Coronation of John V Frederick, 1614

[Heff 2460]

 

 

Oren is restored. Banners of the imperial purple and black hang from every window and whip in the breeze behind every armed rider. Soldiers fill the streets, marching in parade-line with the black dragon of House Horen proudly emblazoned on their tabards. War-horns blow and children cheer as the procession winds its way through the streets of Mardon to the Temple of Owyn’s Flame.

 

The crowd seems to swell with fervor as a chariot rounds the bend behind a regiment of heavy cavalry, coming into view of the High Pontiff and his priestly retinue, who stand stoically on the steps of the temple in their jeweled vestments. The chariot is ornately carved, a relic of the Aeldinic era. Holding the reins, guiding a team of four great black horses with his left hand and holding his saber aloft with his right, John Frederick Philip Horen charges into view.

 

He’s tall, with rough hair and beard, but with the stately poise that marks all legitimate monarchs. He stands as if a giant astride the world, gazing calmly over all of his subjects. Cynics in the crowd, who had muttered furiously to one another about the return of the Empire, ceased their whispers and joined in the growing roar. It was as if the whole of the people had been lost, but here was their shepherd, and he was righteous. They were saved, and they were victorious.

 

Waves of soldiers part to allow the chariot an unobstructed path to the steps of the Temple. The Emperor-to-Be dismounts, and begins to stride confidently up the steps towards the Pontiff. Before reaching the top, he stops and turns, raising a hand. The sea of men and women teeming below quiets in seconds, and the sovereign speaks,

 

“ Empire is the height of civilization. When the squabbles of men give way to diplomacy, and order replaces chaos, and the law of Horen lives on through his heir, this is called Empire. In the years since the Fifth Empire was weakened and fell, I have heard men curse the word “Empire”. They do nothing but curse order, civilization, and the  brotherhood of man.

 

For this is the truth I have come to deliver at your feet. This is why I have come to kneel in the Saint’s temple, and offer myself before God and my people. By the right of the Exalted blood which runs through my veins, I will restore order to the Empire. I will restore order to humanity, and I will restore order to Axios. I have come to bring the brotherhood of man promised by our Creator. I will restore the full might of the Empire.”

 

The sound which rose from the crowd was nothing short of deafening. Thousands shouted with joy as the fear of the last era melted away. This was a safe world again, an ordered one, ripe for great progress. The Emperor turns and mounts the next steps, reaching the level of the temple. The sovereign genuflects to one knee, and humbly kisses the ring of the Pontiff, with a whispered, “Sanctus Pater.”

 

    The Holy Father makes signs of blessing over the bowed ruler, and raises him up, leading him to the interior of the temple where the coronation is to occur. The great vaulted ceiling lets in dappled light through its stained glass windows, and a glittering many-layered crown sits on the marble altar in the distant exedra. The clergymen who line the basilica begin a chant of Ave Oenus, and the air practically shivers with something mysterious and divine. 

 

    The next Emperor is led to the altar, where he lowers himself to his knees at the feet of the High Pontiff. Smoke rolling from the censors of the Pontiff’s attendants fogs the scene, giving John Horen V a shimmering, otherworldly appearance. The smell of viridi and myhr pervades the room. The coronation proceeds dream-like, the voice of the elderly Pontiff echoing eerily in the hall of God, repeating an ancient Flexian formula from the days of the Imperium Primus. The sovereign nods in receipt of his obligations, and makes the sign of the Lorraine cross over his chest, intoning the traditional imperial oath, “So I swear.”

 

    According to tradition, the monks of Abbey of St. Owyn, led by the Brother Alaric, called heavenword the Imperial Hymn to Horen,

"We praise thee, O God,

We acknowledge thee to be the Lord,

All the land doth worship thee,

the Creator everlasting.

 

The glorious company of the Emperors, praise thee.

The goodly fellowship of the Prophets, praise thee.

The noble army of Martyrs, praise thee.

The holy Church throughout all the world,

doth acknowledge thee,

The Creator of infinite Majesty.

 

Thine honourable, true and favored Son,

Thou art the King of Glory, O Horen.

Thou art the everlasting Son of the Creator.

Thou sittest at the right hand of God, in the glory of the Creator.

 

We believe that thou shalt come again in your line,

To rule the Earthly world as Emperor, Conqueror, Prince of Peace.

We therefore pray thee, help thy servants,

Make them to be numbered with thy Saints, in glory everlasting.

Deus Vult."

 

    As the monks called out in prayer, two of their number wrapped John V with the gird bearing the Coronation Sword, fixed the buskins and spurs upon the feet of sovereign, and cloaked him with the mantle of Peter. As the prayer finished, Brother Alaric calls, “I was glad when they said to me, let us go into the house of the Lord.” With this, the Pontiff steps forward, holding aloft St. Owyn’s ampoule, which is filled with sacred oils. It is lit with by the flame of St. Owyn, glowing bright from the temple hearth, and poured as such over the Petrine cloak. Flame licks at the curious fabric, but does not char it. “I anoint thee with the holy oil in the name of the Creator, and of the most favored son.”

 

    The Pontiff crosses himself with the sign of Lorraine and begins  to pray aloud as the flames die away and smoke begins to curl lazily from the cloak of St. Peter. “Heavenly Creator, hear our humble call. We pray to you as servants of your will. Guide us in this imperial endeavour, so that we may replicate your celestial order in our sinful mortal plane. Lead our Emperor John Horen V in the way of the righteous prophets, may his rule be marked by your divine wisdom and justice. May he wear this crown as humbly as he wears the burden of his duty. Deus Vult.” With that, the shimmering Imperial crown was lifted high for all to see, and placed on the head of John.

 

    The room wass still, reverent, and then the gathered crowd began to echo the High Pontiff, “Deus Vult…

Deus Vult…

Deus Vult.”

 

“Stand now, Emperor John V Frederick Philip Horen, inherit the mantle of Godfrey, Siegmund, Owyn, and Peter, and lead your people to greatness.”

 

 

[Holyland 3651]

dEUS VULT

[Taketheshot 3834]

"Ave Orenia! Ave Horen! Ave Imperium!" a gleeful Phillip cheers as the Empire is restored. Humanities place secured once more in the world.

[Imam Faiz Kharadeen 3167]

"SubhanAllah" says qalasheen

[ibraheemc2000 2965]

"SubhanAllah." says a qalisheen in complete white clothing

----

"SubhanAllah." says yet another qalisheen in Harian guard Uniform

------

"SubhanAllah." says yet another qalisheen in the dessert by a camp fire with his father

(("SubhanAllah." says Ibraheemc2000 as he hears the news in the harian skype chat))

 

[Britannicvs 2508]

"Long may he reign!" A Carascan Merchant proclaims.

[overlord2305 202]

"The man lacks a spine, letting the vile heathens provoke us unopossed. The empire won't last a month with such weak willed a man leading it. " *Basillia grumbled, discontent with the emperor already moments after he was crowned*

[LithiumSedai 5750]

"Hail! Hail!" Renna would cheer loudly.

[Ixli 1472]

"Alright. Sure. I'll play along!" an elf states.

[Paleo 298]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.