Announcement on the Passing of Peter III, 1784

[Office of the Registry 2323]

ANNOUNCEMENT ON THE PASSING OF PETER III

 

 

14^th of Sun’s Smile,1784

---

 

His Imperial Majesty the Holy Orenian Emperor, Peter III, then at rest in his bed, passed peaceably away in his sleep last morning. The Emperor had succumb to his illness, which had been prescribed to be a long-standing cancer of the throat. His reign began in the year 1737 and ended today in the year 1784 on the 14^th of Sun’s Smile, totaling an unmatched forty seven year reign. He served longer than any Emperor in all of history, with Exalted Godfrey coming in second at a thirty six year reign, and John I behind that with a twenty one year reign. Indeed, His Imperial Majesty has established himself as a ruler fit to be mentioned in the same breath as those two titans of history and empire.

 

His Imperial Majesty saw the rise of civil institutions which further empowered Him and His government to better serve and lead Our subjects. The Imperial Diet has been cemented as a legislative authority, advising the Emperor through their Acts and other Writs on how to rule. The Council of State has been solidified as the most esteemed body of professionals and advisors in the world, helping His Imperial Majesty rule His vast domain efficiently and justly. The Imperial Judiciary has protected the rule of law in Our domain, ensuring the right of the everyman to a trial by jury of his peers.

 

We as an Empire mourn today and tomorrow and forevermore the loss of His Imperial Majesty the Emperor. His funeral to be announced in the upcoming months. But indeed the wheel of time doth roll ever onward. Accordingly, we do see fit to facilitate the instrument of succession. In accordance with succession law, the late Emperor’s foremost heir of the body, Her Imperial Majesty the Holy Orenian Empress, Anne I, shall begin her ascendancy. As is appropriate and as befits Her station, her enthronement and coronation shall be held in the near future. In addition, the nature of her reign shall be characterized by the arrangement the late Emperor prescribed: She shall serve as the first reigning Empress in history, and her husband, His Imperial Highness the Duke of Helena, shall be coronated with her as her co-ruler forthwith. This inimitable pair will surely build upon the most sturdy foundations that the late Emperor erected.

 

The Emperor is dead. Long live the Empress.

 

---

 

[AnonymousAlexa 3890]

Angelika Bykov grew in a sharp breath upon reading the missive. ”Godan...” she murmured, gently rubbing her temples. The woman set the piece of parchment onto her desk and rose, lowering to a kneeling position. She clasped her hands together and began to pray for the late Emperor of Oren. “Do Thou, O Lord, have mercy on our dearly departed, for the sake of us sinners all who greatly hope and trust in Thee. For Thy mercy can turn bittering weeping to joyous fanfare, for Thou alone judgeth the living and the dead. Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord. And may perpetual light shine upon them.” Between prayers, she signed the Lorraine Cross four times, before continuing.

[SerFinnick 445]

Philip sits alone within the Albarosa manor in Helena, before a servant brings him the sealed dossier. He’d go to take a sip of his tea as he opens the parchment, intently reading its contents, his jaw dropping as the teacup shatters on the floor of the dining room.

 

“The Emperor is Dead. Long Live the Empress. Long May She Reign”

 

((I’m away from my computer until Tuesday. Forgive bad formatting))

[Marquesa_ 298]

Spoiler

 

 

       The Harlot of Leone’s race has been run.

 

      There Renée sat wistfully. A woman of an abundance of aliases, riches, and especially fame, reduced to nothing more than a lonely old tramp in a matter of mere minutes.

 

      The Aeldinite was no fool, she had always seen this day coming, even at the meager age of eighteen when she was first escorted to the private apartments of the Emperor. The tart reflected heavily on that moment now, remembering how her heavy-lidded, youthful eyes gazed into the night sky from a place she had dug for herself on the state bed, and how even then she could so clearly see between the stars her bittersweet destiny.

 

      The Novellen Palace had been Madame Rothesay’s home for nearly two glorious decades, and she outright refused to allow anyone the pleasure of evicting her. For days she had had the entirety of her belongings, and a few parting gifts from His Imperial Majesty, primed and ready to depart at a moment’s notice. That aforementioned moment came during the hours in which it became painfully apparent that her beloved Petey would not survive the night.

