|
|
Post by Githoniel on May 4, 2015 4:37:30 GMT -5
An envelope arrives to your nation. The parchment is thick and of good quality, the ink rich and dark. It reads as follows:
His Most Catholic Majesty
Ahwahim Russiel
humbly requests the honour of your presence at his
Silver Jubilee
recognizing 25 years of reign with the presentation of
Dorian Russiel
the Crown Prince and Heir Apparent of Githoniel.
Fourth of May, two thousand and fifteen
El-Ethir Palace, Al-Bereth
The crown prince looked at himself in the mirror while his household staff fluttered about nervously like sparrows. This was to be Dorian Russiel’s introduction to the international stage, and it was making him ill to think about it. Not that he hadn’t been prepared for this moment. His father, the emperor, had prepared him well, instructing him on what to say to foreign dignitaries, how to not rub people the wrong way, that sort of thing. It would also be the time when he could begin to formally court women in the hope of finding his future queen and the co-ruler for his children. Bit nervewracking, that. Don’t mess up, he thought to himself as he adjusted his tuxedo slightly, turning this way and that to make sure it fit just right. Reaching for his plain coronet, he placed onto his head with a grim look on his face.
“You look lovely, Your Highness,” one of his staff offered, gaily.
“Thank you, Miriam. How long until I am expected?”
“His Majesty will expect you at half past three, Your Highness. Is there anything you need?”
He shook his head and left his dressing room, shoes echoing down the hallway. Already his diadem was starting to get uncomfortable; he knew by the end of the day that his neck would be sore. His father said that crowns were plain to remind us that kings are servants first, and uncomfortable to remind us that leadership is a duty and a responsibility, one that involves pain and sacrifice. Even the emperor’s crown was plain, by most standards. He clenched his palms, trying to shake off some of the nervous tension that was coiling in his body. On instinct, he slipped into the familiar Latin that had always comforted him, lining up the rhythm with his footfalls. “Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum…”
This was it. Already he could hear the crowd murmuring in the formal banquet hall, the noise rising and falling like the waves. Dorian, his father, his mother, and his grandmother were all just outside. He looked over to his father, who was in a furtive conversation with the Gebirah. He rolled his neck and waited patiently. A touch on the back of his shoulder made him turn his head. He smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Mother.”
“You are worried. Don’t be.” She laughed. She was fully of joy and gaiety, Camilla.
“This event is the foundation for how the whole of the world will view me. It is important to make a good impression.”
The queen consort laughed again, her voice high as bells. “You’re going to be fine. You’re more than capable of making small talk to some foreign dignitaries. They’ll probably going to fall over themselves trying to impress you. Don’t worry, sweetheart.”
“Mom.”
“Sorry. I’ll leave you to it.” She withdrew gracefully, still smiling, joining her husband.
The trumpet sounded from inside the banquet hall. Then, the crier called out,
“All rise for His Most Catholic Imperial Majesty, the Holy Emperor of Githoniel, Defender of the Catholic Faith, Legionnaire of Christ, Commander of the Straits, and Hospitaller of the Sands, Ahwahim Russiel.” His father strode out, looking stoic.
“Her Catholic Majesty, Gebirah and Empress-Mother of Githoniel, Legionnaire of Mary, Alacë Russiel.” His grandmother also managed to look regal and poised despite her age and the heavy weight of her gowns and jewellry.
“Her Majesty, Empress-Consort of Githoniel, Queen of the Mŷil Isles, Camilla Russiel.” Dorian’s mother gave him a wink and a smile before emerging to the crowds. She was popular throughout the empire in a way that the current Gebirah couldn’t match. Dorian was glad that she would rule with him when he ascended to the throne. He took a breath and waited for the applause to simmer.
“His Royal Highness, Duke of Ummuil, Dorian Russiel.”
He hadn't been expecting quite so many camera flashes.
Now that the major members of the royal family were present at the high table, the feast could begin. Most of the food was traditional Thonielian food; the meats were spicy, the drinks ice cold, and the rest light but filling. It had to be to combat the dry heat at this time of year. At any point during of after the meal, anyone could request to approach the high table and meet the royal family and many did. Some Dorian knew from photographs, some he didn’t. Ambassadors, he guessed, from other nations around the world. Dorian's head ached under the weight of his diadem, but he held his head straight, gritted his teeth, and did his duty. He was good-looking, with the characteristic red hair of the Russiel family that tumbled around his ears, mostly concealing his simple coronet.
