Reichskamphen
20-07-2005, 07:36
The sun rose slowly over Reichsburg, the capitol of the Greater Prussian Empire. The light of early morning crept its way across the woods outside of the city, still undeveloped after all of these years. It crawled accross the fields approaching the city walls. As quicky as it had scaled the walls, it was weaving through the cobblestone alleys and streets of the most magnificent ancient city in all the world, highlighting and illuminating the brilliant 18th and 19th century achitecture. In southern Reichsburg, the brilliant daylight glinted upon the glass pannels of the office buildings and skyscrapers in the new section of town, the buildings scattering light like diamonds embedded into the earth. Quietly and stealthily, the day broke finally over the grounds of the Imperial Palace as sun went streaming into the windows of the bedchamber of Napoleon IV, Emperor of Greater Prussia.
The bed lay empty, unmade as the servants had not yet gotten around to making it. The Emperor stood facing a tall, ornate mirror as his footmen put on his boots and finally put on his favourite blue greatcoat, embroidered with gold. A golden sash was tied about his waste and an Imperial Guard sabre hung from his belt. "I think I will wear the wig for a change, James." Napoleon said to his chief servant. James Kissler walked into the extensive wardrobe and pulled a rather regal looking white wig our of its box. Setting it on the stand, he powdered it slightly, then brought it out to present to the Emperor.
"Not this one James. Too many curls. I'm Napoleon not Louis the Fourteenth."
James, not flinching a single muscle in his face to show frustration walked back into the closet and pulled out another wig, prepared it in a similar fashion, and presented it to Napoleon.
"Good! Put it on." the Emperor said, almost giddy. Napoleon looked at himself in the mirror. He reckoned himself the very image of Imperial splendour. "Good show, gents." he said to his footmen, still gazing into the mirror. "You all have the day off today with full pay. Go spend some time with your families." he turned to them all with a smile.
The servants immediately bowed and walked out of the room in formal measured steps, carrying themselves the way the chiefest servants of His Majesty ought to.
Shortly thereafter the Emperor walked out of his chambers. As soon as the doors had opened, the Imperial Guard standing to either side came to attention, and all who were within sight of the door bowed humbly. "Rise!" said the Emperor with more than a modicum of joy. "Today is a day of celebration. The prodigal son has returned!"
The servants looked from one to another with curiousity, eventually dismissing it and going about their tasks. As the Emperor walked into the central Grande hall of the Palace, he was immediately approached by two men in powdered wigs and noble attire, one fat, and the other somewhat trim, and one man in modern dress with cropped hair. "Majesty." they all said in a tone of greeting. "This is Antonin von Heiligen, the composer from Edolia." said the fat noble who was the Imperial Foreign Minister, Prince Henri Guillaume de Ritorneau. The man with the short hair and the modern dress bowed deeply.
"Majesty, it is truly an honour"
"The honour is mine, Heligen." replied the Emperor. "I look forward to hearing your Opera tonight. Good luck."
"Actually, Majesty I was wondering if we could have a word with..." the foreign minister was cut off by the trumpets outside announcing the arrival of his most highly anticipated guest.
Napoleon brushed the two men off and almost bounded to the door. As he reached the entrance, he slowed himself down, checked to ensure everything was in place, and signaled to the Guardsmen to open the doors. The enormous Oak doors of the palace swung open, a shaft of light pouring through the doorway and illuminating the Emperor. Though the light hurt his eyes, he forced them wide open. He must maintain appearances. This was important.
Slowly, the shadow of a man was cast accross the marble floor as the guest came into view. Napoleon did not move an inch towards him, but merely held out his arms. This time, he was the one in charge. "Joseph." Napoleon said as his brother approached and hugged him. "How is my favourite older brother?"
The bed lay empty, unmade as the servants had not yet gotten around to making it. The Emperor stood facing a tall, ornate mirror as his footmen put on his boots and finally put on his favourite blue greatcoat, embroidered with gold. A golden sash was tied about his waste and an Imperial Guard sabre hung from his belt. "I think I will wear the wig for a change, James." Napoleon said to his chief servant. James Kissler walked into the extensive wardrobe and pulled a rather regal looking white wig our of its box. Setting it on the stand, he powdered it slightly, then brought it out to present to the Emperor.
"Not this one James. Too many curls. I'm Napoleon not Louis the Fourteenth."
James, not flinching a single muscle in his face to show frustration walked back into the closet and pulled out another wig, prepared it in a similar fashion, and presented it to Napoleon.
"Good! Put it on." the Emperor said, almost giddy. Napoleon looked at himself in the mirror. He reckoned himself the very image of Imperial splendour. "Good show, gents." he said to his footmen, still gazing into the mirror. "You all have the day off today with full pay. Go spend some time with your families." he turned to them all with a smile.
The servants immediately bowed and walked out of the room in formal measured steps, carrying themselves the way the chiefest servants of His Majesty ought to.
Shortly thereafter the Emperor walked out of his chambers. As soon as the doors had opened, the Imperial Guard standing to either side came to attention, and all who were within sight of the door bowed humbly. "Rise!" said the Emperor with more than a modicum of joy. "Today is a day of celebration. The prodigal son has returned!"
The servants looked from one to another with curiousity, eventually dismissing it and going about their tasks. As the Emperor walked into the central Grande hall of the Palace, he was immediately approached by two men in powdered wigs and noble attire, one fat, and the other somewhat trim, and one man in modern dress with cropped hair. "Majesty." they all said in a tone of greeting. "This is Antonin von Heiligen, the composer from Edolia." said the fat noble who was the Imperial Foreign Minister, Prince Henri Guillaume de Ritorneau. The man with the short hair and the modern dress bowed deeply.
"Majesty, it is truly an honour"
"The honour is mine, Heligen." replied the Emperor. "I look forward to hearing your Opera tonight. Good luck."
"Actually, Majesty I was wondering if we could have a word with..." the foreign minister was cut off by the trumpets outside announcing the arrival of his most highly anticipated guest.
Napoleon brushed the two men off and almost bounded to the door. As he reached the entrance, he slowed himself down, checked to ensure everything was in place, and signaled to the Guardsmen to open the doors. The enormous Oak doors of the palace swung open, a shaft of light pouring through the doorway and illuminating the Emperor. Though the light hurt his eyes, he forced them wide open. He must maintain appearances. This was important.
Slowly, the shadow of a man was cast accross the marble floor as the guest came into view. Napoleon did not move an inch towards him, but merely held out his arms. This time, he was the one in charge. "Joseph." Napoleon said as his brother approached and hugged him. "How is my favourite older brother?"