Pelasgia
Established Nation
Ixus, Propontis M.D., Pelasgia
Ixus, named after the Pelasgian word for mistletoe, was a suburb of Propontis more so in the Old World sense than in the one most used in Westernesse. Its quaint roads, lined by trees as to shield passersby from the scorching rays of the Meridian sun, were not flanked by pre-planned single residential homes, nor were they filled by the tight, eight-storey neoclassical condominiums that dominated most of Propontis—instead, a sort of happy medium predominated, consisting of low-rise mixed use buildings, all constructed in a unique style mixing neoclassicism and old Propontine architecture. The spacious gardens of these homes and their elegant fences provided much-needed cool and freshness in the centre of Ixus, which they surrounded.
As one went further out from the heart of the quiet little suburb, with its commuter highway link to Propontis and Selymbria, and its suburban railway station, larger homes with taller and more concealing enclosures started to dot the landscape, in between pine forests and small streams frequented by a few animals here and there. It was these proud edifices, these villas for lack of a better term, that served as the stylish residences of much of the Imperial capital's elite. Located close enough to Propontis to allow for comfortable daily transit and still far enough to allow for the luxury of complete peace and safety, Ixus was ideally positioned to host the cream of the crop of the Queen of Cities, whether they be noble or merely rich.
Therefore, it would come as little surprise to one visiting Ixus if he were to pause before one of the most elegant villas lining its periphery—a neoclassical building painted in a faint shade of yellow, and possessing an expansive garden with no less than three fountains—and to find carved above its gate the arms granted to the Clan of the Angelopouloi by the Sublime Throne*.
*Depending on the context, the Sublime Throne (Ὑψιστὸς Θρόνος, Hýpsistos Thrónos) is a synecdoche for either the monarchy or the monarch himself (much like "the Crown" or "the Kremlin" is used in other countries). In this context, it refers to the Emperor, since only he can ennoble someone and grant him or her the right to a coat of arms.
Somewhere deep behind that gate, our guest would perhaps be spotted by—without himself spotting—the four figures that surrounded a small table located in one of the many oases of shade in the villa's gardens.
"Authenta," said Alexandra, the short, olive-skinned woman with the large, friendly eyes who served as one of the Angelopouloi's relatively few servants. She had used the proper form of address for a lord, rather than the generic "kyrie" said to any gentleman or older male, since Sophokles Angelopoulos was not a mere boss, but a nobleman (
Sophokles Angelopoilos, the head of the Angelopouloi, looked up at her, his deep, almost azure blue eyes retaining their usual calm and warmth. "Thank you, my dear," he said, and an honest but reserved smile appeared on his pale, slender face—he was quite a pale man, even for a nobleman from Old Pelasgia, and his dark hair (or what was left of it, at this age) only added to that impression. "Please, be so kind as to leave us until my motorcade arrives. I shall call for you if I need you; otherwise, I believe the Housekeeper, Mrs. Papadopoulou, had some tasks for you."
"Yes, my lord," Alexandra answered with a small bow, and at once she disappeared in the direction of the mansion.
"Now then," Angelopoulos exclaimed, turning to his visitors. "Where were we?"
"I believe you were telling us of your plan to reverse the declining trends in Pelasgia's demography," answered Justice Minister Konstantinos Sphrantzes—Angelopoulos' unofficial but widely acknowledged political heir apparent.
"Ah, yes," answered Angelopoulos. "Well, in any case, I expect it will cause quite a bit of uproar, both at home and abroad. Even the Catholic Church has decided to become a force for liberalism these days. But it is necessary—and, from what I gather, the Sublime Throne's objectives are in line with my designs."
A small cough came from across the table, where a calm, elderly man of remarkable height was sat. In his small, old eyes burned a flame full of wit and life: a symbol of a man who had aged in body, but remained quite remarkably apt in spirit. "The Throne is indeed in agreement with your views on both the necessity to ensure the continuation of the Pelasgian Nation, as with your preferred means for achieving that end. Nevertheless, you have chosen to take on the burden of this decision entirely upon yourself, as if it were your burden to bear alone."
