“One fine summer’s day, a Tortoise found her way to the foot of a grassy knoll, having travelled far to find a safe place to lay her eggs.
There was plenty of grass to eat, and plenty more foliage with which to build her nest.
Tortoise was lumbering, and not very flexible. Everything took her a long time, and she was shy towards new and unexpected things. She had lived a long time, had seen much, and so preferred that which was most comfortable and peaceful.
However, there was one thing she didn’t yet know. At the summit of the knoll, atop the tallest branch of an ancient, twisted tree as old as she, there lived a proud and fearsome Hawk. He had spied her long before they had managed to reach the foot of what he saw as his domain, and with piercing eyes he stared down on her from his high place, his predatory instincts already concocting a scheme…”
There was plenty of grass to eat, and plenty more foliage with which to build her nest.
Tortoise was lumbering, and not very flexible. Everything took her a long time, and she was shy towards new and unexpected things. She had lived a long time, had seen much, and so preferred that which was most comfortable and peaceful.
However, there was one thing she didn’t yet know. At the summit of the knoll, atop the tallest branch of an ancient, twisted tree as old as she, there lived a proud and fearsome Hawk. He had spied her long before they had managed to reach the foot of what he saw as his domain, and with piercing eyes he stared down on her from his high place, his predatory instincts already concocting a scheme…”
--
En route to Palazzo Heracleia, Monti Catalini
Provincia Cathalina-Magea, Esvanovia
For the first time in nearly forty years, Atia Polybia felt a knot beginning to form within her stomach. She briefly tried to console herself by putting it down to the jerking motion of her state car on the winding country roads that led them through the foothills of the Cathaline Mountains, but she couldn’t bring herself to buy into such a self-soothing lie. She had made this journey multiple times before; this time was however much different to anything she had faced before in her seasoned political career within the Imperium Antiquum.
It had been, despite her many numerous advantages in life, a winding road that had very much led to the one she now found herself uncomfortably on. Born into the prestigious Polybia family - scions of the second-generation Genetrix Polymnia, “The Hymn Giver” - she spent the beginnings of her young adult life like most women of her tribe, in service of the senior Silvanus family. As a baby-faced lady-in-waiting of the then Imperatrix Europa Silvanus, mother to the now reigning Caesar, Atia had cut her teeth on court politics and made herself noteworthy for her aptitude at reading complex social situations. So well regarded she became at this skill, that the Imperatrix encouraged her to return to their ancestral home of Hierakonpolis in order to make a play for one of the megalopolis’ seats in the Imperial Senate. At the time one of the youngest candidates to ever enter the fray, she won the endorsements of other Great Families for her astute, clear-minded directness when faced with tough questions.
That was the start of twenty-nine year career within the Imperial Senate, where she earned a begrudged respect from both her senatorial peers and the hydra-like mass of the Imperial Ministries for her no-nonsense attitude during sessions of the senatorial committees, raising her public profile almost overnight when she had chastised senators - some far more senior than her - for everything from minor breaks in decorum to full-blown corruption and extortion scandals. It made her many fans, but plenty more enemies. Yet she seemed to always stand tall above them all, looking down with her signature “cat-eye” glasses that had stuck with her even as the rest of her wardrobe changed to match with the times. For all these years of public service within the dregs of procedural motions and dirty laundry, Atia was rewarded with the twilight that most Senators dream of: the role of Pro Consul of one of the Imperium’s outlying dominions. Having dealt with so much grit, Atia had won what many considered to be the jackpot of Cathalina-Magea, one of the Imperium’s smallest dominions, but exceedingly popular among the Great Families as a retreat away from the neverending tumult of life in Gholgoth. Environmentally pristine and economically rich for its size, Cathalina-Magea was generally considered to be a posting ideally suited to a senior statesperson near the end of their careers. As it happened, though, Atia’s talents for cutting through the bullshit still came in necessary, helping to navigate the longstanding cultural and historical tensions between the majority Azuri and minority indigenous Cathalan communities. She found this to be a much more fulfilling exercise, in the grand scheme of things; not throwing the rulebook at privileged elites, but working through the conflicted emotions of people just trying to survive. She saw that as the duty of her privilege, and why - despite the many bad actors she had encountered within it - she still believed the system could achieve good things for everyone.
