Post by Emperor Florin von Marcum on Dec 4, 2022 16:58:06 GMT
Florin waited in the chapel of Mary, Empress of Hell, for the signal that his coronation was to begin. The painted statue before him gazed down with intensity. Only the face of the serpent was at his level; its eyes bulging in horror at the heel crushing its throat. He swallowed, trying to steal his nerves for the event. Without much to do, he rocked back and forth, curling his toes against the frigid marble floor. As tradition dictated, he was to enter the cathedral with nothing but a white tunic covering him. A show of humility before they piled the Imperial Regalia on him. Absent-mindedly, his fingers found the statuary again, and traced the fangs of the wretched serpent.
The familiar seven note tune opened up from the choir loft, and one of the Praetorians swung open the chapel doors, letting in a blast of cool air. He could blame the shaking on that as he strode out. His awkward steps landed him on the foot of the guard, and he stumbled unceremoniously forward. “Oops! Are you alright?”, he muttered to the man, who simply chuckled and gently pushed him forward.
The Hall was packed with more people than Florin had seen in his lifetime. At the stares of some ten thousand onlookers he could feel his face heating as if he were in the August sun. Hopefully, if he was flushed, it was too dark to see against his complexion. He noted the dampness of the floor underfoot as he rigidly processed toward the altar, wondering how his men hadn’t slid across it on their hobnails.
Halfway there. He stooped to genuflect toward the east and west, where minor shrines to St. Helena and St. Peter lay. And then he continued on toward the altar. When he finally reached it, he bowed a final time, and genuflected at the statue of Jesus Enthroned. The regalia of his office was worn by this statue, and had been worn by centuries of emperors before him. Kneeling on the floor, his mind wandered. The mass was a formality he could calmly fall into, even with the eyes of so many on him. Stand. Kneel. Stand. Kneel. It was as second nature as breathing at this point.
“Florin Aurelius Valentinian William Eincrois von Marcum Hollestra.” the pope called lightly.
“Yes, your Holiness?”
The Senate and People of Divinium have selected you to rule them as emperor, and the Catholic Church affirms and supports this choice. Are you now willing to enter into the service of your nation?”
“I am, your Holiness”
First, he stepped forward and took the sandals that were placed at the feet of the imposing statue. As the deacon helped him with each article of clothing, the pope spoke.
“May you tread with care throughout your reign on the path the saints have trod.”
The toga. “May you wear these vestments as a symbol of your elevated position as a guidepost to your people and a reminder of the splendor of heaven.
The Mantle. “May you wrap yourself in the glory of Heaven, and the mercy and benevolence of our blessed mother.”
The Manicae. “May you shield your people from harm, and act forever as vanguard of the state.”
The Sceptre. He preened a bit upon seeing his handiwork. He’d opted to forge it not of gold or silver, but of steel gathered from worn out swords in the imperial armory. It was a thin rod, wrapped with laurels and topped with a hefty cruciger. It felt like a mace, with all the weight threatening to pull it down without a firm grasp. Some of the master craftsmen had helped him with the finer details. “May you hold firmly to the authority of your office, in sight of God and your people”
Finally, the crown. His mother had been slight and he was young. Modifying the size had been easy, he was told. The gentle tinkle of pearls and amethysts sounded as it was lifted from the head of the statue and lowered onto his own. Not as heavy as he expected. “May you rule with wisdom and may the light of heaven shine ever upon you.”
With that he rose, finally able to complete his vows:
“Will you, as the Anointed Emperor by God, the will of the Aera, and selected by the people, promise to hold sacrosanct the laws of Divina Magna, Marcum, Chalphys, Rigel, the Gankands, Tanysira, Estraria, the Petrine Dominions, and of other territories or possessions pertaining and belonging, according to their respective laws and customs?”
“I will”
“Will you, with sceptre and sword, defend the rights and privilege of all peoples within your realm, and shield them from the snares of the Devil, through just governance and mercy.”
“I will”
“Do you freely accept the Imperial Office as a labor of love to all peoples upon whom your banners rely?”
“I do”
“Do you believe in the Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic church, and all its tenants and dogma?”
“I do so believe.”
