Post by Timeon on Mar 27, 2015 11:53:42 GMT
It is a sorry thing for a mediocre man to sit at the right hand of a god.
So thought Galav Nusidio Victrufa. It was not the first time that this knowledge pained him. Its whip sunk his eyes, so that all he beheld were his silken slippers and shaking hands. His duty to God-King Radiance, betrayed. It was light itself which Victrufa now feared. Within it, his sin was illuminated. Victrufa turned his hands to study the rings and baubles of his station as High Palatine. His lip quivered as he beheld the amber glow of the Ever-Burning Orbs of the palace reflected in his silver. No matter where he hurried his gaze, Victrufa could not escape truth. His failure was within as well as without.
Nine years of politicking to secure his station had rendered him no better than an eunuch. Then eight powerless years as High Palatine had manifested the jest more fully in the world than a Pacted Daimon given flesh. Galav Nusidio Victrufa sat at the right hand of a god, and all that god could tell ask of him was "More wine, Falca..."
No, Radiance could not even paw at Galav Nusidio Victrufa, but it was Falca he called. Falca, who had been the last High Palatine, long since dead of a stroke. Truly, this was a jest made manifest. Varantium was rotting. The nation had whored itself and so the nation had become a brothel. In the darkest corridors of his soul, Galav Nusidio Victrufa was almost glad that the apocalypse was mustering at his shores. That the Republic planned jihad. That he would die. That the rot would be purged by a fire, even if it was the fire of gunpowder.
Chanting a misremembered nursery rhyme, Galav Nusidio Victrufa steadied his hands. He adjusted the signet ring that bore the simple crest of a mosaic sun and studied it for a simple moment. Duty. Tradition. It was not yet over.
Step by step, he crossed the golden tiles of the palace and halted before the mouth of the Curia. Beyond lay the beating heart of Empire. Beyond reclined a god. The doors hummed to his touch, the sigils and wards recognizing him as High Palatine. The mosaic upon the doors came alive, showing ancient battles and the founding of cities, the culmination of the great Faloran migrations. And at last the doors opened, beckoning the High Palatine to walk the path of Emperors. Galav Nusidio Victrufa entered the Curia, ascending steps innumerable to kneel before its Throne.
Elevated high enough to near the ceiling lay the Throne of Empire, vacant now for almost a millennium. Hanging just above it, a spectacle of golden embers, rays of light made flesh. Radiance. The God-King did not respond upon his approach. Victrufa pressed his face to the ground nonetheless. The Curia was watching, even if Radiance was not. Arrayed on balconies surrounding the Throne, the scholar-officials of Varantium surely shivered and smiled, their eyes glinting decadence brighter than any torch. They sensed weakness.
Galav Nusidio Victrufa raised his eyes to Radiance. He alone could look into that blinding light. His was the greatest Spark. And Radiance would only speak with the bearer of that Spark, and him alone.
"More wine... Falca..."
It was the High Palatine's task to convey the words of the God-King...
"The God-King bids this session begin." He lied.
"Falca..."
Victrufa took his seat upon the highest step beside the throne, his composure a façade.
"The Republic..." Victrufa annunciated slowly, meaningfully. "... Comes."
The scholar-officials nodded sage heads, bloated with empty wisdoms.
One by one, they bickered over what course of action to take. None listened to Galav Nusidio Victrufa. They only listened to Radiance, and Radiance did not speak. No, Galav Nusidio Victrufa could only pretend that he spoke. Yet his every conveyed statement had to fit Radiance's character. If any of them ever suspected, suspected that he lied...
Duty. Tradition. It is all that holds us together. If they lose faith in Radiance...
Had Radiance been this decadent under Falca? Or was it only Victrufa who failed to get through to his master?
"If we do not set aside talks of tribute, talks of taxes, of personal interests..." Victrufa tried. "The Houses must muster without division."
"The cost!" roared ten. "Recompense!"
"Who shall lead?" cried one.
"It would be unfaithful for us to answer to Nish-Sapur! Our House must lead! Our martial tradition-"
"... abandon our fields?"
"An empty threat! Let them raid!"
Victrufa raised his voice, but none heard.
"Kutanda and the others shall come." moaned one priest. "Why bleed ourselves dry to protect the south?"
"I-" Victrufa began, but was interrupted by an Archonic Knight's outrage.
His hands shivering, Victrufa wept.
"Falca?" Radiance, doubtful.
One by one, the voices fell silent. His shame was manifest. The jest was over-
"But what does Radiance say, High Palatine?" It was Manlia Suren Issander, a youth next to his peers, but one respected. His voice had not hardly been raised during this meeting, till now.
"He asks..." Victrufa said, tottering to his feet. "He asks for wine."
A deep silence.
A madman's grin.
"Yes." Manlia Suren Issander said. "We know, High Palatine."
A ripple of acknowledgement, a faint murmur.
Victrufa pawed at his baubles and fell backwards, crawling towards the Throne, eyes fixed upon Radiance.
"Songs, Falca... Lights."
"We are damned." Victrufa whispered, spittle flecking the Throne.
