NationStates Jolt Archive

Imperial Greifan Expeditionary Station Callisto I

She shivered at the sudden rush of cold which greeted her as the ornate glass doors to her mother's tomb slid silently open. She wondered at the Keepers' insistance of maintaining the chamber at sub-zero temperatures. The Empress's body was after all perfectly preserved within its sarcophagus, so indeed the deep freeze was not necessary for the purpose of safeguarding the Lioness's body from decomposition. Perhaps it had some kind of symbolic purpose in the strange rituals of the Elven Keepers, perhaps it was a prerequisite for a more mystical kind of security. But against what? She had prodded them for answers on several occassions, to no avail. The Keepers had their secrets, and they would share them with no one, not even with the Heiress to their Mistress's crumbling empire. She frowned at the thought of it, and pulled her tight-fitting leather tunic closer around her as she stepped into the chamber. Such was the fate of heiresses who had little more than a legacy to arm themselves with; to be perpetualy dismissed, shoved aside, kept in the dark about anything of import.

She moved swiftly across the glass floor of the chamber and toward her goal, the aforementioned sarcophagus, dominant and commanding from its position at the center of the spacious hall. It was a sad, harsh place to be, all glass and silver covered in a thick layer of unrelenting frost. It occured to her that the design of the place seemed to speak to the visitor of the tragic legacy of its resident, she who had achieved so much, and yet died cold, alone, defeated. The thought of it sent a brief yet sharp bolt of pain through her, her chest tightened, and she subconsciously pouted out her lower lip. As she stepped up to the sarcophagus she inhaled the frosty air deeply, struggling to hold back the tears she so very much wanted to pour out over her mother's casket. Mother would not approve. Mother suffered no weakness.

The sarcophagus was truly a work of art, a final resting place worthy of an empress, or of a goddess, as some would claim. Forged from a clear, crystaline substance, lined with fine silver wire, it was cast in the shape of an armor-clad angel, hands and wings outstretched. Ancient runes of power had been carved into the angel's body, one hundred and eight in all, each giving off a faint glow varying in color from intense purples, to soft pinks, to subtle, cheery greens. And at the center of the colossul crystaline angel was she, clad in a pure white shroud, barely decipherable through the many layers which kept her safe from outside contamination. The heiress pulled her long silver mane back over her shoulder and stared up at the sarcophagus in awe, dumb-founded by its beauty inspite of herself. She visited her mother regularly, but the thing always made a profound impression on her. The elves knew their craft. The elves knew how to honor greatness.

Slowly, timidly, she reached out one gloved hand and rested it tenderly upon the sarcophagus. The runes responded to the physical contact, and deeming the new presence friendly, intensified their glow to a fiery, multi-hued flicker. She closed her eyes, and whispered a few reverent words of greeting, picturing her mother, rosy-cheeked and smiling, in her mind's eye.

After a long pause, she regretfully broke contact with the angelic casket, and slid down on to one knee before it. She reached for the sword which dangled at her left hip, removed it from its scabard, and pointed it, tip down, toward the casket. She wetted her lips, and in a trembling voice began to recite a carefully worded mantra, an homage to her Empress.

"My Allegiance and Undying Loyalty I give to Thee, Empress Natalya d'Greif, Absolute and Benevolent Matriarch of Presgreif, Brass Rails and Gernalitily, Arch-protector of the High Passionist Church, Defender of the Faith, Bearer of the Light, Champion of Truth, Golden Eyed Lioness Clad in Obsidian Feathers.

With Your Divine Grace I have done Your work, and brought to justice the treasonous currs who have tried and failed to strike down Your Dominion and bring Your people to a state most unfortunate.

With Your Divine Grace I have smashed the ancient jewel of your Empire, Seat of Your Imperium Most Divine, for as you have commanded, none will occupy the High Throne in Your Absence.

With Your Divine Grace I have spirited Your people away to safety, and salvaged Your mighty Fleet, so that the Glory of Your Empire might be preserved, in Your Name.

With Your continued Grace, oh Empress Most Immaculate, Bearer of the Greifan Seed, I shall continue to do Your works. The Greif has overcome. The Greif stands victorious, oh Empress.