“Do you so promise that in accepting the Imperium as a promise of your Latin ancestors, to serve your office dutifully, until the end of your days?”
“I do so promise”
The pope smiled. “Go, Florin. Emperor of Divinium. Ave Imperator!”
The empeor bowed before wheeling about, and marching down the aisle as the imperial anthem played. It would be a short walk back to the palace, where, after so many years, a reception was finally open to his people.
The familiar seven note tune opened up from the choir loft, and one of the Praetorians swung open the chapel doors, letting in a blast of cool air. He could blame the shaking on that as he strode out. His awkward steps landed him on the foot of the guard, and he stumbled unceremoniously forward. “Oops! Are you alright?”, he muttered to the man, who simply chuckled and gently pushed him forward.
The Hall was packed with more people than Florin had seen in his lifetime. At the stares of some ten thousand onlookers he could feel his face heating as if he were in the August sun. Hopefully, if he was flushed, it was too dark to see against his complexion. He noted the dampness of the floor underfoot as he rigidly processed toward the altar, wondering how his men hadn’t slid across it on their hobnails.
Halfway there. He stooped to genuflect toward the east and west, where minor shrines to St. Helena and St. Peter lay. And then he continued on toward the altar. When he finally reached it, he bowed a final time, and genuflected at the statue of Jesus Enthroned. The regalia of his office was worn by this statue, and had been worn by centuries of emperors before him. Kneeling on the floor, his mind wandered. The mass was a formality he could calmly fall into, even with the eyes of so many on him. Stand. Kneel. Stand. Kneel. It was as second nature as breathing at this point.
“Florin Aurelius Valentinian William Eincrois von Marcum Hollestra.” the pope called lightly.
“Yes, your Holiness?”
The Senate and People of Divinium have selected you to rule them as emperor, and the Catholic Church affirms and supports this choice. Are you now willing to enter into the service of your nation?”
“I am, your Holiness”
First, he stepped forward and took the sandals that were placed at the feet of the imposing statue. As the deacon helped him with each article of clothing, the pope spoke.
“May you tread with care throughout your reign on the path the saints have trod.”
The toga. “May you wear these vestments as a symbol of your elevated position as a guidepost to your people and a reminder of the splendor of heaven.
The Mantle. “May you wrap yourself in the glory of Heaven, and the mercy and benevolence of our blessed mother.”
The Manicae. “May you shield your people from harm, and act forever as vanguard of the state.”
The Sceptre. He preened a bit upon seeing his handiwork. He’d opted to forge it not of gold or silver, but of steel gathered from worn out swords in the imperial armory. It was a thin rod, wrapped with laurels and topped with a hefty cruciger. It felt like a mace, with all the weight threatening to pull it down without a firm grasp. Some of the master craftsmen had helped him with the finer details. “May you hold firmly to the authority of your office, in sight of God and your people”
Finally, the crown. His mother had been slight and he was young. Modifying the size had been easy, he was told. The gentle tinkle of pearls and amethysts sounded as it was lifted from the head of the statue and lowered onto his own. Not as heavy as he expected. “May you rule with wisdom and may the light of heaven shine ever upon you.”
With that he rose, finally able to complete his vows:
“Will you, as the Anointed Emperor by God, the will of the Aera, and selected by the people, promise to hold sacrosanct the laws of Divina Magna, Marcum, Chalphys, Rigel, the Gankands, Tanysira, Estraria, the Petrine Dominions, and of other territories or possessions pertaining and belonging, according to their respective laws and customs?”
“I will”
“Will you, with sceptre and sword, defend the rights and privilege of all peoples within your realm, and shield them from the snares of the Devil, through just governance and mercy.”
“I will”
“Do you freely accept the Imperial Office as a labor of love to all peoples upon whom your banners rely?”
“I do”
“Do you believe in the Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic church, and all its tenants and dogma?”
“I do so believe.”
“Do you so promise that in accepting the Imperium as a promise of your Latin ancestors, to serve your office dutifully, until the end of your days?”
“I do so promise”
The pope smiled. “Go, Florin. Emperor of Divinium. Ave Imperator!”
The empeor bowed before wheeling about, and marching down the aisle as the imperial anthem played. It would be a short walk back to the palace, where, after so many years, a reception was finally open to his people.