A Shattered Future (IC) Post-Apoc medieval rp

[Ithalian Empire]

A Shattered Future

OOC

The City of Parie
Imperial Palace
May 15, 1169

Gaus Gerdoux

He knew life was ending, Gaus had known he was slowly dieing for the past ten years. It had started as a bad flu. Now he knew it to be cancer. A horrible malady that even the men of old dreaded. It was a horrible end, to slowly wast away. There days were he couldn't get out of bed to attend to chamber business. Those days were getting more frequent.

Gaus had never took a moment to think of what would happen after he departed this world. Men never really wish to think those thoughts. To come to tearm with ones own frality is a difficult process. One that kept the Emperor awake for many nights. But he had to face his own morality. That started this morning when he hacked up blood. It wouldn't be to long before he breathed his last.

He now sat at his large desk in his personal chamber, a place were he had done must of his ruling from. Today would be his last decree, to call a gathering of his principal vassles, the heads of the eleven Holds to the capital. This only happened during corrinatons and funerals. But this gathering would be different. The emperor would chose his heir, one of his twin son's would be chosen, and the Holders would pleage there allegence to him.

That was Gaus's plan anyway. Even as the wax seal on the last letter cooled a storm was brewing. Gays would not see first lighting bolt, but he could feel the charge in the air.

Charles Gerdoux

Charles was the oldest of the Emperor's sons by fifteen minutes. This however was not a clear path to succeed his father. There was the chance that his father would choose his brother over him, but in Charles mind this was an impossibility.

They may have shared a womb, but the two men might as well have been born from two separate mothers. Charles was lean, with the build of a man who spent long days in the fields. Everything about him was angular and taut, his eyes were almost grey and his dark hair was prematurely greying.

George looked like one of the statues that had been chiseled by the hands of the old men, a hard jaw and muscle with a head of jet black hair and piercing blue eyes.

Charles continued to think as he walked through the palace, the sound of the yard served as the only other noise besides the clip walk of Charles. He often found himself wandering the halls and stairwells of the stone monolith he had called home, yet another difference between the two brothers. Charles was a reader, a thinker. He studied the literature of past centuries, the military campaigns of Emperors past, the wisdom of ancient philosophers.

All this made Charles a formidable mind. Few could best him in a game. He was also a judge of character. And in the charecter of his brother was something dark, a streak of cruelty ran in George, his brother was also easily manipulated. The Three protect this land should George take the throne.

Imperial Aviary

The birds were restless in there cages, a living mass of feathers and beaks. In all nearly fifty of the little beasts were chosen, they were the strongest in the Aviary. Birds were faster than horses, but were far more vulnerable, hawks and hungry pesents were known to make meals of the birds. That was also why there were over fifty of the things being readied.

It took the Master of the Aviary and two assistants several hours to ready them. All said it would take the birds at least a week to reach the farthest corners of the Empire. Each bird bore a letter with the emperors seal, each was a summons to the capital for a Council.

Gaus Gerdoux

The light was fading, long shadows were cast along the room by the ever diming sun. He stood, an ever difficult task he found. The wax had hardened on the last decree he would write for the day, in the portal to his chamber stood Abramm, his brother.

" Protect this with your life Ab, its the only hope we have, if I die before the Council meets, read this send copies of it unto all the land. Abramm, your the only man I trust with this." every minuet death was drawing near, and the emperor was near his limit for the day.

"Gaus, I swear to The Father I will keep this safe, whatever this is."

"You will find out brother in do time."