"I am a loyal servant of the Throne," the Prime Minister retorded at once. "If my initiative were to fail, it would have grave consequences—consequences which we cannot allow to taint the Great Sovereign and his line. If, on the other hand, my design were to succeed, it would be counted among the long list of things that went well during the Great Sovereign's reign, as always happens with such things." A failure would harm his eldest son, Leon's, political career; but then, one could never truly keep a patrician and a descendant of two prime ministers away from politics forever.
"One always needs someone else to take the fall for errors and failures," Sphrantzes pointed out, as if to extract the lesson from his mentor's remark. "But nobody needs such a person to take credit for success. Machiavelli's logic holds true in Pelasgia as much as it does in @Radilo ." The Justice Minister, who was by far the youngest of the three, turned his gaze to the dust that had started to rise in the direction of the main gate. A pitch-black motorcade consisting of a luxurious
The Prime Minister downed the rest of his teacup's contents before setting it aside. "All plans worth pursuing have some element of risk to them; indeed, the riskier a plan is, usually, the better the payoff if it succeeds."
Fortunately for Angelopoulos and unfortunately for his interlocutors, it was here that Alexandra came to notify the Prime Minister of the motorcade's arrival. Yet, even if she had been a full hour late, Sophokles Angelopoulos would still not have revealed the true reason behind his certainty: That his was the rare sort of plan which grants him who undertakes some measure of victory regardless of its ultimate outcome. For, Pelasgians, like all people, like and respect a martyr and naturally take his side. Alas, to say that one plans to be attacked somewhat detracts from martyrdom—or from almost-martyrdom, in the Prime Minister's case. As such, his associates would have to be kept in the dark—and with them the Emperor, whose designs Angelopoulos ultimately aimed to further.
Ixus, named after the Pelasgian word for mistletoe, was a suburb of Propontis more so in the Old World sense than in the one most used in Westernesse. Its quaint roads, lined by trees as to shield passersby from the scorching rays of the Meridian sun, were not flanked by pre-planned single residential homes, nor were they filled by the tight, eight-storey neoclassical condominiums that dominated most of Propontis—instead, a sort of happy medium predominated, consisting of low-rise mixed use buildings, all constructed in a unique style mixing neoclassicism and old Propontine architecture. The spacious gardens of these homes and their elegant fences provided much-needed cool and freshness in the centre of Ixus, which they surrounded.
As one went further out from the heart of the quiet little suburb, with its commuter highway link to Propontis and Selymbria, and its suburban railway station, larger homes with taller and more concealing enclosures started to dot the landscape, in between pine forests and small streams frequented by a few animals here and there. It was these proud edifices, these villas for lack of a better term, that served as the stylish residences of much of the Imperial capital's elite. Located close enough to Propontis to allow for comfortable daily transit and still far enough to allow for the luxury of complete peace and safety, Ixus was ideally positioned to host the cream of the crop of the Queen of Cities, whether they be noble or merely rich.
Therefore, it would come as little surprise to one visiting Ixus if he were to pause before one of the most elegant villas lining its periphery—a neoclassical building painted in a faint shade of yellow, and possessing an expansive garden with no less than three fountains—and to find carved above its gate the arms granted to the Clan of the Angelopouloi by the Sublime Throne*.
*Depending on the context, the Sublime Throne (Ὑψιστὸς Θρόνος, Hýpsistos Thrónos) is a synecdoche for either the monarchy or the monarch himself (much like "the Crown" or "the Kremlin" is used in other countries). In this context, it refers to the Emperor, since only he can ennoble someone and grant him or her the right to a coat of arms.
Somewhere deep behind that gate, our guest would perhaps be spotted by—without himself spotting—the four figures that surrounded a small table located in one of the many oases of shade in the villa's gardens.
