot racing amongst the guards due to its width. The woman walked right up to the wall and ran her hand across it, gently stroking it as if it was a sleeping infant or a beloved pet. Any onlooker would have believed her mad or insane, had their been any, for she began to speak, muttering words of a forgotten language unheard of in present times. And then she vanished.