Yet she felt that none of that truly prepared her for what she saw herself facing now. Within her lap she held countless briefs detailing the rapidly escalating situation between the Kingdom of Sombreland and Empire of Aureumterra, the two great domains of Nordurland in northwestern Esvanovia. In the span of only two weeks, what had started as a spat over just a few missionaries accused of spying had developed into a very real war scenario. Of course, there was longstanding historical animosity between the two nations: one animist and wedded to a proud caste tradition with matrilineal blood, the other rigidly monotheistic and patriarchal. Both saw the other as archaic and out-of-touch, but this of course was just the extra fuel being added to a bonfire of greater geo-political ambition. It was known to Kylarnatian guests of the court of Emperor Frederik IV that he and those of his close circle were becoming increasingly enticed to the philosophy that there was a past greatness to reclaim, one that long predated the established modern realpolitik of the treaty that ended the Blue War between the Imperium and the Aureumterrans. Part of that great past were several of the border provinces that now belonged to Sombreland, and so it seemed that the hawks of the Emperor’s court had seized upon the growing momentum to potentially make the play they and it seemed quite a few Aureumterran political pundits had been calling for.
Sombreland therefore found itself balancing ever closer on a sharp knife-edge, one that they were skirting ever so closely. While the young Princess-Regent Alavaine had made great strides in finding allies with the Confederate States of Anagonia, her government struggled with growing isolation as they found themselves withdrawn from the protective alliance of ICON and thus alienated from a few extra allies who could have offered them defence. At the same time, there seemed to be a long broiling social unease coming to a head under the ominously named “Cult of Thon”. While Sombreland’s internal politics was not further divulged in the current briefs at her disposal, the gist that Atia had managed to gather was that it was a state that found itself at a fork in the road, and both were laden with dangers that no state could survive unscathed.
Yet it wasn’t just either Sombreland or Aureumterra who were at stake in this fight. Both had allies across Esvanovia who would be compelled to act in the event of war, and many of those were also allies of the Imperium: the aforementioned Confederate States, the Marquesan Imperium, perhaps even the Evenguard, all potentially falling on competing sides. The combined firepower of Sombreland and Aureumterra alone already threatened a conflict on a life-shattering scale; adding some of the region’s greatest juggernauts into the fight would only risk turning it into a total war that could cause economic collapse and the loss of millions. This was a reality that the Imperium Antiquum was intent on seeing not come to pass, for it already found itself facing down the barrel of an impending total war much closer to home - one that put all of humanity at stake. One was enough for Caesar.
All of these worries circled round in Atia’s head before she was snapped out of it by the sensation of a hand taking hers, and squeezing it gently. She turned her head to look over at the passenger who sat beside her: Homer Polybia, her dutiful husband of almost forty years. Once the Poet Laureate of the Imperial Court, where their budding romance had begun, the then young prodigy would go on to become regarded as one of the greatest Seraphic writers of his generation. Still creating well into his sixties, the man was the perfect foil for Atia’s statute-driven mindset; a bright-eyed idealist, he could see the best in even the worst of situations. This time was no different.
“They are coming to talk.” He soothed her. “The fact they’re willing to do that, even now, means that there’s still a dove that strives to fly free from the closing talons of a hawk.”
“Ever the poet, my dear.” Atia teased him. “Sadly, I don’t think your beautiful words alone could quell the disquiet in their hearts.”
He pulled a dramatic face. “And here I was thinking I’d be able to stage an impromptu performance in the gardens…”
She let out a small laugh, trying her best to summon some sort of good humour. Atia knew however that every word in this negotiation was going to have to count; the Imperium’s Ambassadors had already worked extensively to cajole both parties to agree to send delegations to the Provincia for a last minute attempt at finding a peaceful resolution. Those initial talks alone had proven how wide the gulf was in their wishes: the Kingdom, perhaps rather modestly, seemed to chiefly desire a mutual recognition of political and cultural sovereignty. The Empire, by contrast, was doggedly determined to receive some form of concession.
Atia’s thoughts dipped back in and out as the state car rounded one final winding corner to find the Palazzo Heracleia rolling into view. A huge palatial estate commissioned in the nineteenth century to mark the spot where the Treaty of the Cathaline Mountains was signed, its facade was a Seraphic spin on historical Cathaline architecture, which had windows far larger than the entrance to the home. Each of these windows was stained glass and featured images of the Heraclean Caesar’s - the dynasty that had consecrated this land - in their now immortalised, saintly visages. In the great courtyard to the palace there was a fountain topped with a bronze statue of Caesar Galeria Heracleia sat atop a great steed. Adjoining the palatial house, several satellite lodgings were nested among vineyards that seemed to stretch on for miles across the hills surrounding the palace. Typically, this was a retreat utilised by the Pro Consul as a place to conduct business, in particular to facilitate friendly discussions between Azuri and Cathalan in an idyllic space. Consequently, therefore, it was deemed as the only viable space for the talks between Sombreland and Aureumterra to take place.
Rolling into the grounds, Atia caught sight of the many Azuri staff making the final preparations for the lodgings of both diplomatic parties; both equidistant from the palace, each out of view from the other so as to afford the representatives some breathing space from each other when they inevitably needed it. Behind the palace was the Private Garden, where the clear sound of an honour guard of Caesar's Imperial Auxilia were carrying out final rehearsals for the greeting of both parties tomorrow.
