Fifth Monarchy
07-04-2008, 06:22
A young man, appearing to be of an age no greater than that of twenty, rose quietly from his seat. His deep, penetrating oculars peered from their mildly-sunken sockets as his tongue rolled eloquently across his parched, pink lips. As his optics surveyed the environment – from mahogany shelves and wall paneling, to the ivory pen his devoted sire scribed with – he noted the overall, deep tones of alizarin that seemed to permeate from ever, non-gilded facet of the office. Outside, the sun was setting, glowing – once more – in a crimson tone through the dyed curtains of the fifteenth-story chamber.
“Cerise,” announced the grey-haired gentlemen before him, drawing his attention to him.
“Yes, magnus,” the younger man’s voice echoed, just below the baritone ramblings of his “magnus”. His voice, however, did resound with the apparent accent of a man from East of the Danube, an apparent Cossack or Little Russian accent. He drew closer, however, meeting his sire’s demand for attention, steadying himself on the plush, Persian carpeting as his shoes faintly drug against the flooring. Cerise fixated his oculars down on the parchment – a parchment of such fine quality, many believed that with the over-abundance of consumer capitalism in this world, true artisanship such as this would never be found again – noting the defining seal of the Aristocracy of the Fifth Monarchy’s all to present Marquisate. A faint chill rolled across his barely-protruding spinal column, causing his alabaster skin – though he remains keval – to ripple with so many bumps and ridges of pure intimidation and fear.
“I know you’re merely a Chevalier,” resounded the seated gentleman, his hands crossing the parchment to pinch and fold it in an oh-so-appropriate fashion, before abruptly stamping it shut with a gold-leaf seal of the Marquisate. “But do you think you could deliver this letter to the Secretariat for further production and delivery?”
“Yes, magnus,” the Chevalier responded, his figure only moving to grip the parchment. Yet, as his digits coiled against the finely-woven papyrus, the seated soul lunged, his skeletal, corpse-like digits curling about Cerise’s thin, boney wrist.
“Cerise,” his lips coiled beneath the shadow of his bangs, an eerie hue cast across his façade as the last of the sun’s rays pierced the curtains, “Have a good day…” The magnus’ grin broadened into a smirk as he released the keval, immediately noting the small amount of color that was in the post-adolescent’s cheeks had faded to a pure ivory hue.
“Th-thank you, magnus,” rolled – more like tumbled – from Cerise’s lips, before he quickly pivoted and stepped from the office, closing the door behind him, taking a minor note of the phrase “Pierre Alphonse de Rothschild – Executor of the Rothschild Banque in Paris” being engraved and plastered with gold-inlay on the oaken doors to his sire’s office. As he began exiting the main corridor to his office, he noted the approach of a young, voluptuous, brunette-haired woman drawing nearer. She smiled at him, tilting her sunglasses to his young physique as their collective absence narrowed, smirking to expose her jagged ivories to the already-startled keval.
Cerise simply nodded…
Soon enough, he had traveled his desired distance, pressing the third-to-last button on the elevator of the “Rothschild Banque”. He chuckled to himself – now calmer – as his digit left the “untitled” button. Employees were forbidden from going to these floors without expressed permission from “Executor Rothschild”. Even Cerise held within the confines of his blazer, the hand-written warrant and writ, stamped in an archaic manner with the Rothschild seal, and signed by his sire himself. Yet, what intrigued him now was not his “permissional writ”, but the letter he held in his hand. He titled it, looking about it, but became startled as a small note fell from the open side of the parchment. Cerise looked toward the hands of the elevator, Still six floors, he pondered, flipping open the small note and reading:
“To all major business leaders, heads of state and government, etc. etc.
“By order to the Marquisate, we will break the Veil.”
Cerise stood stunned, his eyes shuddering in their sockets as faint droplets of drool collected on the tips of his elongated canines, dripping to a small pool of saliva in the base of his mandible. Breaking the Veil? his mind screamed, Why did the Marquisate order this?! We’ll be hunted like dogs again! Yet, before Cerise had the chance to do much, the doors to the Secretariat opened. He nearly jumped, startled by Madame Secretariat herself.
“Is this for me,” announced the particularly buxom blonde before him. Her eyes peered up and down Cerise’s form. She noted the small note he was half-inserting back into the folded letter, “You know, Cerise, you’re not supposed to read those… Too bad I can’t turn you in…”
“Wh-why is that, Madame Secretariat?” Cerise was once again gripped by fear. Though he was a vau, he could still feel the pure intimidation and antagonistic personality that was virtually dripping from most of the strigoi – including the Madame Secretariat.