OOC: As I mentioned on the RMB, feel free to play your head of state, an ambassador, a religious figure, or anyone else that could conceivably be at this sort of event. I think this sort of event will be an opportunity for our nations to confirm or extend diplomatic relations, and could spark interest in a longer storyline involving the Crown Prince (who is totally not based on Dorian Courtney from the Wilbur Smith novels). |
|
|
|
Post by thenorthernkingdoms on May 4, 2015 7:28:55 GMT -5
The queen dowager, as well as the crown prince, and two royal guards, arrived in the area. The queen, a beautiful woman of 64 (some say she resembles Cher), wears her crown, this gown, embellished with this brooch, these gloves, and these heels. The crown prince, a handsome fellow, wears a formal suit, with a red sash and military medals, and a pair of black shoes. The royal guards wear these uniforms. "Good day," states the queen dowager, Marie II of the House of Forsvarssen. "Good day," echoes the rest. They proceed to the chamber where the presentation is happening. |
|
|
|
Post by Ventalia on May 4, 2015 8:24:49 GMT -5
Comte du Roche Castle, Pont Rouge, Ventalia
Léon sat at his desk, still dressed in his silk house robes, as he sorted through his daily correspondence. The 85-year-old King, suffering from various debilitations of age, could hardly control his wavering hands. The letter opener never traveled where he aimed, and the task of opening and reading letters went to his morning servant, who read the letters aloud.
"My liege, you have been formally invited to the Silver Jubilee of Emperor Ahwahim," the servant summarized.
King Léon appeared pensive for a moment, "Githoniel, yes?"
"Yes my liege."
"Connie must go with my apologies."
El-Ethir Palace, Al-Bereth, Githoniel
The young man, twenty-six years in age and the only child of King Léon IV, entered the banquet hall of El-Ethir Palace with his small entourage of minders. Crown Prince Constantin, known as "Connie" by family and close friends, brought with him words of apology on behalf of his father and warm congratulations from his family and people. His father's advanced age meant Connie was taking on more and more duties of state, though this was certainly his first event of such scale. While he had surely met some of the attendees in the past, he was like the Crown Prince of Githoniel in his nervousness. Alas, his tuxedo was sharp and spotless, his shirt and collar well starched, shoes shined to just the right degree, and his long variation of the high-and-tight haircut neatly styled.
His name was announced before and he was shown his seat. The hosts hadn't yet arrived, so Connie immersed himself in the murmuring crowd, taking a cocktail of some kind from a servant who offered; perhaps the relative anonymity of numbers eases his nerves. As the trumpet and crier signaled the arrival of the Githoniel royals, Conny stood to attention and applauded with the other guests. They were then properly seated and the meal had begun.
Connie sipped his wine instead of diving right into the feast. As mouth-watering as the food was, he waited for the ideal moment to approach the royals and sought to approach them without evidence of food about him. He signaled to one of the staff once the tide towards the hosts had ebbed.
"I would like to introduce myself to our hosts, if I may," he asked politely.
"But of course," the staff member obliged, leading the Crown Prince to the high table.
"Mesdames et messieurs, may I introduce to you Crown Prince Constantin of Ventalia."
Connie bowed respectfully, but not too deeply, righting himself before speaking.
"Thank you for your invitation and for hosting us at this fine feast. On behalf of Ventalia, I congratulate His Majesty on this very auspicious day. My father sincerely apologizes for his absence, for his health is not what it once was."
ooc: not trying to rip the theme of a young prince meeting the world. Figured it could be fun to have two princes of similar age.
|
|
alpsol
Flyover state
Posts: 74 
|
Post by alpsol on May 4, 2015 12:49:13 GMT -5
In a room with no windows was Samson, king of Alpsol.He was standing over a brightly lit table with one other person,his tactician.
There was a knock on the door,and Samson went to answer it.
"Yes what it?"
A soilder bows "Good afternoon sir, you have received a letter from Githoniel. She hands him the letter, bows again but before she can leave Samson stopped her.
"I apologize to stop you, I know you have some where to go but, can you seed Gith my apologies.
I have a war to fight ."
He says bye to the solider and closes the door.