“Oh shit!” Atia’s heart dropped for a sudden moment as she quickly ruffled through her dossier to review the itinerary for the morning, almost startling her husband at the speed at which she did so. She did however end up breathing a sigh of relief. “Thank the Mother, we made sure to have them arrive at different airstrips…” The Ministry of Foreign and Imperial Affairs had planned everything meticulously, to ensure that neither of the parties met until they were in the Pro Consul’s company.
“Atia.” Homer placed a doting hand on his wife’s shoulder as the car came to a complete stop. His other hand placed on hers which grasped the papers, perhaps far more tightly then she ought to. “Everything will be well. You must focus on preserving yourself for the days ahead.”
The two shared a brief but tender embrace, which for a brief moment relieved Atia of all her worries. Then, with renewed resolve, she collected herself in time before the door was opened by a waiting aide.
It had been, despite her many numerous advantages in life, a winding road that had very much led to the one she now found herself uncomfortably on. Born into the prestigious Polybia family - scions of the second-generation Genetrix Polymnia, “The Hymn Giver” - she spent the beginnings of her young adult life like most women of her tribe, in service of the senior Silvanus family. As a baby-faced lady-in-waiting of the then Imperatrix Europa Silvanus, mother to the now reigning Caesar, Atia had cut her teeth on court politics and made herself noteworthy for her aptitude at reading complex social situations. So well regarded she became at this skill, that the Imperatrix encouraged her to return to their ancestral home of Hierakonpolis in order to make a play for one of the megalopolis’ seats in the Imperial Senate. At the time one of the youngest candidates to ever enter the fray, she won the endorsements of other Great Families for her astute, clear-minded directness when faced with tough questions.
That was the start of twenty-nine year career within the Imperial Senate, where she earned a begrudged respect from both her senatorial peers and the hydra-like mass of the Imperial Ministries for her no-nonsense attitude during sessions of the senatorial committees, raising her public profile almost overnight when she had chastised senators - some far more senior than her - for everything from minor breaks in decorum to full-blown corruption and extortion scandals. It made her many fans, but plenty more enemies. Yet she seemed to always stand tall above them all, looking down with her signature “cat-eye” glasses that had stuck with her even as the rest of her wardrobe changed to match with the times. For all these years of public service within the dregs of procedural motions and dirty laundry, Atia was rewarded with the twilight that most Senators dream of: the role of Pro Consul of one of the Imperium’s outlying dominions. Having dealt with so much grit, Atia had won what many considered to be the jackpot of Cathalina-Magea, one of the Imperium’s smallest dominions, but exceedingly popular among the Great Families as a retreat away from the neverending tumult of life in Gholgoth. Environmentally pristine and economically rich for its size, Cathalina-Magea was generally considered to be a posting ideally suited to a senior statesperson near the end of their careers. As it happened, though, Atia’s talents for cutting through the bullshit still came in necessary, helping to navigate the longstanding cultural and historical tensions between the majority Azuri and minority indigenous Cathalan communities. She found this to be a much more fulfilling exercise, in the grand scheme of things; not throwing the rulebook at privileged elites, but working through the conflicted emotions of people just trying to survive. She saw that as the duty of her privilege, and why - despite the many bad actors she had encountered within it - she still believed the system could achieve good things for everyone.
Yet she felt that none of that truly prepared her for what she saw herself facing now. Within her lap she held countless briefs detailing the rapidly escalating situation between the Kingdom of Sombreland and Empire of Aureumterra, the two great domains of Nordurland in northwestern Esvanovia. In the span of only two weeks, what had started as a spat over just a few missionaries accused of spying had developed into a very real war scenario. Of course, there was longstanding historical animosity between the two nations: one animist and wedded to a proud caste tradition with matrilineal blood, the other rigidly monotheistic and patriarchal. Both saw the other as archaic and out-of-touch, but this of course was just the extra fuel being added to a bonfire of greater geo-political ambition. It was known to Kylarnatian guests of the court of Emperor Frederik IV that he and those of his close circle were becoming increasingly enticed to the philosophy that there was a past greatness to reclaim, one that long predated the established modern realpolitik of the treaty that ended the Blue War between the Imperium and the Aureumterrans. Part of that great past were several of the border provinces that now belonged to Sombreland, and so it seemed that the hawks of the Emperor’s court had seized upon the growing momentum to potentially make the play they and it seemed quite a few Aureumterran political pundits had been calling for.