 

      In the midst of incessant visits to an unconscious state, the Emperor managed to perform his firmest nod in weeks by way of his Maîtresse-en-titre. She of course took that as her signal, and after she whispered her final worldly words to her dearest sovereign, the paramour was gone in a flash.

 

      Her three foremost achievements in life: Leopold, Blanche, and Heloïse, escorted their mother all the way from the deepest depths of the Novellen to it’s front gate. Ever the staunchest guardian of her children’s emotions, she opted to make their fall from grace as pleasant as possible: the Auvergnian made them laugh, told them endearing stories from their early youths, and most importantly, kept their tears at bay for the time being. When they finally reached the border between the palatial residence and the city, they were met with an exceedingly garish golden carriage that bore the initials of Renée and her significant other. Succeeding their introduction to the opulent coach, the mother made quick, albeit tremendously heartfelt work of imparting nurturing words of wisdom and affectionate well wishes to each and every one of her offspring.

 

      Then, her son leaned forward to open the door of his mother’s beautiful cage, and her two daughters took in hand the train of her panniered golden gown, and Renée eased herself into exile. Not too long after, bells began to blaringly ring throughout the city, announcing the death of a monarch and the ascension of another, and the now abandoned lover began to pound her hand fan so harshly against the roof of her enclosure that it abruptly snapped. With that dejected cue, reins were yanked, horses fiercely galloped, and tears were shed.

 

      Thus, the tale of a courtesan, a mistress, a conspirator, a mother, an orphan, and most importantly, a woman, came to a close.

[BobBox 3798]

Vitali (formly known as Rylan Swint) stood at the entrance to his new home, sword in hand. “He was a good man… May he rest easy.” He said simply “He allowed me to accomplish great things, I suppose I did a good job at protecting him since I died first…” He’d say and chuckle before moving off to his next job. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Amthalion ran around before turning to Ophelia “Hey! We were in that place! Where he lived!” He’d exclaim “Hopefully the new Empress lady likes our paint more than he did. Don’t you think blue and orange would fit her?” He paused for a moment as he thought aloud “Maybe she’ll even give us treasure! C’mon!” He’d say before running off. 
 

[Paulobig 133]

Spoiler

 

 

Sir Alaric DeNurem traveled back into the Crownlands from the northern road. Upon his left hand was a shield, his fingers lacing around the metal handle firmly. Whilst dangling from his right leg was a light slayersteel chain linked to a sizable aurum Lorraine cross -- The lone Knight's paces were hasty, the perpetual void cast across the horizon above him. A full moon looming over a hazy fog as he hastened back to the Imperial Capital, not a second lost to his stride. 

 

As the DeNurem approached Helena, near its first entry gatehouse, a light sound of the tolling of bells echoed throughout the air - The beforehand gloomy atmosphere shifting ever so grimmer with every clash of the alloy. First was old Mister Basrid's resignation, presently the elder Monarch, Peter III’s reign coming to a conclusion. That was the end of an epoch, one he was proud to have lived through.

 

Yet his task was not achieved, the Imperial line had to persevere time, and that was his duty. The soon-to-be Empress, Anne Augusta, to assume her rightful crown along with her husband, Joseph Clement. The man uttered to himself, in remark to the realm, and former liege:

 

-=-

“One unbreakable shield against the coming darkness,

One last blade, forged in defiance of fate,
Let them be my legacy to the world I conquered,
And my final gift to the species I failed;

Such ist Oren.

The Emperor ist dead; Long live the Empress.”

-=-

 

Alas, Oren underwent drastic transformations, and with the rupture of the status quo, on came unique foes. Hence arose a new period, and the beginning of his crusade. That Knight held his cross ever so closely, signing the Lorraine upon it before he venturing inside to find his wife, Viktoriya DeNurem…

@TreeSmoothie

[Sarven 2619]

*Marcus would scratch his head as he’d read on, then counting on his fingers* ”Huh.. soo, vat,  three Haeseni kings and two emperors? Damn, I’m old..” *his smile would quickly turn to grimace, then signing the cross on his chest as he’d say a prayer* ”May his Imperial Majesty Rest.. and... long live Her Imperial Majesty..”

[marilka 552]

Wilhelmina Beatrix released a long-held breath, the newly minted Imperial ordering the beeswax candles lit in her apartments, casting glowing reflections in the redhead’s eyes. 