“Because,” she grinned, leaning close, pressing her faux-lush lips against his cheek as she jerked the letter from his hands and slapped the “First Floor” button on the elevator as she departed, “You’re too fucking handsome.” She smiled, waving her elongate digits as the doors closed, leaving Cerise with his perishing thoughts.
Breaking the Veil...? Are they insane…?
+ + +
http://i230.photobucket.com/albums/ee44/JakabokBotch/MarquisateSeal.png
Formal Epistle
&
Letter of Credence
Office of the Marquisate of the Aristocracy of the Fifth Monarchy
Fonction du Marquis du Aristocratie du Cinquième Royauté
Stelle des Marquis des Aristokratie des Fünft Monarchie
Oficina de la Marquisate de la Aristocracia de la Quinto Monarquía
To Whom it May Concern, in the Most Esteemed Manner,
On behalf of the Marquisate of the Aristocracy of the Fifth Monarchy, you are hereby contacted to request the opening of relations and the formal placement of credence and recognition – of all means.
The Fifth Monarchy and it’s government (the Marquisate) is the collection of over five millennia of tradition, culture, and foundation – since before the Birth of the Human God YHVH (Jehova, Yawneh, etc., etc.) and the formulation of the Accuser and Opponent of Him. The Fifth Monarchy is not a nation-state as conceived on human foundations, but a united culture – filled with different nationalities and ethnicities – from around the world. We are all, regardless, tied by a single unifying factor: We are Vau. We are marked by our subsistent need of sanguivitae and the near-animalistic need for that luscious communion.
As such, due to the growth of human development, the growing power of consumer capitalism, and the “shrinking” of the world brought about by global communications and enterprise, the Marquisate and the Assembly of the Royal Blood has authorized the “Breaking of the Veil” and the revealing of ourselves to the rest of humanity. Not for malicious or un-truthful purposes, but for the creation of a global, united culture and society in which vau and homo sapiens can converse and interact with one another, without the horrid assumption that one will strike or destroy the other.
As such, most esteemed delegates, we request acknowledgement, recognition, and diplomatic credence for the purpose of fostering friendship, a greater understanding of one another’s culture, and a growth in business brought about by the revealing of ourselves across the world as already present in business and global commerce.
Some of you, mostly individuals who foster a sense of religious fanaticism within themselves, will immediately decry us as agent of the Devil, apostates, or “generally insane”. Perhaps the latter is true – if We may so flatter a bit of humor here – but We are neither Devil’s or apostates, for none of Us deny the existence of the Creator. As such, We question those who seek to condemn us: Are you motivations brought on by faith, or your political enterprise?
Therfore, without further adieu, We do hope this epistle has found you healthy and well, and We hope to hear from you soon. We hope that this Breaking of the Veil will not bring us back to a reactionary past of burnings and trials, but to a new future of prosperity and progress.
Sincerely,
Pierre Alphonse de Rothschild
Acting Representative of the Marquisate
+ + +
Pierre sat in his leather-lined chair, peering out into the night-sky of Paris, smirking as his beloved lover trailed her nude form to sit upon his bare knee. He lifted the small, crystalline glass to his lips, tilting his head to allow the vermillion-hued fluid to gently glide across his lips, down his esophagus, and into his thirsting gullet. As he drank, his lover began to speak, “So, my dearest,” she grinned, nipping her canine across his cheek, lightly lapping at his scruffy appearance, “Any new business today?” She smiled, sliding herself from his formature, lightly placing her lips against his inner thigh, nibbling in a teasing, seductive, and perverse manner, slowly closing on his apparent…
“Yes, darling,” he smirked, his attention not drawn away by her insistence, but kept forward on the twinkling of the lights of Paris, “I did have some new business.” Pierre set aside his glass, leaning back in his chair as his darling rose from her askew profession.
“Well,” she perked, licking her frosted lips faintly, “What was it?” Her tone was insistent, and one could tell by her speech that she should never be afforded a title of nobility. This fact Pierre pondered, noting that “the only thing she is good for is her damn assets and talents”.
“Nothing major, beloved,” at this point, he curled his digits against the wooden skeleton of his chair, a malign grin covering his visage, “Just lined-up a few pigs, nothing major…”
(OOC: I wrote here a very, very, very long time ago as “Fascist Confederacy”, “Laurasia”, and a few other nations. Now, since – for some reason – mods had me “banned” , I’m back since – apparently – that glitch has been fixed.
Those who know me from NO/WaP, I was "Kyrusia", "Midian", "Armed Workers' Movement for a Global Revolution", and various others.
