The Shattered Eagle
- Thread starter King of Rome
- Start date
Prologue: The End through the Emperor’s Eyes
Trajan stared at the statue with an unblinking gaze. It had been discovered during the campaign against Parthia, lost in a temple mostly covered with sand. The Roman stared at a broken statue of Alexander the Great. When it had been originally shown to him he thought little of it, and ordered for it to be taken to the capital for restoration. Now though, when he felt the sickness in him rising, the statue had taken on a darker tone.
The statue was probably once a stunning tribute to the great Macedonian, but had since fallen apart and cracked. Now that the imperator could sit and stare at the broken piece of art he felt the room grow cold. True it was nighttime, but there was something more to this chill; something malevolent. The Roman walked over and put his hand on the statue’s leg, looking up into the remaining eye, “Why do you haunt me at this hour? Why, as my body fades away do you attack my mind?”
The wind rushed through the villa and Trajan recoiled. He did not leave the statue out of sight, but slowly backed away. He had almost made it to the door when a sound made him halt. He turned to where he thought the sound, when a cracking sound drew his attention back to the statue.
What was that noise? Was someone calling him?
He looked closely at the statue: everything seemed correct except… which leg had been forward? It was the right foot now… But had it been that way when it first arrived? Was it right or left? Why could he not remember?
“Damn you!” Trajan made a break for the doorway. The first thing he saw in the room was the glimmer of the ceremonial gladius had planned on giving to Quietus. He snatched it off the sheets and ran back to the statue. The only problem was the statue was gone.
Trajan heard the thing before it was upon him, but he was too late when he felt the stone close around his throat and hoist him into the air. He was twisted about and came face to face with most of Alexander’s head. “Tell me, Roman,” it began, its’ stone mouth working like a human’s, “what do you think you have accomplished?”
“How do you speak? What are you?”
“That matters little. Answer my question.”
Trajan felt the grip on his throat tighten, “I… I have expanded Rome’s greatness, subdued her enemies, and left behind an immortal legacy.”
The statue laughed, and tightened his grip, “Immortal? We are all human, and what has been built today will collapse tomorrow. What you and your people do not understand yet is that all things come to an end, even Rome’s Glory. They will see… They will see…”
Trajan struggled as his vision blackened, “Haunt me no more! I am Trajan Decius! I am-“ The imperator’s limp body hit the floor.
*
The praetorians milled about the room, looking for signs of what had caused the man’s death.
“Grannus, pay attention.”
“Right. I say that the sickness conquered him, whatever it was called. I see no stab wounds.”
Marcus gently laid the imperator’s head on the stone, and covered it with a veil. “I agree, though we will have to wait for the Greek to get here to confirm. As of now, I want you to begin writing letters informing only the necessary people of the imperator’s demise. We should not cause a panic right now.”
Something caught Grannus’ eye. The praetorian walked over towards the center of the room. “…Marcus? Does the statue look odd?”
“What?”
“The statue there. Of Alexander. I thought its’ left foot was forward when it was put in.”
“Damnit Grannus we have more things to worry about. Now, I want you to get to those letters…”
X
This thread will be focusing on the world after Rome, specifically the successor states to Rome in the West, the surviving Eastern Empire, and the Caliphate and such.
The POD is not in this post, just warming the thread up.
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I'm glad to hear it. Though I would not stick around for the statue, I am afraid that's his only role.
Actually the POD is later on, I was just setting the mood with the prologue.
Thank you Velasco!
And yeah, I was just making sure the statue wasn't getting a fan... That would put me in a weird place. I Appreciate you interest.
And yeah, I was just making sure the statue wasn't getting a fan... That would put me in a weird place. I Appreciate you interest.
I haven't studied Trajan that much but from what I recall he died of a long illness, not by strangulation from a statue of Alexander the Great.
Oh... Crap...
Naw, the illness was Edema (according to my extensive Wikipedia research). I was just writing that to illustrate a point. You can write it off as hallucination
AT THE MOUNTAIN...
Omicus stared at the large temple, in awe of its presence. The stormy sky was so close, it appeared as if the roof of the structure was pointing into the dark gray clouds. The man turned his attention to the powerful statue of Mars; untouched, though hidden away atop this mountain, in perhaps one of the last enclaves left. That bishop had descended with such fury on the Old Gods that he had converted every shrine into a Christian sight of pilgrimage. This was probably the last of its kind in the diocese.
The wind blew stronger, and almost knocked Omicus over. He steadied himself, then wrapped the cloak tighter around him. He took in a deep breath- it was much harder to breath this high up- and shouted, "I am here to see the oracle!"
No response came from the temple, save a scratching sound. Omicus waited as the sound got louder, and finally a man leaning on a wooden cane came into view. "Come in, come in. It may storm soon."
You think? Omicus assumed the old man could not see the raging heavens above them, but held his tongue. He followed the decrepit man into the poorly lit temple, being sure to stay a foot or so back. If he was in fact the seer, Omicus had to show respect towards him.
It turned out, however, the old man was not the seer. When the two walked into a room behind the statue, Omicus saw a man, hunched over, in front of a basin. "I could tell this is what you wanted to see," the old man said, gesturing to the person in front of the basin.
"You speak as if he is not human."
The old man smiled, "He is not. He is a tool of the gods, their mouthpiece here on this mountain. Wait before him and he shall tell you what he sees."
