Ashkelon
Establishing Nation
San Salvo Airport
Cesarzowa Gabryjela II, that is to say, Gabryjela Wenceslasna Bratumilska, sighed as the plane began its descent. It had been a long flight, but it was relaxing, compared to the preceding days and weeks. Filled with foreboding and a fear that lurked beneath the surface, her final days in Danmark had reopened an old wound, and brought back memories that had haunted her for years.
The nightmares never went away. As the years went by, she had learned to channel that fear into a determination, a motive, to recover the empire she was destined to rule. However, seeing all that violence in the streets brought her back to that dark, rainy night, when the mobs came, packed together that they were indistinguishable from a single, abhorrent writhing mass.
Though Danmark had indeed become a second home, it had unfortunately befallen the same fate as her first. A sad, sorry irony that had her agree with the Prime Minister's suggestion: leave, fast.
To her right, her husband, Prince Adalrik, was gloomy, and deep in thought. The two of them had met at a royal gala hosted by Federik's late father many years ago. Back then, to-be his wife was very clueless, and despite her tragic past, had managed to amuse him such that he jokingly asked her for a dance.
She had stepped on his feet a few times, but improved, once she got the hang of the dance. For a time, he had wondered if she really was the child of a Cezar. Adalrik was well aware of his family's close ties with the Imperium. Just a little over four centuries ago, another Cezar's daughter had been romanced by his ancestor Haldor I. While that didn't quite work out the way his ancestor had liked, Adalrik thought it would be good to try again.
She had proved to be very challenging, but he never gave up. And so, after a brief whirlwind romance, they decided to tie a knot, and Adalrik had managed to marry a Cesarzowa... of an exiled government. His family didn't quite think of it the same way he did, and he was disdained for such an act. But to Adalrik? He didn't care. He was more than happy to put up with all the naysayers. Not only did he manage to one-up his great ancestor Haldor I, he had also met the love of his life.
And so it was no question what his choice was when things started to take a turn for the worse. He packed his bags and essentials, and accompanied his family to the Potenzan Embassy. And as for his other relatives? He could only hope that they had the wisdom to leave as well. They had land in other countries. Why not take it? It was a bittersweet day, saying farewell to his homeland. But he sincerely believed that he was where he belonged: with his family.
To his right sat the young, precocious Princess Jadwiga, staring out the window at the slowly closing land that belonged to Potenza. She was named after King Jadwiga I of Giecz, perhaps the only Sarmatian woman daring enough to take the title of "King". Now that was a long story with its own twists and turns, but suffice to say, that King Jadwiga had taken St. Weronika's example to heart, and personally led her armies to battle as she conquered her way to the Long Sea. Granted, it made sense for a King to lead his armies into battle, but King Jadwiga had much more in common with St. Weronika than any of the Kings of Giecz.
All said and done, Princess Jadwiga did not wish to live in the shadow of her namesake. And having been raised in a country not her own, she was instilled with the belief that she should one day rule a restored Swieczieman Imperium from the Cerulean Throne itself, crafted silver and studded with sapphire, lapiz lazuli, amethysts and gold lining... the topmost part of the backrest adorned with its crowning glory, the magnificent Star of Sarmatia, surrounded by twelve blue diamonds, which, with a Cezar sitting in front of it, looked like a marvellous blue halo in the background of a painting...
This same Cerulean Throne that she had heard, now sat in the lonely, unused throne room of Bogumierz Palace, covered with a simple grey sheet of cloth, its glory hidden from all. Such a disgrace. How she longed to see that throne, to sit on it and exercise power that was rightfully hers. Of course, all it really took was the overthrow of that mad fascist mob rulership and the support of the people. And for that time to come? She was beginning to get very impatient.
She drummed her fingers on the armrest.
Sitting behind her, also looking out the window, was Prime Minister Borys Wysocki. To say that he was a humble man was an understatement. He had worked so hard for his part. Every single day, since he was first selected for a minor ministerial position in the Old Imperium as a young man, on the day that the Mezhists took the palace, and on the day he had been exiled from his homeland. He worked hard, and did only what he thought was best.
And now, what he thought was best, involved meeting with the Grand Duke, Guido III, as soon as possible, to explain a few things that he was certain, the Potenzans considered to be highly unusual. As the plane touched down on the landing strip, he adjusted his tie. It was almost time...
