NationStates Jolt Archive

The Divine Imperial Museum of Historical Curiousities would be known in most other countries as a museum of the grotesque. It was here that the Roanians kept those things on public display that a less stable nation would probably destroy. Here, for instance, was the only surviving photograph of the Archmage Merrech. In a case on the wall, a child's doll recovered from the ruins of the original Alaitoc. But pride of place was given to a single item. The circlet worn by Lord-Emperor Alexander Tyrol Black. Alexander the Terrible. Whose 200 year reign, which had started with such promise, had ended as one of the darkest periods of Roanian history, and whose sole saving grace was that after his death the empire had passed to Cassander Drakharn.

It wasn't Alexander's actual crown. That had been obliterated when the crystal palace had been destroyed by the assassins, and his successor had been forced to have a new one cast. This was the circlet he had worn before his accession, in the reign of Alexander's father, Edward the Fat. It was a simple golden circlet, set with a single emerald balanced between the wings of a hawk. Two large rubies glinted from the sides, seeming almost like eyes.

"...looks like it's staring at you." Sergeant Lilian said one evening, while her and the other guard were patrolling. She stopped in front of the circlet's case. She suppressed a shiver as she watched the reflection of the light inside the rubies. She reached up and twirled a strand of black hair between her fingers.

The other guard stopped by and looked down on it. "Your imagination is far too active, Lilian." He snorted. "It's a piece of jewellery." He waited for a minute, then looked up. "Lilian?" The woman was staring into the case, as if entranced. "...Lilian, you always do this. And it's creeping me out."

She started, and raised a hand to her head. "Y-yeah. I don't know why, but I keep finding myself back here, every time I'm on duty." Her attention wandered back to the circlet.

"I dare you to put it on."

"What?!" She looked back up at him, stunned. "I couldn't. Really, I..."

"Come on. What, you think it's going to hurt you? I bet it will look good on you." The guard reached forward with his key to unlock the case.

Lilian just stared at him, and then at the circlet. She didn't move until the glass was opened, and then she gently shoved him aside. "All right. I always thought I'd make a good Princess." She laughed and picked it up. He watched as she stared into the rubies' depths for a long minute, then slowly lifted it to her forehead. The edges slid into place around her face.

"You were right. You do make a good princess. All right, time to take the circlet off." Then Lilian started to shake, her mouth falling open and a silent scream coming to her lips. The woman clutched at the wall, her body shuddering as if wracked with pain. "Lilian? Lilian!" He reached forward to grab the circlet from the other guard's face.

Lilian looked over at him, and the rubies flickered with an inner fire. The guard burst into dust. Her own body shook once or twice again, and then her eyes deadened. She spoke, but to someone who wasn't in the room. "You're mine now, 'princess'." Her facial features melted and reformed, becoming unrecogniseable. In a way, they were more beautiful now, crystallizing in an aristocratic face with delicate features. In another way, a more 'spiritual' way, they were far more hideous. The eyes, the real eyes, were completely dead.

Whilst the ruby eyes of the circlet/tiara sparkled with a hidden vitality and life. The body flexed its hands and arms for a few more moments, taking several breaths. "Oh, yes." Lilian placed her hands on her sides for a few more seconds, then slowly raised them over her body. "To feel... to touch...to breathe..." She reached her breasts, and laughed. "...well, well, well. This is delicious..." She took a breath, watching herself in the reflected glass. The body itself shifted, then relaxed back to its original form. The face seemed puzzled. 'Ah, perhaps I'm locked into this. Well, no matter...'

Alexander craned her head around her neck and looked back at the exhibits. 2000 years of Roanian history lay behind her. "Pity about all that." She laughed. Then fire crackled in her hand.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v369/Roania/Close-up.jpg


The Imperial City Anti-Conflagration Brigades arrived on the scene after five minutes, and worked with customary efficiency in putting out the smouldering ashes. A dark shadow watched them from a nearby building. Alexander pulled her summoned cloak up around her neck. It was amazing how easily the magic came to her, even though she had never used it while alive.