The old man limped away, and Omicus did as he was told- sitting in front of the seer. He waited for the man to look up from the basin, but as moments passed he became agitated, "Hello?"
"Quiet..." The hunched-over man said, peering deeper ion the basin. Omicus tried to look at the liquid too, but all he could see was the bottom of the basin. "What is it that you seek of Mars?"
Omicus leaned back, the man's breath was putrid. Now that he thought about it, the seer looked little more than a corpse, bent over the basin. "I ask to see whether or not my master shall prevail in battle."
The seer looked up, and Omicus recoiled once more. The man's eyes were deep in their sockets, and glazed over. The skin of his face was tightly drawn against his skin, giving him the appearance of death. "One thing you must understand if you want an answer is time. Time is not a road, straight in its conception, that continues down a predetermined path. I am not revealed in a way like reading a book, instead, I am given possibilities. Time is like a plant with many branches. Our time may choose to follow the main branch, but then take another, and then another, deviating from the original course. Their are many different times with many different decisions and branches. For example, you can leave here and tell your master that he will indeed have great success, but that the oracle on the mountain also warned of a storm in the south... or, you could tell him that he will have great success. I am not sure yet which path you will chose, which time you will pick. It is up to you, though... Even then, Mars will only allow me to see what can lead to war."
Omicus thought he heard a prophecy somewhere in there, but he was thoroughly confused by the man. "So he will be victorious in his campaign? But what do you mean about a storm in the south? Will there be a tempest somewhere?"
The oracle offered a pallid smile, "Mars revealed to me your master's success, and in a way he did of the storm in the south; I was once a servant of Rome's majesty, and I served in her southernly holdings. I see then and I see now that a great problem shall arise there." The oracle looked down, "Now it is up to you to act. Will you tell your master part of the truth, or the whole... I wonder..."
Omicus arose, dropping coins near the basin. "I will tell him what he needs to know." The oracle was disturbing and vague, but he supposed that's how they all had been before Christ. As Omicus left the temple, his only concern was how Aetius would take the prophecy, as mangled and confusing as it was.
King of Rome
Intriguing. Possibly the storm in the south is an early foresight of the Muslim invasions. Or something nearer like the treachery of the emperor after Aetius starts being a little too successful, or something else. [Can't remember if the Vandal sack of Rome had happened at this point].
Steve
Intriguing. Possibly the storm in the south is an early foresight of the Muslim invasions. Or something nearer like the treachery of the emperor after Aetius starts being a little too successful, or something else. [Can't remember if the Vandal sack of Rome had happened at this point].
Steve
I appreciate the commentary Mr. Steve, I hope you stick around to see what it's all about.
Thank you very much, that is a great compliment! I hope the thread continues to live up to your standard.
THE SCOURGE OF GOD?
As he sat there waiting to be ushered in to the court at Ravenna, Flavius Aetius could not keep his mind in the present. Images, sounds, figments of the past came and went like a bumbling stream of water. He temporarily visited each memory, reliving what had already come to pass:
There he was once more, staring at the hordes that were said to have been sent by the Christian Devil in order to wipe out civilization. Aetius did not strategize, he knew everything was in place at this moment, and the battle was already commencing. He remembered his only hope was that Theodoric could remain defiant in the face of the Huns. He urged his horse forward, his sword high in the air. He could hear the screams of agony where the battle had begun in earnest, but they could do little to rob him of his exhilaration. This was it, this was glorious battle. The fair place where the weak died and the strong survived. Aetius felt his blade make contact and a spray of blood heralded his presence on the battlefield. Then, something his imagination must have created entered the scene. Attila himself rode over to Aetius, throwing a spear. The weapon pierced his chest and knocked him from his horse. As he was falling down, Aetius watched as Attila’s face transformed into that of Valentian’s.
Before he could absorb that moment, he was drawn back even further. Now he stood at the shores of Italy, waiting for his men to finish loading the ships. Now Bonifacius would learn what happens when someone opposed Falvius Aetius. As the final crew gave him the signal, he nodded to the captain, and the vessels began their trip to Africa. The plan was simple: cut off Bonifacius from his Vandal allies who were beginning to enter Africa, defeat them, and then turn to Bonifacius himself. Aetius was troubled the entire trip by the words ‘storm in the south.’ No matter, he would crush his enemies than return to Rome a hero.
Aetius now stood before the walls of Arelate, his siege well underway. A breathless Omicus finished stumbling down the road, having to take a break before he actually reached the general. Aetius smiled and strode over, crouching next to his friend. “What news have you? And why are you like this?”
“A storm… big storm on the mountain… damn near killed me.” Omicus gathered himself. “The Oracle said you shall be victorious in your campaign.”
Aetius could not help but smile. “Then I have little to fear.” He rose and rested his hand on the pommel of his sword.
“… but.”
“But?”
“But… the oracle spoke of a storm in the south.”
Aetius’ brow wrinkled as he considered the words. “I wonder what that means...”
“Falvius Aetius?” The question snapped the general out of his little trance. The chamberlain Heraclius stood before him, staring.
“Right.” The image of Valentian’s face on Attila caused the general to pause.
Aetius fumbeled with the financial report and entered the court.
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Thank you kindly.
The POD was in the last post just in case.
Any criticism is welcomed.
The POD was in the last post just in case.
Any criticism is welcomed.