So, you’re welcome to send other letters, condemn, inquire, request conferences, etc. But remember, this Aristocracy doesn’t have a fixed location. It is [i]assumed that they are present globally. But, I’m kind enough to not simply godmod, nor do I want to do anything against your country. Most of – if not all of my RP’s – will be character-based or storytelling-based.
Thank you.
P.S.: I do follow the doctrines of “assumed secret IC” and “all major RP’s are pre-planned”.)
“Cerise,” announced the grey-haired gentlemen before him, drawing his attention to him.
“Yes, magnus,” the younger man’s voice echoed, just below the baritone ramblings of his “magnus”. His voice, however, did resound with the apparent accent of a man from East of the Danube, an apparent Cossack or Little Russian accent. He drew closer, however, meeting his sire’s demand for attention, steadying himself on the plush, Persian carpeting as his shoes faintly drug against the flooring. Cerise fixated his oculars down on the parchment – a parchment of such fine quality, many believed that with the over-abundance of consumer capitalism in this world, true artisanship such as this would never be found again – noting the defining seal of the Aristocracy of the Fifth Monarchy’s all to present Marquisate. A faint chill rolled across his barely-protruding spinal column, causing his alabaster skin – though he remains keval – to ripple with so many bumps and ridges of pure intimidation and fear.
“I know you’re merely a Chevalier,” resounded the seated gentleman, his hands crossing the parchment to pinch and fold it in an oh-so-appropriate fashion, before abruptly stamping it shut with a gold-leaf seal of the Marquisate. “But do you think you could deliver this letter to the Secretariat for further production and delivery?”
“Yes, magnus,” the Chevalier responded, his figure only moving to grip the parchment. Yet, as his digits coiled against the finely-woven papyrus, the seated soul lunged, his skeletal, corpse-like digits curling about Cerise’s thin, boney wrist.
“Cerise,” his lips coiled beneath the shadow of his bangs, an eerie hue cast across his façade as the last of the sun’s rays pierced the curtains, “Have a good day…” The magnus’ grin broadened into a smirk as he released the keval, immediately noting the small amount of color that was in the post-adolescent’s cheeks had faded to a pure ivory hue.
“Th-thank you, magnus,” rolled – more like tumbled – from Cerise’s lips, before he quickly pivoted and stepped from the office, closing the door behind him, taking a minor note of the phrase “Pierre Alphonse de Rothschild – Executor of the Rothschild Banque in Paris” being engraved and plastered with gold-inlay on the oaken doors to his sire’s office. As he began exiting the main corridor to his office, he noted the approach of a young, voluptuous, brunette-haired woman drawing nearer. She smiled at him, tilting her sunglasses to his young physique as their collective absence narrowed, smirking to expose her jagged ivories to the already-startled keval.
Cerise simply nodded…
Soon enough, he had traveled his desired distance, pressing the third-to-last button on the elevator of the “Rothschild Banque”. He chuckled to himself – now calmer – as his digit left the “untitled” button. Employees were forbidden from going to these floors without expressed permission from “Executor Rothschild”. Even Cerise held within the confines of his blazer, the hand-written warrant and writ, stamped in an archaic manner with the Rothschild seal, and signed by his sire himself. Yet, what intrigued him now was not his “permissional writ”, but the letter he held in his hand. He titled it, looking about it, but became startled as a small note fell from the open side of the parchment. Cerise looked toward the hands of the elevator, Still six floors, he pondered, flipping open the small note and reading:
“To all major business leaders, heads of state and government, etc. etc.
“By order to the Marquisate, we will break the Veil.”
Cerise stood stunned, his eyes shuddering in their sockets as faint droplets of drool collected on the tips of his elongated canines, dripping to a small pool of saliva in the base of his mandible. Breaking the Veil? his mind screamed, Why did the Marquisate order this?! We’ll be hunted like dogs again! Yet, before Cerise had the chance to do much, the doors to the Secretariat opened. He nearly jumped, startled by Madame Secretariat herself.
“Is this for me,” announced the particularly buxom blonde before him. Her eyes peered up and down Cerise’s form. She noted the small note he was half-inserting back into the folded letter, “You know, Cerise, you’re not supposed to read those… Too bad I can’t turn you in…”
“Wh-why is that, Madame Secretariat?” Cerise was once again gripped by fear. Though he was a vau, he could still feel the pure intimidation and antagonistic personality that was virtually dripping from most of the strigoi – including the Madame Secretariat.
“Because,” she grinned, leaning close, pressing her faux-lush lips against his cheek as she jerked the letter from his hands and slapped the “First Floor” button on the elevator as she departed, “You’re too fucking handsome.” She smiled, waving her elongate digits as the doors closed, leaving Cerise with his perishing thoughts.
Breaking the Veil...? Are they insane…?
