Fluffywuffy
01-01-2005, 02:15
In the eyes of almost three and a half billion Imperial citizens, uncertainty, visible for an entire month, eroded with the lavish ceremony visible on over a dozen television networks. Reporters tried guessing the identity of the Emperor who was chosen today, all of them amazingly far off. Some even claimed General Teddy Stewart was to be Emperor. Though a competent leader in his own right, General Ted, as he was called, was too old to become Emperor.
But now the uncertainty that lasted over a month was erased, an era of hope shimmering in the eyes of the people. Inside the lavish Imperial Palace--the damage from the terrorist attack repaired--the man called Emperor stepped forward. The purple carpets that flanked the raised platform in the center of the room, the marble walls, great paintings of First Empire heroes, elegant statues. . .it was enough to keep Da Vinci, Michelangelo, and others busy for years. Now, however, the only thing that mattered was the golden throne that sat on the central platform.
On signal, the lights were cut. A single light shone onto the throne, carved of solid gold and shaped like an eagle, and a man in a military uniform was visible, a crown of gold, silver, and diamonds visible. The man had a stern face, like that of a stressed military commander pouring over his battle plan before battle, jet black hair and eyes, and an overall handsome appearance. Best of all, he was young, about twenty or so.
An aide declared him Emperor Victor Tabbath, a former submarine captain, and an able leader in times of crisis. A sabatuer on his submarine had already proven that. But that was another story for another time and place. The Emperor stood, raised his hands, and said the traditional acceptance words: "Subjects of the Empire, thy Emperor has taken power, for better of for worse." He was seated, and a priest came and annointed him.
After the annointing, the Emperor gave his first order, as tradition dictated. It was usually a small task, such as "get me a drink." This one was millions of times more important: "Let the people elect a Commitee to draw up a Constitution, so that our Empire may be the only Empire to take over from the First Empire, and the most justly governed." The people fell instantly in love with him.
The Emperor then rose, saluted the army of reporters and honored guests, and marched to his private quarters, a full platoon gaurding him. Half the men were at his private palace wing, the other surrounding the young monarch. In another two hours his entire life's story was common knowledge, elections were planned, and those that argued that the Empire was a dictatorship suddenly praised the Emperor.
Fluffywuffy was now officialy ruled by the Second Empire.
But now the uncertainty that lasted over a month was erased, an era of hope shimmering in the eyes of the people. Inside the lavish Imperial Palace--the damage from the terrorist attack repaired--the man called Emperor stepped forward. The purple carpets that flanked the raised platform in the center of the room, the marble walls, great paintings of First Empire heroes, elegant statues. . .it was enough to keep Da Vinci, Michelangelo, and others busy for years. Now, however, the only thing that mattered was the golden throne that sat on the central platform.
On signal, the lights were cut. A single light shone onto the throne, carved of solid gold and shaped like an eagle, and a man in a military uniform was visible, a crown of gold, silver, and diamonds visible. The man had a stern face, like that of a stressed military commander pouring over his battle plan before battle, jet black hair and eyes, and an overall handsome appearance. Best of all, he was young, about twenty or so.
An aide declared him Emperor Victor Tabbath, a former submarine captain, and an able leader in times of crisis. A sabatuer on his submarine had already proven that. But that was another story for another time and place. The Emperor stood, raised his hands, and said the traditional acceptance words: "Subjects of the Empire, thy Emperor has taken power, for better of for worse." He was seated, and a priest came and annointed him.
After the annointing, the Emperor gave his first order, as tradition dictated. It was usually a small task, such as "get me a drink." This one was millions of times more important: "Let the people elect a Commitee to draw up a Constitution, so that our Empire may be the only Empire to take over from the First Empire, and the most justly governed." The people fell instantly in love with him.
The Emperor then rose, saluted the army of reporters and honored guests, and marched to his private quarters, a full platoon gaurding him. Half the men were at his private palace wing, the other surrounding the young monarch. In another two hours his entire life's story was common knowledge, elections were planned, and those that argued that the Empire was a dictatorship suddenly praised the Emperor.
Fluffywuffy was now officialy ruled by the Second Empire.