[Benuty]

The Province of Grenada
The duly elected Hold Capital of El-Andul-Us, Palace Library Collection
May 1169

Recollections of the Grenadian Histories
Chapter 1: Life of Tahir the Great Scholar (Year 319-429)
Next Chapters: Theology, and Policies of the Great Scholar, The Grand Taifate, and the Invasion of the Blackfist

Part One (319-369)

When the faith began spreading back so long ago there was no empire, but a collection of squabbling nobility, and others trying to fulfill the glory of a dead world from long ago. They fought for land, power, glory, bloodlust, riches, and some vague claims of justice or revenge. Men have come, and gone, but the reasons for the foolish wars of mankind remain the same. The great scholar Tahir (the one that is pure) saw this while giving council to one of the great families of old in this region. Back then families were bound only by blood, and often would feud over the simplest of things. Tahir (the one that is pure) is claimed by many to have lived to the ripe age of 110 surely a blessing for one so in service to the three.

Tahir was born to a man many commoners infamously called the bloody Mey (mayor) of Isbili (Seville in old world mythology), and was proudly raised by the man as his son. Of course the mayor was a arrogant warlord who sought power for the sake of power, and wanted to pass this on to his son. It was only when a councilor noticed Tahir's hair was similar to that of a local servant in one of the mayors residences did things go downhill for him. The bloody Mey believed his pride had been wounded so his wife was imprisoned, the boy cast out, and had the alleged father whipped to death before the commoners. The boy had been left to wander the streets, and to this end the bloody Mey hoped his embarrassment would die.

The villagers were kind to the boy having known his real father from before the rather nasty incident. Years went by, and the boy grew into the role of farming, and aiding the villagers in needed tasks. It wasn't to last as the bloody mayor seeing weakness in his liege the Taif (duke) of Cordoba the troops were raised, and war began. The soldiers loyal to the Mey took anyone they could leaving behind only the women, and children to tend to the few crops that hadn't been looted by the soldiers. Rather than be a burden on those remaining he chose to head to a local temple where the priests were noted for their dedication to the study of all arts.

By the time Tahir grew to be sixteen he began working as an apprentice within this order of priests. Tahir traveled the roads with his mentor often attending to the war camps of the dying, and injured. The Bloody Mey had succeeded in overthrowing his former liege the Taif, but was Taif in name only with some of the vassals opposing him aided by other Taifs as well. Within four years the war was over with the Taifate of Cordoba under the control of the former Mey. Along with the Taifates of those who opposed him as well this gave the man the unique privilege of forming the first, and only grand Taifate.

The now Grand Taif ruled over most of Grenada save for a few Shei's (counts), and others strong enough to outlast his remaining men. It lasted till Tahir was forty five years of age, and there has never been another one since. At the age of forty Tahir had gone through his training many years before, and served in the court as an advisor. The Grand Taif always had his suspicions of Tahir given the mans similarity of the bastard his wife produced, but it never went beyond that. During his fortieth year of life a man from the far north known as blackfist lead an army to ravage the southern lands, but took a special interest in what is know known as Grenada.

At first it was raiding parties, but soon landfall was made near coastal areas. Year by year more, and more territory was chipped away, and those that had been independent were brought into the fold. Yet the Grand Taifa refused to submit waiting out the siege of Cordoba behind the thick walls. Yet Tahir along with a cohort of guards determined to put an end to the war. The gates opened, and negotiations were made with Blackfist to be allowed into the city on the condition looting was not allowed. The deal was accepted, and the armies of Blackfist entered the city rather quickly.

The Grand Taifa, and what was left of their family had been slain with little mourning from the rest of the population. From Cordoba the Blackfist cemented their new regime, and kept the old council in place to familiarize himself with the land, and its customs even more. After many discussions with Tahir he chose the title viceroy instead of Grand Taifa as the title had been tainted by the now deceased holder. Blackfist adopted the faith of the three, and the customs of the area. By age fifty Tahir now even higher up in the council than before began discussing the idea of a pact that would solve the problem of conflict in the area for many generations to come.

