The Sanguine Empire
January, 1836
Those peasants from the villages outside Bittle huddled in their houses, trying to keep fires going against the cold. Winter was roughest around here, where the tundra made farming difficult. The harvest was adequate, but many worried if it would last through spring. Hunger was always a concern. And yet, the mood wasn't sour in any home. Families brought out their best food, slaughtered their biggest animals, and gathered round with their families, or in the village tavern, to eat a warm, shared meal.
This day was the 17th of January, the Day of Faith. A day to remember the Saint in all his glory, and to practice His teachings of love, kindness, generosity, and goodwill towards others. While the poor had little to give but cheer, the Imperial Palace was alight.
Nobles from around the region had been invited for a grand ball, within the capitol's grand palace. Townsfolk watched the parade of nobility from their windows, in awe of their wealth, as they went about their own celebrations.
The young and the old all came in resplendent carriages throughout the morning and afternoon, being escorted to one of the spacious rooms within the palace. At night, the ballroom was filled with the cream of Sanguine society, decked in gowns of the finest cloths. Wrinkled elders and pudgy matrons danced onto the floor like children, while the young played games of nervous eroticism in subtle flirtations and signals within dances.
Before the festivities were to begin in earnest, Damian Amoury made his way into the ballroom, his presence announced by the trumpets of several guardsmen, a sound that echoed throughout the hall. Conversations halted, and everyone adopted a slight bow.
A decade ago, no-one thought Damian would inherit. He had two older brothers, strong, capable, charismatic, and adventurous. But it was those same qualities that got them killed.
The late emperor, Balthazar, was an absolutely intimidating man, standing at six foot six, and weighing two hundred pounds, mostly of muscle. He was cold, calculating, and never idle. He carried himself like a bear, shaking the ground with each footstep, and booming curt orders in a voice like low thunder.
But if Balthazar was a bear, then Damian was a wolf. The young man carried himself with a sort of effeminate swagger, shoulders and hips swaying slightly as he walked, eyeing everyone with a leery, hungry gaze. He dressed in the finest clothes, and groomed himself very well. His pale skin was smooth and clear, and his deep black hair was set perfectly.
He descended the steps, and paused for a moment, turning from side to side of the crowd in silence, as if appraising them.
At last, he spoke,
"Thank you all for coming. . ."
~ * ~
A Letter on the Jarelian Crisis
Sovereigns of the old world,
Nationhood and the divine power of soverigns are not ideas to be taken lightly. Those appointed by divine right to rule a land have been given a burden equal to any power gained: the burden of responsibility for a whole peoples. And there is no greater burden on this earth than being tasked with the well-being and prosperity of a nation.
Yet there are many who do not understand the great effort that goes into the preserving and keeping a nation. They believe that a shared culture and language are all that are needed. It never occurs to them that effective governance, economic sustainability, effective foreign diplomacy and, beyond all else, the mandate of the divine, are necessary to the health of a nation.
Culture is but one aspect of nationhood. It is far and away not the only one, and it is arrogant to presume on its basis alone the need to rend a nation asunder, to defy what has for centuries kept nations united and prosperous, and bring on chaos and violence.
We urge the sovereigns of the Old World to oppose the movement of the Jarelians, in the name of peace, prosperity, and the divine right of sovereigns to rule.
- From the desk of his Imperial Majesty,
Emperor Damian Gregory Amoury