Cesarzowa Gabryjela II, that is to say, Gabryjela Wenceslasna Bratumilska, sighed as the plane began its descent. It had been a long flight, but it was relaxing, compared to the preceding days and weeks. Filled with foreboding and a fear that lurked beneath the surface, her final days in Danmark had reopened an old wound, and brought back memories that had haunted her for years.
The nightmares never went away. As the years went by, she had learned to channel that fear into a determination, a motive, to recover the empire she was destined to rule. However, seeing all that violence in the streets brought her back to that dark, rainy night, when the mobs came, packed together that they were indistinguishable from a single, abhorrent writhing mass.
Though Danmark had indeed become a second home, it had unfortunately befallen the same fate as her first. A sad, sorry irony that had her agree with the Prime Minister's suggestion: leave, fast.
To her right, her husband, Prince Adalrik, was gloomy, and deep in thought. The two of them had met at a royal gala hosted by Federik's late father many years ago. Back then, to-be his wife was very clueless, and despite her tragic past, had managed to amuse him such that he jokingly asked her for a dance.
She had stepped on his feet a few times, but improved, once she got the hang of the dance. For a time, he had wondered if she really was the child of a Cezar. Adalrik was well aware of his family's close ties with the Imperium. Just a little over four centuries ago, another Cezar's daughter had been romanced by his ancestor Haldor I. While that didn't quite work out the way his ancestor had liked, Adalrik thought it would be good to try again.
She had proved to be very challenging, but he never gave up. And so, after a brief whirlwind romance, they decided to tie a knot, and Adalrik had managed to marry a Cesarzowa... of an exiled government. His family didn't quite think of it the same way he did, and he was disdained for such an act. But to Adalrik? He didn't care. He was more than happy to put up with all the naysayers. Not only did he manage to one-up his great ancestor Haldor I, he had also met the love of his life.
And so it was no question what his choice was when things started to take a turn for the worse. He packed his bags and essentials, and accompanied his family to the Potenzan Embassy. And as for his other relatives? He could only hope that they had the wisdom to leave as well. They had land in other countries. Why not take it? It was a bittersweet day, saying farewell to his homeland. But he sincerely believed that he was where he belonged: with his family.
To his right sat the young, precocious Princess Jadwiga, staring out the window at the slowly closing land that belonged to Potenza. She was named after King Jadwiga I of Giecz, perhaps the only Sarmatian woman daring enough to take the title of "King". Now that was a long story with its own twists and turns, but suffice to say, that King Jadwiga had taken St. Weronika's example to heart, and personally led her armies to battle as she conquered her way to the Long Sea. Granted, it made sense for a King to lead his armies into battle, but King Jadwiga had much more in common with St. Weronika than any of the Kings of Giecz.
All said and done, Princess Jadwiga did not wish to live in the shadow of her namesake. And having been raised in a country not her own, she was instilled with the belief that she should one day rule a restored Swieczieman Imperium from the Cerulean Throne itself, crafted silver and studded with sapphire, lapiz lazuli, amethysts and gold lining... the topmost part of the backrest adorned with its crowning glory, the magnificent Star of Sarmatia, surrounded by twelve blue diamonds, which, with a Cezar sitting in front of it, looked like a marvellous blue halo in the background of a painting...
This same Cerulean Throne that she had heard, now sat in the lonely, unused throne room of Bogumierz Palace, covered with a simple grey sheet of cloth, its glory hidden from all. Such a disgrace. How she longed to see that throne, to sit on it and exercise power that was rightfully hers. Of course, all it really took was the overthrow of that mad fascist mob rulership and the support of the people. And for that time to come? She was beginning to get very impatient.
She drummed her fingers on the armrest.
Sitting behind her, also looking out the window, was Prime Minister Borys Wysocki. To say that he was a humble man was an understatement. He had worked so hard for his part. Every single day, since he was first selected for a minor ministerial position in the Old Imperium as a young man, on the day that the Mezhists took the palace, and on the day he had been exiled from his homeland. He worked hard, and did only what he thought was best.
And now, what he thought was best, involved meeting with the Grand Duke, Guido III, as soon as possible, to explain a few things that he was certain, the Potenzans considered to be highly unusual. As the plane touched down on the landing strip, he adjusted his tie. It was almost time...