Roania
13-04-2005, 02:40
"It's intolerable!" the white-haired man roared, slamming his fist onto the table. "Do you hear me? He's making me look like an arse! My dignity is... are you even listening to me, Your Highness?" the Patriarch asked, noticing that his 'partner' in this conversation was doing nothing but glaring at his hand.
"Remove your hand from my desk." the Tsar growled, his face remaining expressionless.
"Pardon?" Dmitri asked, his eyes travelling to where the Tsar's were.
"Wrong answer." Alexei's hand shot out and covered the Patriarch's own. There was an unpleasant sound, and then the Patriarch fell back, his hand flat and useless.
"...Your apologies, my lord." the Patriarch murmured, stepping away rapidly and biting back his scream. "But... something must still be done!"
"These things have a habit of working out themselves, My Lord Patriarch." The Tsar rose from his desk and moved over to the window, looking out through it upon his capital city. A carefully manicured hand swept up and smoothed back his blond hair. "I am not concerned. It seems that every week, someone comes up with a new way of looking at the world and meddling in God's domain. They rarely last long. Imperium sine fine. The Imperium survives."
"Your father used to say the same thing." the Patriarch mumbled, the threat wet and soggy. "Until..."
"Until he went too close to the people and got shot. I'm not a fool, My Lord Patriarch." the young man snapped. "The people... the people belong out there. Working. For the greater glory of God and I, God's servant." he spun on his heel. "You can deal with this...problem, Dmitri. When it's a tech cult or some other Resian heresy, you can come to me. When it's a danger to the stability of the Imperium, of my Imperium, you can come to me. Until then, you have the authority, you have the men, and you have the might of the true doctrine on your side."
"Unless, of course...the problem is you don't really think you're right..." Alexei Chyorny covered his mouth and gave a delighted laugh. "You don't! It's almost touching!"
Dmitri knew when he was being mocked and he wouldn't rise to the bait. "...what are you hinting at, my lord? The Church doesn't have..."
"...don't play dumb with me, Dmitri. The Martial Order of Saint Michael exists to combat this sort of thing." Alexei pulled his cloak up and buckled it around himself. "If that will be all, I have...business to take care of." his blade was suddenly at his side.
The Patriarch stepped aside, not bothering to ask 'How did you know about the MOoSM?' That was not a question you ask Adrik. He was too on the ball and you would never know if he had just been guessing or not. The devil himself would step back from this...boy. "I will take the steps you request, Your Most Illustrious Highness."
"...I...request?" Alexei stopped in the door. "...request?" he spun on his heel and suddenly the aged man found himself in the air, held up by the Tsar's hand. "I gave you an order."
~~
This, then, is the Imperium at the opening of the new century. A solid autocracy with few democratic pretensions, with the constitution tossed to the ground and burnt. A nation ruled by a man in his twenties who holds all the concentrated evil of two centuries of his forebears.
A nation in which every social advance is resisted with force by the elite and the peasantry, where the only difference in the lot of the people between then and the last century were the tools available to them. Where if your master owns an entire fleet of limousines and you can barely afford a station wagon, you accept it as a law of nature.
It is a land where just because you're a human doesn't mean you're a person, where the highest families control more land than some European countries.
Even the Church is not immune to this 'rot'. The higher offices have, after centuries of corruption and seizures, been forced to become administrators. They lead a mass, at most, once every year.
The nation function like a giant machine, and is, for what it's worth, completely devoid of malice.
But sometimes, parts go boing...
~~
"And I say to you, that they are not the same!" the black cowled man shouted to the meeting. "If God was truly merciful, would your lot be as it is now?" he was dressed in monastic attire, but he was most certainly not a monk. At least, not of any order known... "You have been lied to!"
The people, mostly rural commoners --the lowest rung on any ladder in any country--, listened silently as he continued to speak. "The true gospels have been found! Now is the time for us to demand the destruction of the hierarchy, and the freedom of the inner spark! We must purify our souls for the great master, the returned, true Messiah!" The 'monk' and his fellows turned and bowed low to the ground as another man stepped forward.
"What you have been taught is wrong." he spoke in a commanding tone. "What you have been taught is designed only to keep you beneath the heel of a foreign Pope and a tyrant Tsar. I am the true god!" he stepped forward and held up his hands, and lights shot down upon him. He slowly ascended into the air...
~~
"What do we know of him?" the Archbishop of Roslin frowned, turning through the heavy book upon his desk. "Acts... ah." he read through the section twice, and sighed. "There's not much here to go on..."
The Archbishop of Roan coughed. "Saint Justin said he could fly..."