Sombreland therefore found itself balancing ever closer on a sharp knife-edge, one that they were skirting ever so closely. While the young Princess-Regent Alavaine had made great strides in finding allies with the Confederate States of Anagonia, her government struggled with growing isolation as they found themselves withdrawn from the protective alliance of ICON and thus alienated from a few extra allies who could have offered them defence. At the same time, there seemed to be a long broiling social unease coming to a head under the ominously named “Cult of Thon”. While Sombreland’s internal politics was not further divulged in the current briefs at her disposal, the gist that Atia had managed to gather was that it was a state that found itself at a fork in the road, and both were laden with dangers that no state could survive unscathed.
Yet it wasn’t just either Sombreland or Aureumterra who were at stake in this fight. Both had allies across Esvanovia who would be compelled to act in the event of war, and many of those were also allies of the Imperium: the aforementioned Confederate States, the Marquesan Imperium, perhaps even the Evenguard, all potentially falling on competing sides. The combined firepower of Sombreland and Aureumterra alone already threatened a conflict on a life-shattering scale; adding some of the region’s greatest juggernauts into the fight would only risk turning it into a total war that could cause economic collapse and the loss of millions. This was a reality that the Imperium Antiquum was intent on seeing not come to pass, for it already found itself facing down the barrel of an impending total war much closer to home - one that put all of humanity at stake. One was enough for Caesar.
All of these worries circled round in Atia’s head before she was snapped out of it by the sensation of a hand taking hers, and squeezing it gently. She turned her head to look over at the passenger who sat beside her: Homer Polybia, her dutiful husband of almost forty years. Once the Poet Laureate of the Imperial Court, where their budding romance had begun, the then young prodigy would go on to become regarded as one of the greatest Seraphic writers of his generation. Still creating well into his sixties, the man was the perfect foil for Atia’s statute-driven mindset; a bright-eyed idealist, he could see the best in even the worst of situations. This time was no different.
“They are coming to talk.” He soothed her. “The fact they’re willing to do that, even now, means that there’s still a dove that strives to fly free from the closing talons of a hawk.”
“Ever the poet, my dear.” Atia teased him. “Sadly, I don’t think your beautiful words alone could quell the disquiet in their hearts.”
He pulled a dramatic face. “And here I was thinking I’d be able to stage an impromptu performance in the gardens…”
She let out a small laugh, trying her best to summon some sort of good humour. Atia knew however that every word in this negotiation was going to have to count; the Imperium’s Ambassadors had already worked extensively to cajole both parties to agree to send delegations to the Provincia for a last minute attempt at finding a peaceful resolution. Those initial talks alone had proven how wide the gulf was in their wishes: the Kingdom, perhaps rather modestly, seemed to chiefly desire a mutual recognition of political and cultural sovereignty. The Empire, by contrast, was doggedly determined to receive some form of concession.
Atia’s thoughts dipped back in and out as the state car rounded one final winding corner to find the Palazzo Heracleia rolling into view. A huge palatial estate commissioned in the nineteenth century to mark the spot where the Treaty of the Cathaline Mountains was signed, its facade was a Seraphic spin on historical Cathaline architecture, which had windows far larger than the entrance to the home. Each of these windows was stained glass and featured images of the Heraclean Caesar’s - the dynasty that had consecrated this land - in their now immortalised, saintly visages. In the great courtyard to the palace there was a fountain topped with a bronze statue of Caesar Galeria Heracleia sat atop a great steed. Adjoining the palatial house, several satellite lodgings were nested among vineyards that seemed to stretch on for miles across the hills surrounding the palace. Typically, this was a retreat utilised by the Pro Consul as a place to conduct business, in particular to facilitate friendly discussions between Azuri and Cathalan in an idyllic space. Consequently, therefore, it was deemed as the only viable space for the talks between Sombreland and Aureumterra to take place.
Rolling into the grounds, Atia caught sight of the many Azuri staff making the final preparations for the lodgings of both diplomatic parties; both equidistant from the palace, each out of view from the other so as to afford the representatives some breathing space from each other when they inevitably needed it. Behind the palace was the Private Garden, where the clear sound of an honour guard of Caesar's Imperial Auxilia were carrying out final rehearsals for the greeting of both parties tomorrow.
“Oh shit!” Atia’s heart dropped for a sudden moment as she quickly ruffled through her dossier to review the itinerary for the morning, almost startling her husband at the speed at which she did so. She did however end up breathing a sigh of relief. “Thank the Mother, we made sure to have them arrive at different airstrips…” The Ministry of Foreign and Imperial Affairs had planned everything meticulously, to ensure that neither of the parties met until they were in the Pro Consul’s company.
“Atia.” Homer placed a doting hand on his wife’s shoulder as the car came to a complete stop. His other hand placed on hers which grasped the papers, perhaps far more tightly then she ought to. “Everything will be well. You must focus on preserving yourself for the days ahead.”
The two shared a brief but tender embrace, which for a brief moment relieved Atia of all her worries. Then, with renewed resolve, she collected herself in time before the door was opened by a waiting aide.
