Rotovia-
03-06-2005, 08:58
From the ashes of war (open RP)
Though they had won the war, the cost of it had been great. Over 3 and half billion lay slain and the nation defeated by it's own hand. The nation that had stould 7,000 years without defeat now lay in ruins.
The City of Athens still burned and smell of seared and rotting flesh filled the air and cloged one's nostrils. The buildings were now only shells wiouth either life nor soul contained within.
The sky was still streaked with the thick black smoke of the bombs that landed there and the streets soaked red in the blood of partiots and traitors.
Loose dogs roamed the streets feasting on the flesh of nobles and commons, showing that in death the descrimination of gender and title fails to excist.
A bullet worn limosine glides to a halt outside the remnents of a once proud centre of a fallen government. A soldier with a bandaged headwound opens the door with a thud.
It opens and a perfectly polished shoe plants itself firmly on the ground, followed seconds later by another. So the tails of a tailored trenchcoat catch the wind as the figure begins to move towards the gathering crowd of media.
The figure steps up to a microphone and inclinces his head. As he does so the light of the setting sun catches his face underneath a prim cotton cap. A face of sorrow and anguish gives a gentle smile before adjusting the already imaculate tie.
"Ladies and gentlement of the press, Citizens of Rotovia and members of the international community..." A distant voice begins the traditional speal pending a state address "...I give you the President of The Constitutional Republic of Rotovia, His Eminency Dionysus Baccheus"
A shuffled applause and muffled praise are silenced gently by a raised hand.
"My people..." The voice of the President begins a soothing tone "...we have felt the fires of war and paid the costs of freedom. Our nation has been divided and conqured. Not by enemy sword, but by the hands of our own brethren. The fires of anger will still burn in our hearts and our minds and our sould long after they have been extinguished in our streets. We have been humbled and we are justly tempered. But I pray that we might not forget the glory of peace in our quest for vindication. Let not our hearts be overcome by anger, but our souls lifted by the peace that shall come. Let us not linger on thoughts of mourning, but for a season, though instead let us seek out and draw from hopes of a future bright. Let us rebuild what was once and will be again greater still. Let this be the legacy we leave. Let it not be one of anger and destruction but let it be one of greatest and mercy. May the light of the ancents be with you always"
With that he leans back towards an aid and whisper into her ear "Bring me Lord Powers... tonight he takes his last breath"
Though they had won the war, the cost of it had been great. Over 3 and half billion lay slain and the nation defeated by it's own hand. The nation that had stould 7,000 years without defeat now lay in ruins.
The City of Athens still burned and smell of seared and rotting flesh filled the air and cloged one's nostrils. The buildings were now only shells wiouth either life nor soul contained within.
The sky was still streaked with the thick black smoke of the bombs that landed there and the streets soaked red in the blood of partiots and traitors.
Loose dogs roamed the streets feasting on the flesh of nobles and commons, showing that in death the descrimination of gender and title fails to excist.
A bullet worn limosine glides to a halt outside the remnents of a once proud centre of a fallen government. A soldier with a bandaged headwound opens the door with a thud.
It opens and a perfectly polished shoe plants itself firmly on the ground, followed seconds later by another. So the tails of a tailored trenchcoat catch the wind as the figure begins to move towards the gathering crowd of media.
The figure steps up to a microphone and inclinces his head. As he does so the light of the setting sun catches his face underneath a prim cotton cap. A face of sorrow and anguish gives a gentle smile before adjusting the already imaculate tie.
"Ladies and gentlement of the press, Citizens of Rotovia and members of the international community..." A distant voice begins the traditional speal pending a state address "...I give you the President of The Constitutional Republic of Rotovia, His Eminency Dionysus Baccheus"
A shuffled applause and muffled praise are silenced gently by a raised hand.
"My people..." The voice of the President begins a soothing tone "...we have felt the fires of war and paid the costs of freedom. Our nation has been divided and conqured. Not by enemy sword, but by the hands of our own brethren. The fires of anger will still burn in our hearts and our minds and our sould long after they have been extinguished in our streets. We have been humbled and we are justly tempered. But I pray that we might not forget the glory of peace in our quest for vindication. Let not our hearts be overcome by anger, but our souls lifted by the peace that shall come. Let us not linger on thoughts of mourning, but for a season, though instead let us seek out and draw from hopes of a future bright. Let us rebuild what was once and will be again greater still. Let this be the legacy we leave. Let it not be one of anger and destruction but let it be one of greatest and mercy. May the light of the ancents be with you always"
With that he leans back towards an aid and whisper into her ear "Bring me Lord Powers... tonight he takes his last breath"