mojanghunter

O, leal subjects and cherished allies, to behold the tidings brought before thee. On the last days of Godfrey’s Triumph, afore Our realm’s steadfast sought to lie their heads come eventide’s fall, a great winged shadow did cross the skies atop Saint Godwinsburg, and many did cry out in fear a dragon had come to herald ruin upon Our flock. Long did the beat of wings resound within the skies, and only upon its descent it was known no true dragon at all, but a mere wyrm, wild and ill-omened. By spear, arrow, and faith was the beast of scale and flame driven from breath unto stillness, and as its embers settled, did Alba beckon forth a dragon true. Come the portentous wyrmling’s felling, the Duchess of Furnestock’s hour arrived upon her in full, kindling the halls of Glasgon with fevered flame of haste. The fair Matron, tempered midwives, and devout clergymen alike convened aside the royal chambers, whilst attendants bustled through corridors bearing basins, linens, and holy oils beneath steady hands. And ere the sun’s rise, the realm was delivered an heir, wailing beneath the Skies’ grace. The young heir came forth goodly of weight and full of hearty vigor, neither stout nor gaunt, but of soundly fashioning. And when at last the child was presented unto the court at Trier, many remarked the pale gray cast of his eyes and the chestnut stock therein bore. Princely as his forebears, so too shall the young heir prove the succession of a realm in blossom. Thus, before all present, was the ash-eyed babe of wholly noble lineage baptized beneath the styling he shall henceforth possess, John Philip.

“An Omen.” That, Sir Janos had pronounced the winged beast, when it overpassed Saint Godwinsburg. William gave no answer. He had long since stopped believing in such things. Yet deep into the evening, as he sat beside the dying hearth, the creature returnt, not upon the wind but instead within the cloisters of his own mind. It wheeled through the dark battlements of his thoughts, settling upon the parapets of his conscience, and would by no means be driven off. He could not frighten it off with silence, nor could he whisk it away with wine. So he sat in the dark, the fire dead, the room growing cold, and let the beast turn and turn while he tried to make sense of it. The effort wore him out. Only then did sleep finally come. And he dreamt of nothing at all.

It brought William no such joy to deliver the news of another daughter. The victory atop Mont Collier augured the coming of a son. So promised the physicians and astrologers. So proclaimed the Duke before his father’s court. So was it then, with deep shame, that he now found himself cradling in his arms not that promised heir but instead a fair and healthy girl. Even still, he could not bring himself to muster any wroth toward the babe, for his ire softened at the sight of her.

Atop the bloodied fields of Mont Collier stood the Duke of Furnestock, so bewildered to behold these brigands so well-armed. “Had I known them able to afford such fine steel, I’d have taxed double!”

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William of Glasgon knew not what to think of that Emperor’s death, a man more fable than flesh. He mused someday, the hour would soon come when he should speak to his own children of Emperor Hadrian. How favored they must think themselves lucky, to have dwelt so near in the annals of time to a figure so storied as he. Until such a day would come, however, the Duke would repair to the chapel, and lift a prayer for the man who next must take that brimming cup.

East to west, the sun beheld Man's victory and the Empire's ascension. For this, William of Glasgon gave quiet thanksgiving in the private chapel of the Castle Glasgon, if but to mark that his own blade had been counted among the many which brought to consummation that thousand-year charge, unspooled centuries before his line yet claimed a name, and ordained by Heaven's hand. “Blessed be he, the Emperor of the Known World.

☨ Exalted Horen, father of all mankind, I humbly beseech thee: look with favor upon my wife and children. Grant them length of days, happiness of heart, and purity of spirit. And strengthen me, I pray, to defend my children from the wiles of Iblees, to bring them up in piety, and thereby to perform thy holy work, the salvation of souls. By the divine Grace of GOD, it is with hearts full of profound joy and humble invocation that Their Highnesses, the Duke and Duchess of Furnestock, do hereby proclaim to all the realm the joyous tidings of a most blessed addition to Our Household. In the calm of night, on the eve of the twenty-first day of Tobias's Bounty, in the Year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Seventy-Two, the Duchess hath brought a daughter unto this world. Whole of health and well of spirit, without defect or like malady, the babe doth shine as a beacon of hope for Our lineage and House. The infant was delivered with great difficulty yet, by the goodness of GOD, both mother and babe are preserved. Thus are we now pleased to make these glad tidings known unto the realm. With GOD and the physicians of Glasgon's court as witness, she is born with eyes Horen-grey, hair of chestnut, and complexion fair, features which bear the semblance of Our predecessors of olde. And We resolve, after great contemplation, upon a name befit of her heritage and promise. In ode of Our dear Empress, Elizabeth of Balamena, and honor of Alstion forebears of yore, we doth bestow her the name: Elizabeth Henrietta. It be Our only wish and prayer for the wholeness and eternal preservation of Our Daughter. May she exist evermore within GOD's light, beneath His Mercy and Grace, as a faithful leal and complete. Issued from the Castle Glasgon, the First of Horen's Calling, Year of St. Robert, by order of the Duke and Duchess of Furnestock.