"If only ..." He turns and continuous to work on the plans for the war against Dokneenn.
occ:So sorry i wish i could come D:
|
|
|
|
Post by Raijinshi on May 4, 2015 17:16:16 GMT -5
"My lady, the various rulers have been invited to attend the coronation ceromony in the lands of Githonial, what be your response?" spoke the foreign affairs chairman, Silver Thomas.
"I'll appear myself. As a fellow monarch, its only appropriate to show respect to the royal line of their nation, especially since the Raijinshi is yet a fledgling nation. Please tell uncle to take command of the troops stationed in Alpsol for the time being, until I return."
The Queen of the Raijinshi, Tsukiko, clad in a simple silver-trimmed-red skirt and blouse, flew in by a small special operations squad of the Air force. Making sure to look impressive to the other lords in the realm, she took extra care this morning, yet still keeping things simple. Though young, at the age of 27, she manages to hold together her kingdom. Appearing confident, with a simplistic yet impactful appearance, could be vital in making the other lords recognize her and making her job less pressuring. Approaching the guards, she introduces herself as the monarch of the Raijinshi, the famous "Tactician Queen" and finds her seat close to the currently vacant seat for the honored hosts. Dismissing all but one of her guards to various locations in the hall, Tsukiko acknowledges Constantin of Ventalia, and takes her seat across from him, engaging in small talk. As the ceremony begins, the chatter grew to a halt, with everyones attention to the hosts.
ooc- to Alpsol- You don't necessarily have to the leader go in person. Alternatives such as children, siblings, chairmen, trusted friends, religious figures, etc., can go in your place. Another option is to have you chief of defense or of the sort take temporary command of your armies, or even call for a ceasefire with Dokneenn as this is an international event. At that point if he refused a ceasefire, he would be antagonized by the region for interrupting with this event by means of irrational warfare. This would possibly cause other nations to condemn, embargo, or even fight him with us, especially in the case of Githoniel the host. Also, try to keep completely in character. Githoniel is the nation name, saying "apologize to Gith" shouldn't be so, as Githoniel as a country wouldnt be taking apologize, it'd be the leader, and you don't give countries friendly nicknames of that manner. The more correct way to go about this would be something such as "Please send my apologies to (Lord Russiel /or/ Ahwahim)." Just a fair notice.
and to all- I decided to just scratch it all and make a completely different post. I haven't slept since saturday so I apologize for any technical errors or creative faults.
|
|
alpsol
Flyover state
Posts: 74
|
Post by alpsol on May 5, 2015 0:39:07 GMT -5
Occ He said sorry Gith because thats how Samson is
He said that
And ill fight this battle with my people
They need to see that I'm here with them not gallivanting with the other lords. I can do that some other time, or per say Samson can.Nor does Samson have any family as they were sent to a distant nation.
|
|
|
|
Post by Githoniel on May 5, 2015 2:40:53 GMT -5
Dorian watched the people trail in and mingle, observing the ebb and flow of colours in gowns, uniforms, and jewels, all mired by the stark black of most of the men's attire. He swallowed nervously, taking a sip of his wine. He muttered names to himself as he spotted people he recognized, people he should know. "That's Queen Marie, from the Northern Kingdoms..." "Are you ready, dear?" his mother's voice cut over the rumble of the crowd. "Now that's everyone's a little bit sozzled, folks ought to be coming up and saying hello fairly soon. And don't forget your speech, naturally." "Yes, thank you, mother," he replied curtly, but not without warmth. He just didn't understand how she could be so at ease. Nevertheless, he was grateful for it. He knew that her prowess for mingling under pressure would come in handy once she ascended to the position of the Empress-Mother. He tried not to think too hard about being Emperor, though. Not as if he needed anything else adding to his nausea. He sipped more wine. Just then, Dorian spotted a noble and his entourage approaching. He cleared his throat and tried to adjust his coronet. His mother elbowed him under the high table and laughed. "...Crown Prince Constantin of Ventalia."