"Fellow blessed." Manlia Suren Issander said, heads turning to regard him. "The Arbiter is dead. Our Dominion is humbled. The Republic musters. We speak of shirking responsibility, to promote personal interest... to preserve ourselves in our decaying mansions. Is it any wonder that we are cursed by silence from our God-King? Have we not failed him? And do you think the rest of the Dominion will answer our call when the Arbiter is dead, when the West rises in innumerable rebellions?"
Grunts of agreement, particularly from the Archonic Knights. Victrufa's brow furrowed in faint wonder and shame overcome. Something flickered within him. Something long since forgotten.
"Do you not know Doctrine?" Manlia Suren Issander stated, spreading an arm wide. "Scripture? Are we not bound to Radiance as he is bound to us? Are we not both reflections of the other? We are the Dominion. We are Varantium, as surely as Radiance is us, within us. His Spark, his warmth... The Eclipse brothers. That will be the Republic's gambit, fairytale or no."
"The Eclipse!" Victrufa grunted. "Manlia speaks truly. You have failed our God-King. What have we done with his gifts?" Victrufa shouted now, scrambling to his feet, one blasphemous hand clawing at the Throne. "I chose to be High Palatine to resurrect this land."
Manlia Suren Issander shut his eyes and inclined his head, a rare mark of respect.
"... and we bound your hands and silenced you, High Palatine, while False Sun and Dawn Lantern hoarded and Sparked the wisest and most skilled scholar-officials for themselves, as neglectful of their father as we have been ignorant, leaving only flotsam and fools to wash into the Curia, to stagnate here beneath a single brilliant and unseeing eye..."
"Blasphemy!" an Archonic Knight screeched like a heretic witch.
"No!" Galav Nusidio Victrufa roared back, his nails carving furrows into the Throne.
"You lied to us, abused your station." Someone accused. "We cannot follow you, High Palatine! You've doomed us all!"
Manlia Suren Issander met Victrufa's gaze, and a nod of understanding passed between them.
Duty. Tradition.
Here was a man to lead them. A man to awaken Radiance.
Manlia Suren Issander must be High Palatine.
"More wine... Falca!"
Galav Nusidio Victrufa stared at his ring, the mark of Falca, the signet of High Palatine, and he smiled. As the Curia's madness echoed throughout the chamber, Victrufa stepped behind the Throne, staring at the floor of the Curia far below. He did not hesitate as he took a step forward, to his doom.
As the air rushed past him, as the floor grew nearer, he could only repeat the same truth that had hounded him for so long...
It is a sorry thing for a mediocre man to sit at the right hand of a god.
So thought Galav Nusidio Victrufa. It was not the first time that this knowledge pained him. Its whip sunk his eyes, so that all he beheld were his silken slippers and shaking hands. His duty to God-King Radiance, betrayed. It was light itself which Victrufa now feared. Within it, his sin was illuminated. Victrufa turned his hands to study the rings and baubles of his station as High Palatine. His lip quivered as he beheld the amber glow of the Ever-Burning Orbs of the palace reflected in his silver. No matter where he hurried his gaze, Victrufa could not escape truth. His failure was within as well as without.
Nine years of politicking to secure his station had rendered him no better than an eunuch. Then eight powerless years as High Palatine had manifested the jest more fully in the world than a Pacted Daimon given flesh. Galav Nusidio Victrufa sat at the right hand of a god, and all that god could tell ask of him was "More wine, Falca..."
No, Radiance could not even paw at Galav Nusidio Victrufa, but it was Falca he called. Falca, who had been the last High Palatine, long since dead of a stroke. Truly, this was a jest made manifest. Varantium was rotting. The nation had whored itself and so the nation had become a brothel. In the darkest corridors of his soul, Galav Nusidio Victrufa was almost glad that the apocalypse was mustering at his shores. That the Republic planned jihad. That he would die. That the rot would be purged by a fire, even if it was the fire of gunpowder.
Chanting a misremembered nursery rhyme, Galav Nusidio Victrufa steadied his hands. He adjusted the signet ring that bore the simple crest of a mosaic sun and studied it for a simple moment. Duty. Tradition. It was not yet over.
Step by step, he crossed the golden tiles of the palace and halted before the mouth of the Curia. Beyond lay the beating heart of Empire. Beyond reclined a god. The doors hummed to his touch, the sigils and wards recognizing him as High Palatine. The mosaic upon the doors came alive, showing ancient battles and the founding of cities, the culmination of the great Faloran migrations. And at last the doors opened, beckoning the High Palatine to walk the path of Emperors. Galav Nusidio Victrufa entered the Curia, ascending steps innumerable to kneel before its Throne.
Elevated high enough to near the ceiling lay the Throne of Empire, vacant now for almost a millennium. Hanging just above it, a spectacle of golden embers, rays of light made flesh. Radiance. The God-King did not respond upon his approach. Victrufa pressed his face to the ground nonetheless. The Curia was watching, even if Radiance was not. Arrayed on balconies surrounding the Throne, the scholar-officials of Varantium surely shivered and smiled, their eyes glinting decadence brighter than any torch. They sensed weakness.