"Saint Justin also misread an idol's inscription and infected entire communities with his interpretation of the original man." The Archbishop of Derricks snapped, his shock of white hair shaking. "What we have here is essentially some sort of...charlatan, misinterpreting holy texts, much like the original, yes, and working 'miracles'."
The Altaran Cardinal, an old and tired man, moved a little in his sleep. The other three all looked up at him in case something was going to happen. When nothing came, Roan snapped back at Derricks, "A Saint's beliefs are sancrosanct!"
"In which case you can be fed to the lions immediately." Agua growled, his brittle patience snapping. "Now, look. Let's stick with what we know. This man, this neo-Gnostic, is claiming to be God. Yes, I am aware that according to our records, the first Magus did the same. That's not relevant. We are not going to dignify him with the title of Magus because we are intelligent men."
"Right."
"Gotcha."
"Wghstfl."
Agua, with great difficulty, refrained from rolling his eyes. I should have gone into law... my brother owns a nice firm in Port Agua... I could have retired comfortably by now... "...what we'll do is, we'll hand this over to the Martial Order. They can investigate, see how deep this rot goes, and then give us any information we need. He's stirring the commons up, that would get the little father Alyosha involved..."
They all, even the sleeping Altara, winced. "...but...that could result in hundreds of deaths!"
"...do you want to explain to Rome how we aren't doing anything to combat this spread?"
"No, but...you know how Rome is...they...don't approve of that sort of thing any more..." Agua looked at Derricks, and sighed. The man was so depressingly keen. How he was ever allowed to get above the level of Bishop would never be understood. I mean, he even tirelessly advocates collegiality! He'll never understand that if the Church always obeyed every dictate from Rome it would collapse.
Roan went, "Bah!"
"...Is there a sheep in here?" Agua asked, nastily.
"I say again, bah! What we need is to catch this man and force him to debate with us! The true light of God's real church will show him the error of his ways!"
"I quite agree, brother." Derricks nodded.
Agua was about to be respond when there came a sound from the other end of the table. "Wha? Who...what's going on?" Altara grumbled, sitting up.
"...we're discussing what to do with the heretic!" Agua shouted into his ear.
"Oh? Jolly...jolly good show, that man... a bit of cold steel and some time in the Inquisition will sort him out, right?" the aged man yawned. "Mmm. Mmm."
"..." Agua almost started to cry. And this is the Roanian Church's leadership Material...
"Remove your hand from my desk." the Tsar growled, his face remaining expressionless.
"Pardon?" Dmitri asked, his eyes travelling to where the Tsar's were.
"Wrong answer." Alexei's hand shot out and covered the Patriarch's own. There was an unpleasant sound, and then the Patriarch fell back, his hand flat and useless.
"...Your apologies, my lord." the Patriarch murmured, stepping away rapidly and biting back his scream. "But... something must still be done!"
"These things have a habit of working out themselves, My Lord Patriarch." The Tsar rose from his desk and moved over to the window, looking out through it upon his capital city. A carefully manicured hand swept up and smoothed back his blond hair. "I am not concerned. It seems that every week, someone comes up with a new way of looking at the world and meddling in God's domain. They rarely last long. Imperium sine fine. The Imperium survives."
"Your father used to say the same thing." the Patriarch mumbled, the threat wet and soggy. "Until..."
"Until he went too close to the people and got shot. I'm not a fool, My Lord Patriarch." the young man snapped. "The people... the people belong out there. Working. For the greater glory of God and I, God's servant." he spun on his heel. "You can deal with this...problem, Dmitri. When it's a tech cult or some other Resian heresy, you can come to me. When it's a danger to the stability of the Imperium, of my Imperium, you can come to me. Until then, you have the authority, you have the men, and you have the might of the true doctrine on your side."
"Unless, of course...the problem is you don't really think you're right..." Alexei Chyorny covered his mouth and gave a delighted laugh. "You don't! It's almost touching!"
Dmitri knew when he was being mocked and he wouldn't rise to the bait. "...what are you hinting at, my lord? The Church doesn't have..."
"...don't play dumb with me, Dmitri. The Martial Order of Saint Michael exists to combat this sort of thing." Alexei pulled his cloak up and buckled it around himself. "If that will be all, I have...business to take care of." his blade was suddenly at his side.
The Patriarch stepped aside, not bothering to ask 'How did you know about the MOoSM?' That was not a question you ask Adrik. He was too on the ball and you would never know if he had just been guessing or not. The devil himself would step back from this...boy. "I will take the steps you request, Your Most Illustrious Highness."
