Bayyah Na Tyrooz , Capital of Astragon
Palace of the Exalt
A coastal storm rages outside, lightning and the shriek of angry wind fills the air, it batters the city like the fists of an angered deity. But my city has endured storms before, for over five thousand years Tyrooz has faced down all the horrors time can conjure, wars, plague, and tyranny have all left their mark, but none of these calamities has ever succeeded in toppling this mighty bastion. The storm rages but come dawn it will be gone and only the city shall remain.
I lean back in my chair and take a long drag on my cigarette; I exhale and a cloud of clove-scented smoke flows out across the expanse of the office. My chief of intelligence is, to his credit, wise enough not to comment on my favored vice, the imperial physician had to come to that realization with far more mental scarring after his last attempt at a lecture. Instead, Lazarus Kombele wisely Leafs through the folder at his side and adjusts his spectacles nervously before speaking.
“My Exalt, with all due respect, is it wise to risk both your safety and that of your heirs, Adoneh Jireh is a vast city and security will be very difficult to maintain given the location, could not the crown princess's blessing be done here at the temple in Tyrooz?” kombele replies incredulously
I frown but don’t immediately answer, stubbing out the cigarette in an ornate bowl I sigh and rise from the chair.
“Tradition minister Kombele is not so easily dispensed with; I will not have our nation's sacred mantle stripped from us out of fear” i snap irritably
The blessing of Dayyan has long been a vital part of any Exalt's rise to power, to be received by the foremost representative of Shaddai himself is a tradition older than the empire itself*. To be seen to forego such a momentous rite would almost certainly embolden my enemies and this is no time for caution.
“My lady I must protest, the global situation is highly volatile! Wars are breaking out, extremist groups are emboldened, and it would be a logistical nightmare to try and make the holy city safe” Kombele insists emphatically
The minister is correct about one thing, the world is indeed in a volatile state, assassinations are at an all-time high, and not even kings and dignitaries are escaping unscathed. Add to that the chaos in Auroria and the rising socialist crises in Callise and Diyar and it's not a foregone conclusion to assume that similar elements might strike against a crowned head such as mine.
“We have one of the most extensive intelligence networks in Eras and the Iraelian’s are peerless in the field of security, are you suggesting that with our combined resources we can’t prevent an attack on a single diplomatic visit?” i reply subtly questioning the ministers competence to nudge him towards acquiescence
“No, of course not my Exalt, I am merely concerned by the risks” he says in a resigned voice
“As any good minister should be, but I have survived far worse, have our allies in Iraelia notified of our plans, and don’t worry so much Kombele! If Murza couldn’t kill me with the resources of our state at his disposal, do you really suppose some trumped-up extremists could do better” I assure Kombele
“I will make the call to Sarazed and inform my Iraelian colleagues at once my Exalt” Kombele said saluting respectfully
I nod approvingly “good, if you will excuse me, Lazarus, I have someone to check up on,” I say giving him a knowing grin
*************************************************************************************my private rooms are located adjacent to the office, I have always preferred to be as close to work as possible, but until recently I seldom had reason to visit save for brief periods of rest. The birth of my daughter did much to change that, I try and be here as often as possible, the importance of this room suddenly becoming paramount.
Oratile Kevshah, future Exalt of Astragon and heir of the Hailakaid peoples is presently shrieking with enough potency that her nursemaids seem bewildered, to say the least. I dismiss the embattled carers with a knowing smile and approach the ornate Baobab wood cot where my firstborn is currently attempting to challenge the storm for loudest noise in Tyrooz.
A tiny hand bats at the peacock toy hanging from the cot’s mobile, causing it to spin comically, I frown slightly and reach in to scoop up the tyrannical infant. The crying is promptly replaced by a look of perplexed curiosity as my daughter regards me. At nine months she is still small, but increasingly restless as she learns to navigate the confines of her new home, I note that her hair is growing longer by the day, won't be long until she’s ready for her first braids.
“And what was all that about hmmm? Are you imitating a hyena?” I ask in a tone of mock accusation, the baby talk is still something I struggle with
Laughter fills the darkness, soft and pure, the child clearly finding my query to be more amusing than urgent. Thank Shaddai my general staff cannot see me, empress of Astragon reduced to comic relief for a newborn, I'd never live it down. I carry her to the window and gaze out at the storm-wracked night, the thunder lashing the coastline is visible even from the great mountain heights of the palace.
“One day you will stand here and gaze down upon this city as I now do my little cub, but first I must make the way ready for you, there is a place we must go and a very important man you need to meet, we go to see the Dayyan my lucky child!” I say in a gentle but excited tone, the child responds with more laughter
I never really imagined myself as a mother, I had always assumed that the warmth required for such a role had been stolen away when my own parents were killed. Then again, I never thought I'd be an empress either, the old certainties that army life had afforded are long gone now and in this new uncertain world, everyone must either grow or die. I never imagined myself as a mother, but I cannot deny that I find it increasingly to my liking, I have loved my country with the ardor of a proud daughter, and I shall do the same as a mother to this blessing.
The storm rages on, by dawn it will have pushed inland, the fury dissipating as gentle rains bless the savannah, Astragon endures every storm like an elderly Baobab swaying in a headwind. The stone coast will endure the shocks of the modern world as it always has and before this is all done, I will stand before the Dayyan and present my heir for his blessing, Shaddai has blessed my family with this duty, and I will not be found wanting.
*Ancient Ubgandi-Caanitic kings would take their newborn heirs to priests of Shaddai for blessing, often crossing into the holy land of Iraelia.
