Ernest II Philopator
The pigeons shifted uncomfortably as they perched upon the statue of Jan August Szewczyk, who stared down with dispassionate stone eyes upon the lands in which he had only spent a short time over two centuries ago. Yet it was upon those weeks that absolutely everything in the Ernestine Empire, including the country itself, rested. For it was Szewczyk, by far the greatest military mind of his generation, that had torn down the old and rotting petty kingdoms and republics that had made up much of the continent at that time. He was called by many a usurper, the shoesmith from a half-peasant family, but victory has its own reward and his many critics were ultimately forced to bend the knee and pay homage to him as Emperor of the vast territories over which he held sway. It might have been the start of a great and glorious dynasty, or it might have been the hubris before nemesis, but either way history would never know, for at the height of his success he fell from his horse and perished, the first and only occupant of that Imperial Throne that his will alone had created. A proportion of those lands of into which Szewczyk had broken reverted to the older polities from which they had formed; but others still were divided between the Emperor’s capricious generals, each of whom sought to emulate the glory of their former master and all of whom fell short. Most of those fiefdoms were now gone, lost to the ages like Nineveh and Tyre, but not the dominions of Ernest, Marshal of the Empire and one of the finest cavalry commanders of that bloody age.
Ernest’s cut of the profits endured to this day, held together by the sometimes steady hand of his successors against the ravages of nationalism and entropy. That burden now fell upon Ernest VII Soter II, who looked down upon the statue of the the general on which the pigeons sat, and silently lamented the yoke that cruel ancestry had bestowed on him.
“I think,” said the king, his pale and watery eyes continuing to look upon the accidental founder of his particular dominion, “That I should like a garden party.”
A flash of confusion appeared upon the face of Sir Bogomil Tanchev, the King’s Private Secretary, before experience and protocol kicked in to return his features to a neutral expression. He bowed deeply.
“An excellent suggestion Your Majesty,” he said, “And one, if you don’t mind me saying, that speaks of great and profound wisdom. I would hesitate to comment, however, that this laudable proposition does not, in the first instance, appear to be altogether connected which the subject of our discussions, which was the failure of the Duke of Starogard to form a new administration.”
The king turned back from the window and, with a royal sweep of the hand, dismissed such trivialities. “I’m sure old Starograd,” began the King languidly, “Will be able to sort something out. Unless…” the King perked up in his chair, “Unless the time has come for more direct rule?”
Tanchev shot up like a rocket. “No!” he cried. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary Sire, the more formal administration of the realm is such a tedious and tiresome affair that it is best left to men such as His Grace who devote themselves to such thankless tasks.” It was a truth universally acknowledged that the King had some good points but that he wasn’t capable of running a post office, let alone a country; which was a shame because much of the Empire’s constitution (if it could be called that) was dependent on a strong monarch. A strong and capable monarch. Much of the royal administration was therefore designed to prevent exactly that; a royal administration.
Having caught the bait, the King was not to be dissuaded. “No no Tanchev, it’s what this country needs, the smack of firm government.” That last bit was not his phrase but rather that of his late father the King; who was at least capable of enlightened despotism until he, and the rest of the royal yacht, were scattered across Lake Dubrava by a bomb.
The King stood and began to move across his office towards a model of a city that stood against the wall. “This is just the opportunity,” he began, “To finally sort out the problems with the drainage.” The model showed the king’s vision for the redevelopment of the capital and consisted mainly of grotesque triumphal arches, soaring statues of himself and his predecessors, a hall so large no one could understand what it was to be used for and a monorail. Tanchev did not have much time. He leapt across the office with as much energy as his old bones would allow and, gently putting an arm around the royal shoulders, directed his liege towards the window. “About this garden party, sire,” he said, “A capital idea, when were you thinking of holding it? I should think the weather at this time of year would be excellent.”
“But,” began the king, “the drains…” His protestations were, however, in vain as Tanchev talked over him.
“Any later,” continued Tanchev with the perseverance of a tank brigade, “And the summer heat might be too much. Who were you thinking of inviting?”
“Oh,” said the king. He looked out the window at the pigeons in the square below and the gathering clouds on the horizon. “Looks like rain.”
Tanchev’s expression was fixed. “The invitations sir.”
“Oh,” said the king, again, “Everyone I would think. Anyone who would come. Good opportunity to mingle, wouldn’t you say?”
The secretary smiled. “An excellent opportunity sir.”
__________________________________________
To whom it may concern:The Lord Chamberlain is commanded by
Their Majesties to invite you
to a garden party at the Royal Palace
Novaurbo, the Lands of the Crown of Ernest I Nicator (Ernestine Empire)
Ooc: Hello, you may remember me as the NS player behind such countries as Uncle Noel and Leagran. I thought I might steal an idea from Excalbia (I'm not Excalbia just for reference) of having a "peaceful, diplomatic role-play". I'm happy for anyone to join but if you want to ask permission, or submit your character's dietary requirements, then feel free to send me a TG. This is just an opportunity on my part to do something a little different and as a way of introducing a new nation.