The Duke of Furnestock made ready his finest mail for the coming nuptials.

William of Glasgon perused the missive’s contents, pleased to see the Prince’s Institution open for enrollment oncemore.

Atop the holdfast which towered above the hamlet of Little Furnestock did William of Glasgon raise aloft a banner bearing a Black Dragon in proud display. Great was his pride to behold it standing over the commonality, for that same standard had once been proudly upheld by the Legionnaires of the Lowlands and by the Alstionites of Haverlock before them.

Upon William’s chest was traced the figure of Lorraine, signed by his own hand. In no way was that Alstion remiss in casting aside the strange pontiff, all the more gladly now that it was commanded by the Emperor himself. Thus, a quick prayer he murmured to those exalted Four, for GOD and Emperor.

William of Glasgon crumpled the missive and laughed. Once, a century gone, when the Church was venerable still and the men who spoke in her name were not yet despised, such words might have bred fear. Now they begged only for derision. For who was this Pontiff, that he should sit in judgement upon the sovereign of all mankind, chosen by GOD and ruling by His right?

Bemused, William of Glasgon read through that preliminary volume of THE ALBAN IDENTITY, and on a certain chapter his gaze lingered: William of Alba. How curious was it that he, born to ease and plenty, should share a name with one who endured such great ruination. For hours he remained in his chambers, pondering the life of William Alstion, who had lived some hundred years prior, whose own hardship had wrought the fortune that now bore his name.

William of Glasgon admired the fine penmanship of this missive, which reminded him greatly of the hand of his own homeland.

Within the high towers of that castle from which he first took his name, William of Glasgon beheld that missive which bore his lady-mother's signature. This was the sole familiarity she afforded him, for the pleasures of idle silks and fine wine so often beckoned the Princess of Alstion elsewhere. Still, a small and private smile stole upon his lips, to behold her name so carefully and finely set down; to find some nearness to her through this COURT AT GLASGON, so carefully managed under her watch.

Atop the highest chamber of the Castle Glasgon, the Miracle of Furnestock lay swaddled in his crib. Unaware of the lofty charge that lay upon his name, he slumbered soundly whilst his father and his council rejoiced at the promise of their long-awaited heir.

From afar, Robert Penrose admired the fair penmanship of the missive, if even its tidings were of matters far removed from his own goodly home of Saint Godwinsburg.

Hewn down within the Castle Waldemer, CHARLES was felled a common soldier. A man of common mould and means, his death bore no great account, for as simply as he lived, so simply did he perish. Yet would his name endure, enshrined in song forevermore.

Charles de Montmercy read the charter in silence, the faintest curl of a smile ghosting his lips. At long last, war had come.

Within the Castle Waldemer, Charles de Montmercy whetted his steel, making ready for the slaughter to come.

Charles de Montmercy admired the wondrous penmanship of the writ, then offered a quiet prayer for the Imperial coupling and their newborn child.

From elsewhere, the Count Österland smiled upon hearing of the coming nuptials, and prayed that this union of dragons would usher in a century of peace and prosperity, that which had already been heralded by the restoration of the line of Horen.

At the base of the Castle Waldemer, within the newlymade hamlet, there sojourned a merchant of distant lands. As was his custom to pass the idle hours, he betook himself to the tavern, where men spoke of matters concerning the faith. Discontent and unease sounded within their voices, and though he could scarce grasp what lent such weight to their speech, he resolved himself still to attend this ‘Ecclesiastical Diet’, that he might better discern its meaning.