[Imperialisium]

House Varkur
Visegrad, Mount Kolgrad, The North

The North was a harsh land. A beautiful land. A land beset by temperate Summers, colorful Autumns, bitterly cold Winters, and windy Springs. A land dominated by arguably the most mysterious and enigmatic of the great houses of the Empire. House Varkur. Many legends permeate the Northern lands about House Varkur. Most of them speak of noble hero's and protectors. Others speak of them being not entirely human. That during the Night of Blood for when the House was struck with a particularly virulent affliction all had fallen. Yet, miraculously a few rose after doom. At first it seemed a miracle made manifest. That the Gods of Old had blessed the House with renewed life for the survivors. But to others it was damnation eternal. That they had become something heinous to behold. Whispers and rumors. That they where not alive, but not truly dead either, yet something in between. In Visegrad itself, the greatest city in the North, one would hear anything of benevolence upon House Varkur; however, you may also hear of darker things. That they come in the night. That their guard is not wholly human. That they are wraiths chained to the lands of the North. Its eternal midnight overlords. That they drink the blood of men and bathe in the blood of women. Vampires. Yet even for the Northerners, who are a mysterious and queer folk to their Southern Imperial Kin, that name is not wholly associated with evil. For House Varkur and its warriors have always been stalwart defenders of the North. Vladimir Varkur may be harsh, uncompromising, and fierce. He is also protective and generous to his people. His beautiful daughter of legendary appearance among women and eternally youthful. Indeed the hand of the lady Varkur was one long sought after by the bachelors of many noble houses. For she was the only child of Lord Varkur, heiress of the North, and her hand would mean ascension to a high lordship of a Hold of the Empire.

Visegrad was a jewel to behold. Built into the cliffsides, seemingly carved, from the great mountain of Kolgrad. Its concentric walls and gateways built up over many generations. Rising up from the Great Bridge of Volkon, one of the earliest Lords of the North, that spans the chasm before the main city gates, up to the Mountain peak itself which features a plateau. A plateau where the castle of House Varkur us located. Some six thousand feet above sea level. Its walls where black as night and topped with numerous torches. But the castle perched on the top of the mountain peaks was curiously dark, devoid of torches, wreathed in shadow.

Visegrad Castle

The tip tap of feet padding on the flagstones could be heard dimly. The murmur of whispers. The creek of a great door yawning open on its hinges. In the moonlight, wreathed in shadow, two piercing blue eyes seemingly filled with eldritch bale fire shown. Like the Polaris star had been harnessed in this man's vision. "What is it?" said a sharp voice, the man sitting on the stone throne, piercing the air of the room like an arrow loosed from an Angeland longbow. The other individual, a small page boy, scurried forward and bowed. Depositing a piece of parchment in the outstretched hand of the man sitting on the throne. "News from the capital sire." said the boy before stepping back. The man on the throne. None other than Vladimir Varkur himself, unrolled the small piece of parchment, and looked at it. Some how seeing in the blackness of the night as if it was midday. He set the parchment aside.

"The Emperor is leaving this world it seems. You may go boy." The page scurried from the room. "I suspect you will have to travel to bend the knee?" said a woman's voice off to the side. Succulent and sweet like freshly poured honey. "I will do no such thing. We will wait as long as we can. I suspect the Emperor's sons will be at each others throats before the old man is even under fresh dirt. We wait. Bide our time. Make up some excuse for our absence as always."

"But what if they suspect disloyalty?" inquired the female voice.

"The Emperor's sons will be too busy securing their own power to pay attention to us so far away. We have time. When it becomes clear that one side will prevail is when we make our move." replied Vladimir.

"I see. Father."

"You have much to learn my love." said Vladimir, softly this time, a rare occurrence. "I suspect you want to ask me something my child?" Vladimir looked to his right. Into the shadows. Two piercing green eyes like emeralds shown back. "Father. You promised me that I will be allowed to travel to the capital."

"Given this event I will not allow that. You are my daughter. My heir and only child." Vladimir seemed agitated now. Like he had been pestered about such a topic many times before. Yet he was unrelenting in his tone of voice. The female voice was silent for a moment. Faint footsteps heard a moment later. Vladimir returned his attention to the now truly empty hall before him.

[Armenda]

Steanchett Estate, Parie Hold.

---

For long, the Steanchett House had never been a very active house in the Empire.