It was also amazing how easy it was to think of herself as, well, herself. She wasn't willing to test, now or ever, whether her soul had migrated from the tiara to the body, or if it was a matter of permanently keeping the tiara in place. She would simply need to dedicate some runtime to hiding it, that was all. Alexander laughed a little, but quietly. 'What did that man call this body? Lilian?' She considered it, then frowned and shook her head. 'I'll just call myself...hum. She considered the possibilities, and found one she liked. "Allessa Annerire. I'm...Allessa Annerire." Now, I'm going to need some money, and a newspaper, and someplace to stay...'

Alessa realised that there was an entire block of apartments behind her. Without her sword, her preferred problem-solving method was impossible. But these powers seemed to offer her a better way. The woman chose an apartment at random, and went to work.


"We do happen to have a serviced apartment for you, miss." The receptionist said, smiling blankly. "The price is a little too high."

Alessa held up a hand, and smiled brightly, though being called 'Miss' annoyed her. 'I was once the most powerful man in the Divine Imperium, you little rat. Don't you "Miss" me.' "It won't be a problem. I won't be staying for too long."

"Very well, Miss Annerire." The receptionist scribbled in a book. "Now, I'll just need two references..."

Alessa's eyes went even more blank, and behind a curtain of invisibility the rubies burst into fire. "I'm sorry?" Alessa said, smiling politely, her voice keeping back a seething fury.

"Well, this is rather an exclusive..."

Alessa snarled in words that couldn't be heard by anyone, but nevertheless reached into the receptionist's soul. "You don't need any references. Or money, for that matter. The credits have been transferred. Five minutes from now, your heart will shut down." Alessa snatched the key up, then politely said, again, "Thank you, miss." She took her keycard and went to the elevator. After she had left, the receptionist clutched her chest and fell to the ground. 'Bitch.'

As soon as she was ensconced in the safety of her room, Alessa slid onto the bed and considered her options carefully. 'What do I want to do with myself?' It was an interesting experience, being sane. She could barely remember when she had last had such complete control over her mind. It had to have been at least 100 years ago. A part of her desired nothing less than sneaking her circlet onto the head of someone with a title. But that option seemed difficult, and again she couldn't think of any way to be sure it would work. She could remember, shoved at the back of her mind, the horror of the past ten years, trapped in blackness, unaware, unthinking, unfeeling. She never wanted that again.

And in the same way, she wasn't particularly sure she desired the reins of power again. It had driven her old form to madness, and turned him into a monster. Looking at it from her current position, sanity was a pleasant sensation and she wasn’t quite willing to relinquish it yet.

Light, this was wonderful. She sang a few notes, loving being able to hear and use a voice again. Alessa hugged the pillow tight against her, relishing even this simple thing. At the moment, her desires were limited. For five minutes, she lay there, not doing anything except relishing each breath. “I need clothes.” She made a sudden decision. Her intellect worked at speed, designing a variety of clothes to suit her every whim. Then, she concentrated and attempted to make her designs reality.

The magical backlash against her mind knocked her senseless for five minutes, barely able to focus on her hands. “That didn’t work.” She felt exhausted suddenly, but managed to pull herself up. “I think I’m going to go and…buy some clothes. And not use any more magic.” Then a nervous thought made her jolt up and sent her walking to the window.

There were two Inquisitors down below.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v369/Roania/Alessa.jpg

(*yawn* Doing more tomorrow.)

OOC: I will respond later with a post, but I am tired also. OH this is ATG, if you don't recongnize my new name.

When it happened, it felt like a large boulder had fallen from a great height and landed right in the middle of Rowan's forehead. She cried out in pain and clutched her head as she sank heavily to the floor of her small studio apartment. Everything went black.

An hour later, she woke, still on the floor, curled up in a fetal position, her long red curls splayed out, bright against the pale hardwood. After a moment, she rose to a sitting position.

"What was that?" she wondered aloud. She shivered then, and realised she was cold. Holding her hand out open-palmed towards the fireplace, Rowan attempted the simple fire-calling spell she'd been able to work since she was thirteen. Nothing happened.

"That's odd." She tried again. The only result was a sharp meow.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't mean to hit you." Rowan scooped the small calico cat into her arms and scratched her ears. Della purred her forgiveness and closed her eyes in pleasure. Rowan continued her musings.

"Whatever knocked me out was immensely powerful. And if this headache and the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach are any indication, immensely evil as well."