+ + +
http://i230.photobucket.com/albums/ee44/JakabokBotch/MarquisateSeal.png
Formal Epistle
&
Letter of Credence
Office of the Marquisate of the Aristocracy of the Fifth Monarchy
Fonction du Marquis du Aristocratie du Cinquième Royauté
Stelle des Marquis des Aristokratie des Fünft Monarchie
Oficina de la Marquisate de la Aristocracia de la Quinto Monarquía
To Whom it May Concern, in the Most Esteemed Manner,
On behalf of the Marquisate of the Aristocracy of the Fifth Monarchy, you are hereby contacted to request the opening of relations and the formal placement of credence and recognition – of all means.
The Fifth Monarchy and it’s government (the Marquisate) is the collection of over five millennia of tradition, culture, and foundation – since before the Birth of the Human God YHVH (Jehova, Yawneh, etc., etc.) and the formulation of the Accuser and Opponent of Him. The Fifth Monarchy is not a nation-state as conceived on human foundations, but a united culture – filled with different nationalities and ethnicities – from around the world. We are all, regardless, tied by a single unifying factor: We are Vau. We are marked by our subsistent need of sanguivitae and the near-animalistic need for that luscious communion.
As such, due to the growth of human development, the growing power of consumer capitalism, and the “shrinking” of the world brought about by global communications and enterprise, the Marquisate and the Assembly of the Royal Blood has authorized the “Breaking of the Veil” and the revealing of ourselves to the rest of humanity. Not for malicious or un-truthful purposes, but for the creation of a global, united culture and society in which vau and homo sapiens can converse and interact with one another, without the horrid assumption that one will strike or destroy the other.
As such, most esteemed delegates, we request acknowledgement, recognition, and diplomatic credence for the purpose of fostering friendship, a greater understanding of one another’s culture, and a growth in business brought about by the revealing of ourselves across the world as already present in business and global commerce.
Some of you, mostly individuals who foster a sense of religious fanaticism within themselves, will immediately decry us as agent of the Devil, apostates, or “generally insane”. Perhaps the latter is true – if We may so flatter a bit of humor here – but We are neither Devil’s or apostates, for none of Us deny the existence of the Creator. As such, We question those who seek to condemn us: Are you motivations brought on by faith, or your political enterprise?
Therfore, without further adieu, We do hope this epistle has found you healthy and well, and We hope to hear from you soon. We hope that this Breaking of the Veil will not bring us back to a reactionary past of burnings and trials, but to a new future of prosperity and progress.
Sincerely,
Pierre Alphonse de Rothschild
Acting Representative of the Marquisate
+ + +
Pierre sat in his leather-lined chair, peering out into the night-sky of Paris, smirking as his beloved lover trailed her nude form to sit upon his bare knee. He lifted the small, crystalline glass to his lips, tilting his head to allow the vermillion-hued fluid to gently glide across his lips, down his esophagus, and into his thirsting gullet. As he drank, his lover began to speak, “So, my dearest,” she grinned, nipping her canine across his cheek, lightly lapping at his scruffy appearance, “Any new business today?” She smiled, sliding herself from his formature, lightly placing her lips against his inner thigh, nibbling in a teasing, seductive, and perverse manner, slowly closing on his apparent…
“Yes, darling,” he smirked, his attention not drawn away by her insistence, but kept forward on the twinkling of the lights of Paris, “I did have some new business.” Pierre set aside his glass, leaning back in his chair as his darling rose from her askew profession.
“Well,” she perked, licking her frosted lips faintly, “What was it?” Her tone was insistent, and one could tell by her speech that she should never be afforded a title of nobility. This fact Pierre pondered, noting that “the only thing she is good for is her damn assets and talents”.
“Nothing major, beloved,” at this point, he curled his digits against the wooden skeleton of his chair, a malign grin covering his visage, “Just lined-up a few pigs, nothing major…”
(OOC: I wrote here a very, very, very long time ago as “Fascist Confederacy”, “Laurasia”, and a few other nations. Now, since – for some reason – mods had me “banned” , I’m back since – apparently – that glitch has been fixed.
Those who know me from NO/WaP, I was "Kyrusia", "Midian", "Armed Workers' Movement for a Global Revolution", and various others.
So, you’re welcome to send other letters, condemn, inquire, request conferences, etc. But remember, this Aristocracy doesn’t have a fixed location. It is [i]assumed that they are present globally. But, I’m kind enough to not simply godmod, nor do I want to do anything against your country. Most of – if not all of my RP’s – will be character-based or storytelling-based.
Thank you.
P.S.: I do follow the doctrines of “assumed secret IC” and “all major RP’s are pre-planned”.)