Dorian racked his mind for everything he knew about the Kingdom of Ventalia in the scant few seconds while his mother politely inclined her head. He couldn't come up with much. They were across the sea, on the Regalian continent, similar size, also a member of CECSR and... that was about it. "Your Highness," Dorian offered to the other gentleman, "I am Dorian. It is an honour to meet you, and we thank you for attending. Was your journey safe? I pray that your father's good health returns swiftly. Leon, is it? His Majesty's name?" He pauses briefly. "How long are you staying in Al-Bereth?" Just then, the emperor tapped his fork to his glass, and waited patiently for the susurrus of the crowd to fade into silence. He stood, looking every inch the regal leader in a crisp military uniform. After a moment of expectant silence, he dips his head politely and begins his speech. "Good day, ladies and gentlemen. It is a privilege and an honour to welcome you to El-Ethir. The last twenty-five years have been one of quiet and peace for the citizens of Githoniel, and one of outreach to our fellows all across the world. This is hardly a political event, so I'll keep the yammering short so you can get back to eating and enjoying yourselves. In the past, the empire has been fairly unobtrusive, even isolated. But this marks the end of that era! We desire to strengthen our bonds with all nations and all people. May the Lord grant another twenty-five years of peace and prosperity so that I may invite you all back for another feast!" He sat to a round of applause. Then, just as quickly, he stood up again.
"Sorry! Yes, not done yet. I've left out the best bit. With our commitment to reaching out across the world, I would like to formally introduce my eldest son, who will, God willing, take up the crown after me and carry Githoniel into the future. Dorian Russiel!" Dorian just about died inside. Standing and offering a quick wave to the crowd at the gesture from his father, he bit his tongue to keep the panic from washing over his face. "Thank you, Your Majesty, for the opportunity to join you on the world stage." Dorian thought his father's style sounded strange on his tongue. Up until now, he had always been just "Dad," but it's not like he could say that at a time like this. "Since we have had the pleasure," he continued, "of hosting you here, it would be an honour if I could return the favour and make a small visit to each nation who is represented here today. Arrangements will begin for a tour of all the nations, in a show of solidarity and friendship. Thank you." He smiled and offered the crowd a half bow before quickly sitting back down and finishing his glass of wine.
|
|
|
|
Post by aszakaeria on May 6, 2015 1:08:09 GMT -5
Aszakaeria
Seredona, Capital District
Ministry of Foreign Relations
Master Alosevi of the Illoytia Household sat quietly in his small oak office. Though the rest of the Ministry had undertaken remodeling of a modern style, so as to bring the three-hundred year old office building more up to date, he waved away any notion of his room being altered, even going so far as to forcibly toss out architects who ventured into his corner of the ward. He preferred his old rustic room, it gave him a sense of pride, nationality, warmth, and comfort that none of these new large, open and windowed rooms could provide. True, he would have liked a larger window to look out on the bay with, but he wasn't about to let any of those grimy new age thinkers lay a finger on his little piece of history. He looked about the room, bits and pieces of this and that marked this room's huge role in foreign affairs. A framed black and white picture portrayed the first minister meeting with the Governors of the Four Realms. Four swords, all tempered a different color and each featuring region specific designs, crossed over each other and melted in the meeting point, all under a silver and elaborately designed replica of the queen regent's crown, hung above his desk to represent the conjoining of the four realms under Freisa Verelow. A bit of charred wood in the corner signified the building's bombing and subsequent burning 50 years ago as part of the larger Spring Insurgency. He often felt a wisp of cold air, or even thought he could discern quiet whispers around him, yet he was not one for folklore and legend and kept these observations to himself, chalking them up to the room's naturally creepy feel and the Ministry building's sway. Just as he began to leave for his lunch break, he found a small decorated envelope on the floor in front of his desk. Must have fluttered from the desk when some construction crew knocked out the wall in the office adjacent to him. The Githoniel seal shown prominent on the letter, and the flag and its colors seemed a dominant theme in its decoration. Using a small intricately designed knife, a spoil of war from the 1348 Unification Conflict, he cut into the letter and pulled out the card within. Carefully scanning the card, he opened it carefully and delicately, he had already been through three potential bomb assaults this year alone, he'd become quite wary of letters and boxes. Upon realization of its authenticity however he nearly leaped from his seat, he was invited to the Imperial Ceremony in Githoniel, and as it was he was late! He quickly phoned his supervisor and forwarded the news, who then authorized and organized a flight to the Gith Capital along with a ceremonial escort and a uniform for him to wear. On approach to the airport however he noticed something a bit odd. First being the gigantic wave of people crowding around the private airfield, which was very very far from the usual three or four patriotic or bored passersby who were interested by all the guards and fancy equipment. Second being, after the Verelow Guard cleared the mob by the entrance, the presence of what appeared to be the entire royal family gathered by a finely decorated white limousine with red velvet and golden and silver detailing. It was very odd for the royalty to be out and about like this, especially in full force. His chauffeur pulled him right up alongside the royal limo, it's simple dark blue and red colors looked hideous when compared with the ornate automobile. "Mi'lords and ladies," he placed his right foot in front of him, pinned on its heel, leaned back and arched his back forwards while bowing his head and waving his hat in a downward sweep in front of him, performing an acrobatic display of the royal salute.