"...I...request?" Alexei stopped in the door. "...request?" he spun on his heel and suddenly the aged man found himself in the air, held up by the Tsar's hand. "I gave you an order."
~~
This, then, is the Imperium at the opening of the new century. A solid autocracy with few democratic pretensions, with the constitution tossed to the ground and burnt. A nation ruled by a man in his twenties who holds all the concentrated evil of two centuries of his forebears.
A nation in which every social advance is resisted with force by the elite and the peasantry, where the only difference in the lot of the people between then and the last century were the tools available to them. Where if your master owns an entire fleet of limousines and you can barely afford a station wagon, you accept it as a law of nature.
It is a land where just because you're a human doesn't mean you're a person, where the highest families control more land than some European countries.
Even the Church is not immune to this 'rot'. The higher offices have, after centuries of corruption and seizures, been forced to become administrators. They lead a mass, at most, once every year.
The nation function like a giant machine, and is, for what it's worth, completely devoid of malice.
But sometimes, parts go boing...
~~
"And I say to you, that they are not the same!" the black cowled man shouted to the meeting. "If God was truly merciful, would your lot be as it is now?" he was dressed in monastic attire, but he was most certainly not a monk. At least, not of any order known... "You have been lied to!"
The people, mostly rural commoners --the lowest rung on any ladder in any country--, listened silently as he continued to speak. "The true gospels have been found! Now is the time for us to demand the destruction of the hierarchy, and the freedom of the inner spark! We must purify our souls for the great master, the returned, true Messiah!" The 'monk' and his fellows turned and bowed low to the ground as another man stepped forward.
"What you have been taught is wrong." he spoke in a commanding tone. "What you have been taught is designed only to keep you beneath the heel of a foreign Pope and a tyrant Tsar. I am the true god!" he stepped forward and held up his hands, and lights shot down upon him. He slowly ascended into the air...
~~
"What do we know of him?" the Archbishop of Roslin frowned, turning through the heavy book upon his desk. "Acts... ah." he read through the section twice, and sighed. "There's not much here to go on..."
The Archbishop of Roan coughed. "Saint Justin said he could fly..."
"Saint Justin also misread an idol's inscription and infected entire communities with his interpretation of the original man." The Archbishop of Derricks snapped, his shock of white hair shaking. "What we have here is essentially some sort of...charlatan, misinterpreting holy texts, much like the original, yes, and working 'miracles'."
The Altaran Cardinal, an old and tired man, moved a little in his sleep. The other three all looked up at him in case something was going to happen. When nothing came, Roan snapped back at Derricks, "A Saint's beliefs are sancrosanct!"
"In which case you can be fed to the lions immediately." Agua growled, his brittle patience snapping. "Now, look. Let's stick with what we know. This man, this neo-Gnostic, is claiming to be God. Yes, I am aware that according to our records, the first Magus did the same. That's not relevant. We are not going to dignify him with the title of Magus because we are intelligent men."
"Right."
"Gotcha."
"Wghstfl."
Agua, with great difficulty, refrained from rolling his eyes. I should have gone into law... my brother owns a nice firm in Port Agua... I could have retired comfortably by now... "...what we'll do is, we'll hand this over to the Martial Order. They can investigate, see how deep this rot goes, and then give us any information we need. He's stirring the commons up, that would get the little father Alyosha involved..."
They all, even the sleeping Altara, winced. "...but...that could result in hundreds of deaths!"
"...do you want to explain to Rome how we aren't doing anything to combat this spread?"
"No, but...you know how Rome is...they...don't approve of that sort of thing any more..." Agua looked at Derricks, and sighed. The man was so depressingly keen. How he was ever allowed to get above the level of Bishop would never be understood. I mean, he even tirelessly advocates collegiality! He'll never understand that if the Church always obeyed every dictate from Rome it would collapse.
Roan went, "Bah!"
"...Is there a sheep in here?" Agua asked, nastily.
"I say again, bah! What we need is to catch this man and force him to debate with us! The true light of God's real church will show him the error of his ways!"
"I quite agree, brother." Derricks nodded.
Agua was about to be respond when there came a sound from the other end of the table. "Wha? Who...what's going on?" Altara grumbled, sitting up.
"...we're discussing what to do with the heretic!" Agua shouted into his ear.
"Oh? Jolly...jolly good show, that man... a bit of cold steel and some time in the Inquisition will sort him out, right?" the aged man yawned. "Mmm. Mmm."
"..." Agua almost started to cry. And this is the Roanian Church's leadership Material...