Pelasgia
Established Nation
Makri, Makri Province (Tyrasia), Pelasgian Empire
Ate, hubris, nemesis, tisis.
This was, in sum, the quintessential form of tragedy as known to the Pelasgians since time immemorial. Every Pelasgian schoolchild had learned of its precise academic interpretation, though, in truth, the motif persisted in folklore to such an extent even after christianization that academic dissection was hardly necessary for it to be understood. First, the Gods fogged the mind of a certain tragic individual; then the individual, incapable of discerning the limits of his place in the natural order, committed an act that defied the laws of nature and of justice; the Gods became enraged by this act and vowed revenge and punishment; and, finally, punishment was delivered, restoring the natural order.
Yes, even a middleschooler knew of this, or perhaps even a child who had been told of the Homeric Epics. Yet, as one rose in both age and stature, one often lost sight of the basic things in life. Was it hubris that led Emperor Ioannes III to Makri, the very capital of Tyrasia, on that fateful day? Was it madness? Who could have told the two apart, if there was a difference between them to begin with? All that was clear was that, Emperor Ioannes III, confident in his elimination of internal foes and of the implosion or seclusion of internal opponents to the Restoration of the Supreme Throne (and its relocation to Decelea from Propontis) had decided to visit that most tortured of Pelasgian regions, which, but a few months before, had been the locus of a massive, and rather brutal, pacification. The wounds of the locals were still very much unhealed, sometimes even in the physical sense--but the Most Majestic Sovereign of the Pelasgians feared not. His Gendarmes, his constables, his asphalites, his men in short, would keep him safe.
The tour of the city proceeded mostly as planned. Ioannes waved out the window of his limousine, and the crowds lining the streets waved flags and cheered, under the ever watchful eye of the security forces and the feared Krypteia--the Pelasgian Secret Service. Lord knew just how many of the attendees were there precisely because of their fear of those two beasts, rather than out of any particular sympathy for the Imperial regime or the person at its very centre. Ioannes's wife, Anna, wondered that precisely out loud, her deep, dark eyes betraying neither approval nor disapproval as she did so.
"How many of these people's relatives had to be deported to some barren islet to secure such a turnout?"
Ioannes did not even flinch. "Enough of them."
Anna was a good woman with a soft heart--which was perhaps why she had turned so harsh on him since his coronation. Women, especially women of this sort, were not suited to statecraft anyway. They merely reaped the benefits of the peace that the whip secured, and then occasionally voiced concern about the scoundrel at the whip's business end, as if to see whether the men of their society had become weak enough to heed their crocodile tears. Ioannes was certain that he was not such a man ad he would never be, even if everyone else in Pelasgia were to become so.
The car came to a halt outside the cathedral of Makri. A beautiful, 18th century construct incorporating many elements of both Remion and Tarusan architecture in addition to traditional Pelasgian motifs--clearly a mark of the city's mercantile wealth, which the many names listed on the plaque of donors near its entrance attested to. A couple of people bearing those names were busy cracking rocks on the desert island of Acanthos on the Emperor's personal orders. Ioannes exited, as did his wife.
After carefully adjusting his winter uniform, the Emperor moved toward the stairs of the cathedral, where he paused just before climbing up the first step. A little girl run through the crowd, holding a box wrapped as a gift. The Emperor's guards tried to restrain her, but he waved them off. Surely, a little girl was no danger, even in Tyrasia.
He knelt forward, knowing a good photo op when he saw one. He was at least partly honest in smiling, too, for the girl reminded him of his youngest daughter in her earlier years. "What is that sweetheart?" he asked.
"A gift for Your Imperial Majesty," the girl answered.
"A gift?" Ioannes answered with feigned surprise. "For me? What is it?"
"My daddy said that 'it's the gift of eternal life'," the girl answered.
Ioannes gasped but he could not utter a word before an explosion shook the courtyard before cathedral, devouring all who stood there in its fiery blaze. Whether Ioannes--or anyone else for that matter--would find eternal life was unclear to those mortals surviving the blast. That Pelasgia would most certainly not do so became patently clear. Madness had had its day, and it was only just getting started.