"Ah, Master Alosevi, er what was it... Daegun? No no.." The king began snapping his fingers, rolling syllables and vowels over his lips trying to find the correct match.
"Illoytia" Alosevi sneered, the royal family each looked at one another in shock and dismay, to interrupt the king or queen was taboo, it used to even be punishable by death in the wrong circumstances.
"You have quite the nerve sir," a small voice from behind the king began, "My father is your king, and don't you forget that,"
The voice deepened slightly, in a clear attempt to appear more threatening to the aged diplomat. "If you'll forgive me, your highnesses, the royal family holds no more power in this fair nation's government, as such I must wonder why you have come to greet me so" Alosevi grew bolder in his retorts, for years now the royals had been attempting to step up their power in the government, with even some calls and a surprisingly strong underground movement for a return to the monarchy, he, and the rest of the current government, were not to keen with any of this. "You'll have to forgive the boy, he's just trying to get into the swing of things before.." the King wandered in his thoughts, and appeared distant in his gaze, "before my abdication to him, which brings me to why I'm here, we would like our boy, and future king, to be displayed before the world at this gala, and to cuddle up with out allies on the other end of the strait," Alosevi nearly gasped, there had been rumors of abdication, but the King had previously staunchly denied them, this was shocking news indeed. "Why of course my liege," he responded, again performing the Royal salute. Githoniel
El-Ethir Palace, Al-Bereth
Master Alosevi rushed quickly out of his limousine and towards the Palace guards. He provided the man his invitation and set about adjusting the plume on his head cover. His escort followed up behind him, all decked out in black knee high riding boots, white riding pants, with a dark olive green oval inseam, and deep navy blue coats with intricate weaving patterns and designs, topped of with gray fur hats complimented with large white plumes which shot straight up and didn't curve back until the very top quarter. He himself wore a very different uniform. His riding boots were notably deep brown, his white pants jutted out at the thighs and lacked the oval green inseam, rather they were quite plain aside from bright polished buttons and black lace. His coat was a deep red, again lacking the intricate designs this his cohort had, rather it simply had large brass buttons surrounded by repeating cross designs. His cover was different in that it was actually a helmet, a pickelhaube with a large white plume adorning the spike at the top. On the helmet itself was etched the seal and eagle, and even the motto of the Aszakaerian Expanse. The Prince wore a very white and cleanly pressed officer's uniform with a silver emblem engraved with his family crest sewn into the front of his cover. His jackboots were pristine and polished, one could even see their own reflection in them. From his right shoulder draped a cape, and two braids, one gold and one silver. His left shoulder had an oval pauldron on it, again ornately designed and etched with an eagle carrying his family sigil. Across his neck hung a metal breastplate, with lavish gold and silver flowers and vines marked in it. The left side of his pants bore 2 silver stripes, the right one golden one, which ran the length of his leg down to the jackboots. He was, to say the least, easily distinguishable.
Satisfied the Palace guard gave way and ushered the men inside. They found the ceremony had already begun and resigned to wait their turn for the Prince's attention. "Tardy to the Party as always Master Alosevi?" one of the guards questioned " As Always," he retorted, noting the savory smells emanating from the banquet hall The men began searching for plates and cups while the Prince ran off to meet his counterparts, it had been a long flight, and the ornate uniforms weren't the most comforting, each of them was half starved and dehydrated. After running through the buffet the four men found their seats at a largely empty table on the outskirts of all the political kissassing. There were diplomatic niceties to be incurred of course, and once they had their fair share of food and drink they would join the festivities, but for now they silently stuffed their faces while the God-Prince danced about like a school girl.
OOC: Sorry, everyone was bringing their Royalty and I wanted to join the Prince Party :c
|
|