 

No more would she mutter amaranthine prayer over His Imperial Majesty’s ailing form, nor make merry in the gardens of Novellen with her companions. A collection of serving women, bare-faced and hair unpowdered, adorned her in black bombazeen and glazed gloves in preparation for the approaching mourning.

 

”Long live the Empress.”

[AstriaS 4988]

The High Keeper let out a small, quiet laugh, a smile appearing behind her porcelain mask as news of the Emperor’s death traveled north to the city of Morsgrad. “Good riddance. Let’s see how this Empress does for them. I do like women in positions of power.”

[Nectorist 12869]

Franz doesn’t uselessly comment “reserved” on a post when he could just make the comment later when he has the time.

 

Instead, upon reading the missive, he looks to the palace, or what little of it he can view from his office window, almost longingly. A twinge of sadness strikes his heart, and he ceases writing in his papers to reflect for just a quick moment of time in his busy day. 

 

“I’m getting on in years now, but there wasn’t a year a lived which he didn’t reign. It’s a strange feeling, one I don’t think I quite like, to be at the end of such an era...” he muses aloud, sighing as he bows his head in prayer. A final wish of good fortune and the grace of God is given to the now-dead Emperor.

 

May he find peace at last, that damn old soul.

[BenevolentManacles 2232]

Philip had barely spoken to his grandfather, but he had always felt his ever-gazing eye, weighing upon the young Prince’s shoulders. Philip stands, arms crossed, in the courtyard of the Novellen, before the bust of his now dead grandfather. 

 

“I would say there will never be another like him,” he opines to George Kovachev at his flank, “But perhaps it is more right to hope for more like him, instead.”

 

Philip saluted the one-eyed philosopher’s stone form with a stone face to match.

[Morigung-oog 5697]

Vexalia, former imperial sorceress, received the news when on one of her travels. The elfess was struck with a sudden sorrow as she knew she’d lost a close ally. She would mourn the loss of her friend, and promised herself she’d try to make it to his funeral. Still, she recalled the new empress, and the memories she had, knowing the empire would be in good hands.

[devvy 1348]

When Lieutenant DeNurem heard of the Emporers death, her being completely out of the loop until now, an abrupt, singular memory hit her. She was taken back to the battle of Boomhill, when the Emporer himself spared her a light and shared a moment of silence over a smoke. Just moments before that they’d been vigilantly charging at a monster who fought down so many of their comrades. And for that, she’d decided – he was a real one.

 

A drink was sloshed, and another Carrington cigarette lit, she’d smile. “Your rest is past due, Peter III. May God save the next.”

[Inkthorn 1433]

Victor downs a bottle of whiskey in honor of old Peter, and prays that Anne will fill his shoes well enough. He then contacts the new editor in chief of the Helena Herald, Inc. and asks them to begin writing an obituary befitting this titan of state. 

[Guest]

 

The Warden of the Pale stood in Tor Eldar amidst the square. It was an unchanging place for the most part, and little had changed there in the past twenty-years since the city was constructed. People had come and gone. Elves, Kharajyr, Hou-Zi, and all manners of merchants over the years. Yet still the denizens of the city remained, Alderfolk and Dark Elves of high esteem. He pondered to himself the words of the Sage Haumel, before vocalizing internally:

 

To live as an Elf is to live doubly cursed.

 

To watch all your comrades die, and to be unable to produce more of your kind.

 

For as you live, you lose, and all things around you shall change with time. 

 

Emperor to Emperor, King to King, Warden to Warden.

 

The times shift like winding dunes of sand caught in a superb twister and you know not where you will land once you are cast aloft.

 

With those thoughts the tall Alder Elf took a seat in his chair across from his ally the Immortal Avaeramos. As the Warden of the Pale he had not been close to the Emperor; but years prior had fought against him in the Alliance of Independent States, before eventually realizing it would be best to join the Empire rather than continue to inhabit the Fell Lands. He drank from a wine class clear plum wine savoring the taste before saying.

 

“To the Emperor of Mankind, and to the bond that we share. His service has ended but the Alderfolk shall not forget his compassion. Rest in peace, Peter son of Horen, and may our works live on forevermore.” He and Avaeramos clinked glasses, and the others in Malin’s Rest Inn that night shared a toast. To the Emperor, and his daughter, and the Imperial Cabinet.