Della looked up at her again, then flexed her wicked-looking claws. Her green eyes met Rowan's brown ones with a determined gaze. Rowan picked her up and stood.

"You're right, girl. I'll fix myself a nice restorative tea, and then we're going to investigate."

'How could I have been so stupid?'Alessa demanded of herself. 'Did 10 years of being dead really cause me to lose my mind?' She glanced at her cloak. She liked it a great deal, but it stood out. With a sigh born from aggravation at this whole situation, she gestured and the cloak became a rather more appropriate pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She watched the Inquisitors suddenly look up towards her, and shrank back. Then, quickly, she altered her dress into underclothes, pulled the clothes on, rebuttoned her shoes, and ran out the door. And right into the Inquisitors.

Oh. Light. "Is something wrong, sir?" Alessa asked, smiling and projecting an image of perfect feminine innocence.

"Miss, did you detect any magical activity up here?" An Inquisitor asked, suddenly very polite and courteous.

Alessa stared up at him, ready to turn both of them into shadows on the wall opposite. "N-no. How would I do that, sir?" She backed up, hoping they couldn't see the circlet. Something stopped her from killing them, and she realized they were both..."Um...my eyes are up here, Inquisitors?"With a start, Alessa realised she was blushing bright red.

The two Inquisitors, both of them mortified, looked up. Alessa had already readied herself to kill them both, but something stopped her. Instead, she looked down at her feet as she asked,"C-can I go now?" When they nodded, she ran to the lift and closed the door, waiting as the gravitic pulses tugged her back down to the main floor. 'I need out of this body!' She snarled to herself. Only she didn't. Not really. It delighted her to have even that power over men.


She returned to her room later that afternoon, carrying several bags of clothing.'This...is annoying.' She dropped every one of the bags and went to lounge on the bed with some newspapers. "Ten years of the Drakharn Dynasty..." Alessa thumbed her way through the tabloids and broadsheets, then lay back on the bed. "...it hurts to realize how much I was hated." She blinked, and realised her eyes were moist. "I don't cry." She rubbed her eyes clean.

But it wasn't fair. SHe knew, on an intellectual level, that she had done all these things they accused her of. But the memories themselves were just beyond her reach. If she focussed hard enough, they swam into focus. But only slightly, and she didn't particularly want to remember that. She remembered...she remembered just before her 75th birthday, and then...it was all a blur, a blur of images and feelings and anger. Her body shook somewhat and then she did start to cry, burrowing her way under the blankets and covers. What she could remember terrified her, and what she couldn't remember she didn't want to remember.

So she didn't. She pushed those thoughts away, shut them out. Or tried, at least. All she could do was shake for a few more minutes, and then she slowly sat up. "I need to get laid." Alessa laughed, the crystal bell of her laughter clearing the air. "But I'll settle for chocolate."

Cassander Lucius Drakharn, Lord-Emperor of the Roanians, was not a happy man. He had been woken from his sleep 3 hours early to hear... "It's all gone?" He demanded, slamming his gauntleted fist down on the throne. The obsidian cracked beneath the man's hand and it seemed for a moment like the palace itself would collapse. "Any survivors?"

Tony Pratt, Imperial City Security Chief, was not a happy man. He had been called out of his own nice warm bed at 4 to learn that the entire museum..."Yes m'lord. It's all gone." This didn't seem appropriate, so he tacked at the end, "Sorry sir. Neither guard survived."

Cassander growled under his breath. This was most emphatically not the way he wanted people to remember him. 'The Imperial City collapsed today, owing to the weak leadership of Cassander Drakharn.' The headline did not please him. "Go and look like you're being useful." He ordered, then he dismissed the man.

Pratt ran out, hoping he'd be able to avoid his Minister and make it back to the safety of his office. Cassander sighed and placed his chin in his hand. "I wonder if we have replicas anywhere? Of at least some of the objects?" He looked up at the buzzer which sounded. "Well, I'll get back at schedule. Time for my walk, then I'll go check on Alys and the twins."


Alessa wasn't entirely sure what had led her back here, back to the palace. Perhaps it was just a desire to see where it had all ended. She wanted to stop at that. But a sick curiousity led her on to the Tombs of the Emperors, where 9 of her ancestors lay in solitude. And where she herself did, too. Alessa stood in front of the tomb of Lord-Emperor Alexander Black, and slowly reached forward to touch the marble engraving of his face.