I, Andalusia d'Greif, Your loving daughter and Most Devoted of Imperial Subjects, will reclaim that which had been torn from Thee. I, Andalusia d'Greif, Commander of Your Legions, Admiral of Your Fleet, Sheppard to Your People, will restore that which has crumbled. Your Light will shine across the depths again, my Empress. This I swear, on my Blood, it shall be done."

As she uttered the final words of her mantra she felt the fire of divine grace fill her breast, her eyes glistened with righteaous fervor. She sheethed her sword and rose to her feet with deliberate movements, empowered by the communion with her Empress. She stood there for a long while, breathing heavily, shivering from the cold, staring into the sarcophagus with fiery intensity. Finally the rush of the communion faded, and the cold became unbearable to her. She put a gloved hand to her lips, and then placed it against the sarcophagus. "Sleep well, sweet mother." she whispered, allowing herself one more lingering moment before spinning on her heel and moving swiftly toward the exit.

Her mind raced as the doors closed behind her. There was so much to do, so much to consider. It was truly the beginning of a new era for the Greif, and the full weight of the Empire's destiny now rested on her shoulders. "Exilerating." she commented to herself, a broad smile curved her lips.

Konigsberg, European AZ of the TFCC, former capital of Presgreif Terra

The city and its surroundings had been reduced to a state of utter desolation, the wrath of the Greif had been swift and terrible, the occupation which followed cruel and uncompromising. Those involved in the retaking of the city by the Imperial Family and its surprisingly well-equipped and supplied forces were of course spirited away to safety in the days preceding the strike. Those precious few who had been involved in the conspiratory manuevers of the Heiresses, those who actively sought out the underground resistance to the Conglomerate's reign and swore allegiance to the Greifan Seed were not only spared, but treated with the care and privilege the Empress had at one time regarded all of her subjects with. The rest, the vast majority of whom had adapted to the Conglomerate's rule and went on with their lives, were treated as criminals and traitors. In the eyes of the Greif they were all colaborators, complacency was in itself high treason. They all deserved to suffer terribly for the unforgivable betrayal they had collectively allowed through their inaction. And suffer they did.

The Greifan rise against the Conglomerate had begun with a nuclear strike against Konigsberg's downtown core, the corporate and administrative center of half a continent. Hundreds of thousands died in the initial blast, trillions of Marks of damage was done, irreplacable federal archives, the nerve center the government's eastern European communication network, a sizeable percentage of the Conglomerate's top-tier members including the CEO himself, all had been wiped out in one fell swoop. The full horror of the event dawned upon the Board of Directors only after initial investigations into the source of the blast; the nuclear missiles deployed against the city had been launched from the Conglomerate's own silos, the authorisation for the launch had been given from within the Conglomerate itself. The conspiracy against the Conglomerate and its mastermind, Asakura Hojo, reached into the very heart of an organisation which prided itself on its air-tight internal security and resistance to infiltration. As Intelligence scrambled to indentify those involved in the attack, the Board swiftly degenerated into a state of internal bickering and finger-pointing.

The uprising followed swiftly on the heels of the attack on Konigsberg. Hundreds of thousands of Conglomerate troops turned on their loyalist counterparts, entire regiments, fleets and airwings triumphantly announced their allegiance to the Greif and exacted devastating casualties on Conglomerate forces. The latter, paralysed by a lack of orders from their corporate superiors and the general confusion which ensued, put up little to no resistance to the unexpected aggression. Millions withdrew from the disputed zones, millions more chose to simply lay down their arms and surrender to the enemy. As Greifan forces filled the vaccuum left behind by their Conglomerate counterparts, a vast section of eastern Europe found itself left bloodlesly under Greifan occupation. Within a few days of the initial attack this rebel-controled zone had spread from the Baltic to the shores of the Black Sea, and had enveloped in their entirety the Polish, Ukrainian and Belarussian administrative zones. By the time Conglomerate forces received their first supplies, along with frantic orders to stand their ground, the rebel state had already cemented its presence in the occupied territories. The Conglomerate was forced to face the reality of the situation, the uprising had quickly evolved into a civil war.

( To be continued, work beckons. Feel free to leave comments or questions if you feel so inclined. )

It's coming along really nicely. I like the characters so far and while I'm not sure I remember enough about you to really understand anything going on, I look forward to being able to try.