Galav Nusidio Victrufa raised his eyes to Radiance. He alone could look into that blinding light. His was the greatest Spark. And Radiance would only speak with the bearer of that Spark, and him alone.
"More wine... Falca..."
It was the High Palatine's task to convey the words of the God-King...
"The God-King bids this session begin." He lied.
"Falca..."
Victrufa took his seat upon the highest step beside the throne, his composure a façade.
"The Republic..." Victrufa annunciated slowly, meaningfully. "... Comes."
The scholar-officials nodded sage heads, bloated with empty wisdoms.
One by one, they bickered over what course of action to take. None listened to Galav Nusidio Victrufa. They only listened to Radiance, and Radiance did not speak. No, Galav Nusidio Victrufa could only pretend that he spoke. Yet his every conveyed statement had to fit Radiance's character. If any of them ever suspected, suspected that he lied...
Duty. Tradition. It is all that holds us together. If they lose faith in Radiance...
Had Radiance been this decadent under Falca? Or was it only Victrufa who failed to get through to his master?
"If we do not set aside talks of tribute, talks of taxes, of personal interests..." Victrufa tried. "The Houses must muster without division."
"The cost!" roared ten. "Recompense!"
"Who shall lead?" cried one.
"It would be unfaithful for us to answer to Nish-Sapur! Our House must lead! Our martial tradition-"
"... abandon our fields?"
"An empty threat! Let them raid!"
Victrufa raised his voice, but none heard.
"Kutanda and the others shall come." moaned one priest. "Why bleed ourselves dry to protect the south?"
"I-" Victrufa began, but was interrupted by an Archonic Knight's outrage.
His hands shivering, Victrufa wept.
"Falca?" Radiance, doubtful.
One by one, the voices fell silent. His shame was manifest. The jest was over-
"But what does Radiance say, High Palatine?" It was Manlia Suren Issander, a youth next to his peers, but one respected. His voice had not hardly been raised during this meeting, till now.
"He asks..." Victrufa said, tottering to his feet. "He asks for wine."
A deep silence.
A madman's grin.
"Yes." Manlia Suren Issander said. "We know, High Palatine."
A ripple of acknowledgement, a faint murmur.
Victrufa pawed at his baubles and fell backwards, crawling towards the Throne, eyes fixed upon Radiance.
"Songs, Falca... Lights."
"We are damned." Victrufa whispered, spittle flecking the Throne.
"Fellow blessed." Manlia Suren Issander said, heads turning to regard him. "The Arbiter is dead. Our Dominion is humbled. The Republic musters. We speak of shirking responsibility, to promote personal interest... to preserve ourselves in our decaying mansions. Is it any wonder that we are cursed by silence from our God-King? Have we not failed him? And do you think the rest of the Dominion will answer our call when the Arbiter is dead, when the West rises in innumerable rebellions?"
Grunts of agreement, particularly from the Archonic Knights. Victrufa's brow furrowed in faint wonder and shame overcome. Something flickered within him. Something long since forgotten.
"Do you not know Doctrine?" Manlia Suren Issander stated, spreading an arm wide. "Scripture? Are we not bound to Radiance as he is bound to us? Are we not both reflections of the other? We are the Dominion. We are Varantium, as surely as Radiance is us, within us. His Spark, his warmth... The Eclipse brothers. That will be the Republic's gambit, fairytale or no."
"The Eclipse!" Victrufa grunted. "Manlia speaks truly. You have failed our God-King. What have we done with his gifts?" Victrufa shouted now, scrambling to his feet, one blasphemous hand clawing at the Throne. "I chose to be High Palatine to resurrect this land."
Manlia Suren Issander shut his eyes and inclined his head, a rare mark of respect.
"... and we bound your hands and silenced you, High Palatine, while False Sun and Dawn Lantern hoarded and Sparked the wisest and most skilled scholar-officials for themselves, as neglectful of their father as we have been ignorant, leaving only flotsam and fools to wash into the Curia, to stagnate here beneath a single brilliant and unseeing eye..."
"Blasphemy!" an Archonic Knight screeched like a heretic witch.
"No!" Galav Nusidio Victrufa roared back, his nails carving furrows into the Throne.
"You lied to us, abused your station." Someone accused. "We cannot follow you, High Palatine! You've doomed us all!"
Manlia Suren Issander met Victrufa's gaze, and a nod of understanding passed between them.
Duty. Tradition.
Here was a man to lead them. A man to awaken Radiance.
Manlia Suren Issander must be High Palatine.
"More wine... Falca!"
Galav Nusidio Victrufa stared at his ring, the mark of Falca, the signet of High Palatine, and he smiled. As the Curia's madness echoed throughout the chamber, Victrufa stepped behind the Throne, staring at the floor of the Curia far below. He did not hesitate as he took a step forward, to his doom.
As the air rushed past him, as the floor grew nearer, he could only repeat the same truth that had hounded him for so long...
It is a sorry thing for a mediocre man to sit at the right hand of a god.