Palace of the Exalt
A coastal storm rages outside, lightning and the shriek of angry wind fills the air, it batters the city like the fists of an angered deity. But my city has endured storms before, for over five thousand years Tyrooz has faced down all the horrors time can conjure, wars, plague, and tyranny have all left their mark, but none of these calamities has ever succeeded in toppling this mighty bastion. The storm rages but come dawn it will be gone and only the city shall remain.
I lean back in my chair and take a long drag on my cigarette; I exhale and a cloud of clove-scented smoke flows out across the expanse of the office. My chief of intelligence is, to his credit, wise enough not to comment on my favored vice, the imperial physician had to come to that realization with far more mental scarring after his last attempt at a lecture. Instead, Lazarus Kombele wisely Leafs through the folder at his side and adjusts his spectacles nervously before speaking.
“My Exalt, with all due respect, is it wise to risk both your safety and that of your heirs, Adoneh Jireh is a vast city and security will be very difficult to maintain given the location, could not the crown princess's blessing be done here at the temple in Tyrooz?” kombele replies incredulously
I frown but don’t immediately answer, stubbing out the cigarette in an ornate bowl I sigh and rise from the chair.
“Tradition minister Kombele is not so easily dispensed with; I will not have our nation's sacred mantle stripped from us out of fear” i snap irritably
The blessing of Dayyan has long been a vital part of any Exalt's rise to power, to be received by the foremost representative of Shaddai himself is a tradition older than the empire itself*. To be seen to forego such a momentous rite would almost certainly embolden my enemies and this is no time for caution.
“My lady I must protest, the global situation is highly volatile! Wars are breaking out, extremist groups are emboldened, and it would be a logistical nightmare to try and make the holy city safe” Kombele insists emphatically
The minister is correct about one thing, the world is indeed in a volatile state, assassinations are at an all-time high, and not even kings and dignitaries are escaping unscathed. Add to that the chaos in Auroria and the rising socialist crises in Callise and Diyar and it's not a foregone conclusion to assume that similar elements might strike against a crowned head such as mine.
“We have one of the most extensive intelligence networks in Eras and the Iraelian’s are peerless in the field of security, are you suggesting that with our combined resources we can’t prevent an attack on a single diplomatic visit?” i reply subtly questioning the ministers competence to nudge him towards acquiescence
“No, of course not my Exalt, I am merely concerned by the risks” he says in a resigned voice
“As any good minister should be, but I have survived far worse, have our allies in Iraelia notified of our plans, and don’t worry so much Kombele! If Murza couldn’t kill me with the resources of our state at his disposal, do you really suppose some trumped-up extremists could do better” I assure Kombele
“I will make the call to Sarazed and inform my Iraelian colleagues at once my Exalt” Kombele said saluting respectfully
I nod approvingly “good, if you will excuse me, Lazarus, I have someone to check up on,” I say giving him a knowing grin
*************************************************************************************my private rooms are located adjacent to the office, I have always preferred to be as close to work as possible, but until recently I seldom had reason to visit save for brief periods of rest. The birth of my daughter did much to change that, I try and be here as often as possible, the importance of this room suddenly becoming paramount.
Oratile Kevshah, future Exalt of Astragon and heir of the Hailakaid peoples is presently shrieking with enough potency that her nursemaids seem bewildered, to say the least. I dismiss the embattled carers with a knowing smile and approach the ornate Baobab wood cot where my firstborn is currently attempting to challenge the storm for loudest noise in Tyrooz.
A tiny hand bats at the peacock toy hanging from the cot’s mobile, causing it to spin comically, I frown slightly and reach in to scoop up the tyrannical infant. The crying is promptly replaced by a look of perplexed curiosity as my daughter regards me. At nine months she is still small, but increasingly restless as she learns to navigate the confines of her new home, I note that her hair is growing longer by the day, won't be long until she’s ready for her first braids.
“And what was all that about hmmm? Are you imitating a hyena?” I ask in a tone of mock accusation, the baby talk is still something I struggle with
Laughter fills the darkness, soft and pure, the child clearly finding my query to be more amusing than urgent. Thank Shaddai my general staff cannot see me, empress of Astragon reduced to comic relief for a newborn, I'd never live it down. I carry her to the window and gaze out at the storm-wracked night, the thunder lashing the coastline is visible even from the great mountain heights of the palace.
“One day you will stand here and gaze down upon this city as I now do my little cub, but first I must make the way ready for you, there is a place we must go and a very important man you need to meet, we go to see the Dayyan my lucky child!” I say in a gentle but excited tone, the child responds with more laughter
I never really imagined myself as a mother, I had always assumed that the warmth required for such a role had been stolen away when my own parents were killed. Then again, I never thought I'd be an empress either, the old certainties that army life had afforded are long gone now and in this new uncertain world, everyone must either grow or die. I never imagined myself as a mother, but I cannot deny that I find it increasingly to my liking, I have loved my country with the ardor of a proud daughter, and I shall do the same as a mother to this blessing.
The storm rages on, by dawn it will have pushed inland, the fury dissipating as gentle rains bless the savannah, Astragon endures every storm like an elderly Baobab swaying in a headwind. The stone coast will endure the shocks of the modern world as it always has and before this is all done, I will stand before the Dayyan and present my heir for his blessing, Shaddai has blessed my family with this duty, and I will not be found wanting.
*Ancient Ubgandi-Caanitic kings would take their newborn heirs to priests of Shaddai for blessing, often crossing into the holy land of Iraelia.
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