Until now, she hadn't really believed it. She had known, intellectually, that her presence in this body meant that he had died. But now, seeing herse...himself... With a whimper, Alessa slowly fell onto the tomb and started to cry, her tears tracing down the sides of the effigy.

She was distracted by the feeling of pressure on her shoulder. Alessa spun around suddenly to use her magic on the man, but stopped. And stared. And kept staring at a face she hadn't seen in years. "

"Is something wrong, miss?" Lord-Emperor Cassander Drakharn asked her, drawing back at the expression. "I don't often see people crying over that particular grave. Mostly it's swearing."

Alessa just watched him, and herself. She had a strong urge to shout at him to do something for her, but she wasn't sure why. She recognised him, but only in a vague sense. Half-vanished memories, feelings she couldn't grab at. "M-my Lord..."

Cassander sat down on a nearby tomb. "I chose that design." He said, simply. "I wanted people to remember who he had been, not what he had become."

Colonel Caspian Del'Riva relaxed in the first class segment of the personnel carrier. At this particular moment, of course, he was -anything- but Colonel Caspian Del'Riva, Swordsworn, AFESSR. In fact, he was about an inch taller, considerably fatter...a veritable giant of a man, seeing as that he was naturally six foot six. Muscular and lithe rather than huge, though. He was also a gunmetal black rather than his normal tanned "white" skin.

The hair was short and a greasy blonde, rather than long and a silver-streaked black. The eyes were brown, rather than gray. The teeth were different...hell, everything was different. Except for the space-black Warblade that the x-rays and metal detectors couldn't find, secreted away in central pocket of his too-large carry-on. But people didn't make grief for the CEO of Morgatson-Morgatson Enterprises.

The sensor-invisible sliver pistol in its ankle holster was almost equally invisible, absorbed as it was inside Mik Morgatson's fat cankles. Otherwise, he was unarmed. His black glaive was collapsed inside his luggage, deep within the transport's shuttle, as were the rest of his guns. All individually cased within the usual sensor-blank material.

He swivelled his head to the side and grinned at his travelling companion, John Morgatson, who was in fact Brenlinson Gage, Special Aide to the Warprince, and the team sniper...

The six members of his team would arrive over the entire day, on three different passenger carriers. They were all three of them physically different from the people they appeared to be were. A DNA sample would show that they were -exactly- who they appeared to be. And the weaponry they carried, nothing heavier than swords, pistols, and Bren's rifle, as perfectly shielded against outside location.

Physical searches wouldn't reveal anything either, as the compartments for the slim, broken down weaponry were actually within the interior dividers of the bags...

Then the Captain, a woman, came on..."Ladies and Gentlemen, we will begin landing procedures for our final destination in Roan in approximately one half of an hour. Thank you."

They never intended to go through customs, though they could. The plan would actually commence execution...now, as the grav units in the luggage enabled, and floated itself happily out of luggage 'lock and into the atmosphere.

Then Bren and Caspian would rise from their chairs, ignoring the screamed protests of the steward, and head to the passenger 'lock. Therein, they would step outside, into the high atmosphere. They would have died, except they rapidly shed the bodies that they had accumulated.

Two large, fat men fell to their deaths, miles and miles below. But at the same note, two wraithlike shapes in full shadowsilk rode their combat gliders down, and away. As soon as the luggage recognized their Trace signatures, it calmly attached itself to the cargo hangers on the gliders. Then all power vanished.
---

Later. The meeting point was what would have been locally considered the Revenian Embassy, and sorta was. The low-slung bunker-like structure was armed with its own defensive weaponry, including SAM launchers. And the sight of six black clothed individuals slipping inside was -nothing- unusual. Once inside, the team would slip out of their overcoats and out of their shadowsilks. Then they would slip into their plainclothes, take the 'dent chips passed them by the embassy staff, check the armor that they preferred to wear, accept the DI implants, implant them, then break out their weaponry and stow it about themselves.

Colonel Caspian Del'Riva, Major Jane Lorsen, Captain Terrance "Terry" O'Grady, Captain Moira Dobler, Brenlinson Gage, Sir Ivar Stark. Hrrawr.