"Authenta," said Alexandra, the short, olive-skinned woman with the large, friendly eyes who served as one of the Angelopouloi's relatively few servants. She had used the proper form of address for a lord, rather than the generic "kyrie" said to any gentleman or older male, since Sophokles Angelopoulos was not a mere boss, but a nobleman (
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, but a nobleman nonetheless). "Here is your tea." The slender young woman, a native of Ixus from a family living there before its transformation to an upscale suburb, placed a tray containing three teacups on the table Sophokles Angelopoilos, the head of the Angelopouloi, looked up at her, his deep, almost azure blue eyes retaining their usual calm and warmth. "Thank you, my dear," he said, and an honest but reserved smile appeared on his pale, slender face—he was quite a pale man, even for a nobleman from Old Pelasgia, and his dark hair (or what was left of it, at this age) only added to that impression. "Please, be so kind as to leave us until my motorcade arrives. I shall call for you if I need you; otherwise, I believe the Housekeeper, Mrs. Papadopoulou, had some tasks for you."
"Yes, my lord," Alexandra answered with a small bow, and at once she disappeared in the direction of the mansion.
"Now then," Angelopoulos exclaimed, turning to his visitors. "Where were we?"
"I believe you were telling us of your plan to reverse the declining trends in Pelasgia's demography," answered Justice Minister Konstantinos Sphrantzes—Angelopoulos' unofficial but widely acknowledged political heir apparent.
"Ah, yes," answered Angelopoulos. "Well, in any case, I expect it will cause quite a bit of uproar, both at home and abroad. Even the Catholic Church has decided to become a force for liberalism these days. But it is necessary—and, from what I gather, the Sublime Throne's objectives are in line with my designs."
A small cough came from across the table, where a calm, elderly man of remarkable height was sat. In his small, old eyes burned a flame full of wit and life: a symbol of a man who had aged in body, but remained quite remarkably apt in spirit. "The Throne is indeed in agreement with your views on both the necessity to ensure the continuation of the Pelasgian Nation, as with your preferred means for achieving that end. Nevertheless, you have chosen to take on the burden of this decision entirely upon yourself, as if it were your burden to bear alone."
"I am a loyal servant of the Throne," the Prime Minister retorded at once. "If my initiative were to fail, it would have grave consequences—consequences which we cannot allow to taint the Great Sovereign and his line. If, on the other hand, my design were to succeed, it would be counted among the long list of things that went well during the Great Sovereign's reign, as always happens with such things." A failure would harm his eldest son, Leon's, political career; but then, one could never truly keep a patrician and a descendant of two prime ministers away from politics forever.
"One always needs someone else to take the fall for errors and failures," Sphrantzes pointed out, as if to extract the lesson from his mentor's remark. "But nobody needs such a person to take credit for success. Machiavelli's logic holds true in Pelasgia as much as it does in @Radilo ." The Justice Minister, who was by far the youngest of the three, turned his gaze to the dust that had started to rise in the direction of the main gate. A pitch-black motorcade consisting of a luxurious
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, had just entered the premises. "Say, Sophokles," he continued in a rushed fashion, hoping to get a full answer before his boss' maid interrupted them. "Doesn't your plan engender great danger, regardless of success or failure? Isn't it far too risky to undertake such a plan when it is dangerous with no guarantee of bearing fruit?"The Prime Minister downed the rest of his teacup's contents before setting it aside. "All plans worth pursuing have some element of risk to them; indeed, the riskier a plan is, usually, the better the payoff if it succeeds."
Fortunately for Angelopoulos and unfortunately for his interlocutors, it was here that Alexandra came to notify the Prime Minister of the motorcade's arrival. Yet, even if she had been a full hour late, Sophokles Angelopoulos would still not have revealed the true reason behind his certainty: That his was the rare sort of plan which grants him who undertakes some measure of victory regardless of its ultimate outcome. For, Pelasgians, like all people, like and respect a martyr and naturally take his side. Alas, to say that one plans to be attacked somewhat detracts from martyrdom—or from almost-martyrdom, in the Prime Minister's case. As such, his associates would have to be kept in the dark—and with them the Emperor, whose designs Angelopoulos ultimately aimed to further.
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