On the eve of the war for Aegyptus, the Imperial Court was astir with scurrying courtiers, rushing orders from one wing of the Palace to the opposite; the Palace Guard, in full regalia, stood upright and stern at every doorway, looking blankly, absolutely in front of them.
From the Grand Entrance, the delegation of Latin ambassadors, emissaries, and their respective retinues, walk about them, all somewhat anxious about seeing the Emperor of the Romans in the person (his Majesty rarely saw foreigners himself, choosing instead to send his personal emissaries to conduct Imperial business); halfway down the hall, the Imperial troops leading the band of diplomats stopped, turned, and walked away; the large, vaulted room, which had hitherto been full of sound, was left in almost total silence, save for the echoing steps of the Imperial Guardsmen.
In this grand, ominous silence, a finely dressed man, middle aged, and of rather meek stature, suddenly came into view, startling the heads of the delegation. Looking over the group with an expression of distaste and arrogance, he broke the silence by loudly clearing his throat, then, in a voice most unbefitting a man of his small size, boomed...
His Imperial, August and Most Noble Majesty, Basileus Theodosius IV, Emperor and Autocrat of the Romans, Defender of the Faith, will now address the emissaries from the Latin States!
Then, as stealthily as he had appeared, he was gone, banished from the eyes of the delegation; in his place now emerged a figure, sat upon a grand throne; the figure was as of yet too darkened to truly describe. To the right of the throne shadow stood two other shadows, both silhouetted. To the shadow’s left, another shadow, a smaller one, stood in the same, stoic silence.
Then, in a grand flash, which blinded the delegation, the grand chamber was lit brilliantly from the sunlight now pouring into the Throne Room from the grand arched window that was previously covered by purple curtains. As they’re eyes adjusted, the figures that towered over them slowly became more than shadows; to the right of the still obscured throne, stood an elderly man, hunched over and scowling, and to his left, a shorter, less threatening man stood; to the thrones left, stood a child, dressed from head to foot in Purple. Finally, the figure sat on the throne, the Emperor himself, slowly became more detailed himself. He was thin, though not excessively so; he was, to the best of the delegation’s ability to determine, of average height; in all respects, he had the look of a true Roman; and like the figure stood to his left, he was dressed to head to foot in the Imperial Purple, with a grand Crown rested upon his head.
The first delegate slowly approached the throne, visibly nervous, and, after bowing luxuriously, though somewhat mechanically, to the great figure sat before, softly cleared his throat, before, in a wavering voice, asked about why the Emperor had chosen to wag war against the Ayyubids, who had done nothing to provoke such an action from the Empire.
The Emperor, breathing deeply, leaned forward, and began…
Egypt, the land of Pharaohs and CAESARS, belongs rightfully to the Empire of the Romans; the great Caesar, the progenitor of this great Empire, marched through the deserts and across the Nile, and pacified the land; Emperor Augustus brought the lands of Pharaohs firmly into the Imperial fold; for the next seven centuries, we held dominion over Egypt, until the Muslims invaded, and brought their heathen religion, their tyrannies, and their divisiveness to Alexandria, the Heart of Learning, to the Nile, the lifeline of Africa, to Roman lands, the domain of justice and power embodied!
We are merely doing what must be done; restoring our Empire, reclaiming our rightful lands from heathens and usurpers; the Iberians seem set upon the same course, and their actions are proper; the integrity of Basileia Rhomaion must be achieved, just as it must be done in the land that Hannibal and Scipio tread.
Aegyptus is Roman, and it has been that way for millennia, and we will ensure that these foul Mohammedans will never threaten Imperial land, or the lands of Christendom.
From the Grand Entrance, the delegation of Latin ambassadors, emissaries, and their respective retinues, walk about them, all somewhat anxious about seeing the Emperor of the Romans in the person (his Majesty rarely saw foreigners himself, choosing instead to send his personal emissaries to conduct Imperial business); halfway down the hall, the Imperial troops leading the band of diplomats stopped, turned, and walked away; the large, vaulted room, which had hitherto been full of sound, was left in almost total silence, save for the echoing steps of the Imperial Guardsmen.
In this grand, ominous silence, a finely dressed man, middle aged, and of rather meek stature, suddenly came into view, startling the heads of the delegation. Looking over the group with an expression of distaste and arrogance, he broke the silence by loudly clearing his throat, then, in a voice most unbefitting a man of his small size, boomed...
His Imperial, August and Most Noble Majesty, Basileus Theodosius IV, Emperor and Autocrat of the Romans, Defender of the Faith, will now address the emissaries from the Latin States!
Then, as stealthily as he had appeared, he was gone, banished from the eyes of the delegation; in his place now emerged a figure, sat upon a grand throne; the figure was as of yet too darkened to truly describe. To the right of the throne shadow stood two other shadows, both silhouetted. To the shadow’s left, another shadow, a smaller one, stood in the same, stoic silence.
Then, in a grand flash, which blinded the delegation, the grand chamber was lit brilliantly from the sunlight now pouring into the Throne Room from the grand arched window that was previously covered by purple curtains. As they’re eyes adjusted, the figures that towered over them slowly became more than shadows; to the right of the still obscured throne, stood an elderly man, hunched over and scowling, and to his left, a shorter, less threatening man stood; to the thrones left, stood a child, dressed from head to foot in Purple. Finally, the figure sat on the throne, the Emperor himself, slowly became more detailed himself. He was thin, though not excessively so; he was, to the best of the delegation’s ability to determine, of average height; in all respects, he had the look of a true Roman; and like the figure stood to his left, he was dressed to head to foot in the Imperial Purple, with a grand Crown rested upon his head.
The first delegate slowly approached the throne, visibly nervous, and, after bowing luxuriously, though somewhat mechanically, to the great figure sat before, softly cleared his throat, before, in a wavering voice, asked about why the Emperor had chosen to wag war against the Ayyubids, who had done nothing to provoke such an action from the Empire.
The Emperor, breathing deeply, leaned forward, and began…
Egypt, the land of Pharaohs and CAESARS, belongs rightfully to the Empire of the Romans; the great Caesar, the progenitor of this great Empire, marched through the deserts and across the Nile, and pacified the land; Emperor Augustus brought the lands of Pharaohs firmly into the Imperial fold; for the next seven centuries, we held dominion over Egypt, until the Muslims invaded, and brought their heathen religion, their tyrannies, and their divisiveness to Alexandria, the Heart of Learning, to the Nile, the lifeline of Africa, to Roman lands, the domain of justice and power embodied!
We are merely doing what must be done; restoring our Empire, reclaiming our rightful lands from heathens and usurpers; the Iberians seem set upon the same course, and their actions are proper; the integrity of Basileia Rhomaion must be achieved, just as it must be done in the land that Hannibal and Scipio tread.
Aegyptus is Roman, and it has been that way for millennia, and we will ensure that these foul Mohammedans will never threaten Imperial land, or the lands of Christendom.
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