Ate, hubris, nemesis, tisis.
This was, in sum, the quintessential form of tragedy as known to the Pelasgians since time immemorial. Every Pelasgian schoolchild had learned of its precise academic interpretation, though, in truth, the motif persisted in folklore to such an extent even after christianization that academic dissection was hardly necessary for it to be understood. First, the Gods fogged the mind of a certain tragic individual; then the individual, incapable of discerning the limits of his place in the natural order, committed an act that defied the laws of nature and of justice; the Gods became enraged by this act and vowed revenge and punishment; and, finally, punishment was delivered, restoring the natural order.
Yes, even a middleschooler knew of this, or perhaps even a child who had been told of the Homeric Epics. Yet, as one rose in both age and stature, one often lost sight of the basic things in life. Was it hubris that led Emperor Ioannes III to Makri, the very capital of Tyrasia, on that fateful day? Was it madness? Who could have told the two apart, if there was a difference between them to begin with? All that was clear was that, Emperor Ioannes III, confident in his elimination of internal foes and of the implosion or seclusion of internal opponents to the Restoration of the Supreme Throne (and its relocation to Decelea from Propontis) had decided to visit that most tortured of Pelasgian regions, which, but a few months before, had been the locus of a massive, and rather brutal, pacification. The wounds of the locals were still very much unhealed, sometimes even in the physical sense--but the Most Majestic Sovereign of the Pelasgians feared not. His Gendarmes, his constables, his asphalites, his men in short, would keep him safe.
The tour of the city proceeded mostly as planned. Ioannes waved out the window of his limousine, and the crowds lining the streets waved flags and cheered, under the ever watchful eye of the security forces and the feared Krypteia--the Pelasgian Secret Service. Lord knew just how many of the attendees were there precisely because of their fear of those two beasts, rather than out of any particular sympathy for the Imperial regime or the person at its very centre. Ioannes's wife, Anna, wondered that precisely out loud, her deep, dark eyes betraying neither approval nor disapproval as she did so.
"How many of these people's relatives had to be deported to some barren islet to secure such a turnout?"
Ioannes did not even flinch. "Enough of them."
Anna was a good woman with a soft heart--which was perhaps why she had turned so harsh on him since his coronation. Women, especially women of this sort, were not suited to statecraft anyway. They merely reaped the benefits of the peace that the whip secured, and then occasionally voiced concern about the scoundrel at the whip's business end, as if to see whether the men of their society had become weak enough to heed their crocodile tears. Ioannes was certain that he was not such a man ad he would never be, even if everyone else in Pelasgia were to become so.
The car came to a halt outside the cathedral of Makri. A beautiful, 18th century construct incorporating many elements of both Remion and Tarusan architecture in addition to traditional Pelasgian motifs--clearly a mark of the city's mercantile wealth, which the many names listed on the plaque of donors near its entrance attested to. A couple of people bearing those names were busy cracking rocks on the desert island of Acanthos on the Emperor's personal orders. Ioannes exited, as did his wife.
After carefully adjusting his winter uniform, the Emperor moved toward the stairs of the cathedral, where he paused just before climbing up the first step. A little girl run through the crowd, holding a box wrapped as a gift. The Emperor's guards tried to restrain her, but he waved them off. Surely, a little girl was no danger, even in Tyrasia.
He knelt forward, knowing a good photo op when he saw one. He was at least partly honest in smiling, too, for the girl reminded him of his youngest daughter in her earlier years. "What is that sweetheart?" he asked.
"A gift for Your Imperial Majesty," the girl answered.
"A gift?" Ioannes answered with feigned surprise. "For me? What is it?"
"My daddy said that 'it's the gift of eternal life'," the girl answered.
Ioannes gasped but he could not utter a word before an explosion shook the courtyard before cathedral, devouring all who stood there in its fiery blaze. Whether Ioannes--or anyone else for that matter--would find eternal life was unclear to those mortals surviving the blast. That Pelasgia would most certainly not do so became patently clear. Madness had had its day, and it was only just getting started.