Very few of its members - usually none at all - were a part of any liege's court. The Steanchett family had for generations (since its fall at the hands of a tyrant many years before) stayed in the shadows, conducting unscrupulous business wherever they can. This had made them not only very powerful - having access to several contacts in the city - but very rich as well. The expansive Steanchett Estate in Parie was testimony to this matter. We must keep in mind that with not only did the tyrant take away from the Steanchetts their power and birthright, but their innocence as well.

Ever since losing control of the city that the Steanchetts had controlled for ages, the family has dabbled in everything unscrupulous. The Steanchetts are the most powerful members of the Thieves Guild, and their Army is well known to enforce and ensure that no one cheats the Steanchetts when it comes to commerce. The Army itself also functions as a mercenary team, ready to work for anyone who pays the most gold.

At the mantle of this extensive system is Edward Steanchett, patriarch to everyone in the family.

But it is a new day. The Steanchetts have once more begun their scramble for power. The Emperor Gaus lays dying and there is uncertainty as to who will assume the throne. It is high time the Steanchetts return to court - perhaps they will be able to gain power and influence the next Emperor that sits? Those are decisions that the patriarch will take. For we are simply the audience in this very dramatic stage we know as the court.

---

It is seven in the morning.

Many in the household have already woken up, preparing for the lengthy day that awaits them. The cooks have been busy since morning preparing breakfast for the Steanchett family, while the servants have been at it since dawn cleaning the courtyards and countless rooms in the extensive, extravagant estate. Edward Steanchett's private army in the Parie estate have divided themselves into several patrols. His elite guard are prowling the outskirts of the estate, watching for any potential threat - or opportunity.

But the patriarch himself, the powerful, cunning Edward Steanchett has woken up the latest. This is normal - it is Edward who stays late nights, planning his next move, trying to do what is best for the House. He observes the book of accounts, the armory, the estate itself: in all ways, Edward is a very analytical man. He would be an asset to any court, an asset to any battle - that is, any belligerent.

But today, Edward isn't expecting a battle.

As the Steanchett family sit together for breakfast, the table is eerily quiet. This is a normal occurence - the first fifteen minutes in a Steanchett table comprise of utmost silence, followed by a discussion of what sly plans the family has intentions to execute.

The first fifteen minutes have elapsed.

"Father," A voice calls out, "Are you going to be going anywhere today?"

It is John's voice. Edward turns to the young child, smiling widely. "I'm afraid I am, son. Did you have anything in mind?" The aging Edward asks, putting down his bread. "Well, not really, but I wanted to go hunting with you today - I think I've become better at it!" The excited John says, looking at his father excitedly. "Well, I'm afraid today's a very important day. George ought to take you, eh George?" Edward suggests, looking to his older son. George slowly nods. Within a few more minutes, breakfast is over.

The powerful Edward confidently marches out of the estate and walks towards the courtyard. Outside, his elite guard numbering to a hundred are assembled, led by the veteran Robert, a mercenary and a long-time Steanchett friend - as well as Edward closest. "I trust that we're fit to ride today, Robert?" Edward asks, putting on his gloves. "Aye, sire. It'll take us not too long to reach Parie. I've heard word of the Emperor dying very soon - rubbish, I assume - and we've received the bird, as you expected. We've been summoned to Parie for a council." Robert says, bringing forth Edward brown thoroughbred, Cromwell.

"As expected. I suppose I should've brought Mary?" Edward asks. Robert nods, helping Edward onto Cromwell. "Well that's a shame. Should we bring the entirety?" Edward asks again. Robert shrugs. "I'd rather not send you lads back and forth. Assemble the carriage." Edward says, getting off his horse, walking back into the estate. Within an hour, the Steanchett family in Parie - Edward, his children, and his wife - have left the estate. The women and John enter the carriage, while George rides his own white thoroughbred - Wolsey - alongside Edward. By afternoon, the entourage have left the outskirts of Steanchett Estate.