Children of Terra

~Fool's Day, April, 1000~ ~The Great Switch~ ~Holy Rome, Capitol of the Old Empire~ ~Otto III di Westphalia, Mirabilia Mundi, Imperator Romanorum, Servant of Jesus Christ and the Apostles, Consul of the Senate and People of Rome, Emperor of the World~ The shining resplendence of golden tiles shone over 19-years-young Otto, third of his name. Outwardly, the Emperor of the Romans was gilded, brooding, and magnificent. Internally, he was questioning the last words of his mother Theophanu. She said something to him that stirred his innards to the core. 'A-a trae y disse . . . 'Despite only being 10 at the time, he still remembers that moment with absolute clarity. She was stern and reticent with him his entire childhood life; but it was that deeply inward stare in the end that made him sleepless.       Then Grandmother Adelaide just a few months ago -- on her own deathbed -- bade him summon discreetly. He had sat beside the stoic ruler, and she never once looked him in the eyes. She held a box out, sable, only a hole large enough for a hand. "Your hand, my grandson." Otto was taken aback a moment, before placing his hand inside. A whip of bed sheets, and Grandmother had a dart at his neck. Betrayal?! He barely formed the thought when she next spoke. "Not an inch, boy. Even a stir will make me plunge it in your neck. You must resist. Recall the Litany."       "The Litany, Grandmother?" Otto broke in a cold sweat, his hand inside the box still. Why couldn't he feel anything?       "Silence! Focus on the Litany. Or die."       He couldn't move. Before he could think on why, his hand shot aflame. A gasp and yelp as his arm fell to numbness. What was happening? It hurt! And yet Grandmother's face was rock solid. His robes became slick as he grunted and wheezed. T-the Monarch's Litany -- fear is the mind-killer. I must not fear . . .By the time Otto finished the Litany, his focus returned outward to see his Grandmother frozen. "Grandmother?" He stilled a moment, not sure of what to do.       Fortune favors the brave . . . Otto pulled his numb hand from the box, eyes on Adelaide. She didn't move, or react really at all. He let a small breath out as he slipped away from the needle at his neck. Nothing. "Grandmother." He put a hand on her shoulder before he realized: she's dead . . . Gently putting her body down on the bed, he called for his sister, Sophia I.       She walked in with a small curtsy and went to Grandmother's side, placing her forehead to the ancient's for a long while. Otto let her grieve as he recalled with deja vu the experience with his mother.       And it were these memories playing in his head all the way back to Rome from Alsace in northeast France, as his sister Sophia offered her own council. She was adamant he turn back from his path of Roman revitalization, to quell the fantasies of reviving the Senatus Romanus. Otto knew his sister well enough. She was different now, did she really think he didn't notice? In return, he bid her recess from his presence for until the Roman New Year.       Yet it was April, and still she had not returned. The last word from his envoys was that she insisted on meeting their sisters. ~Lost in rumination~ He set his mind on these things when one of his personal guardsmen -- Scholae Palatinae -- strut into the room. A raise of brow at the breach of decorum, but no matter -- his guard knew better than games. "My Alecian. I bid you speak."       The palatine guard gave proper salute before responding. "Hail, my Emperor. We have an urgent matter, requiring your personal review."       Otto sat straighter on the throne. He grabbed his scepter and rung it on the floor for emphasis. "One that needs my physical attention, I take it." Not a question.       "Yes, Emperor. I have already summoned a guard rotation. We must be to the Royal Prison."       A smile couldn't stop itself on Otto's face as he rose from the throne flanked by his guard. The prison of Saints Peter and Paul, ordered to be reconstructed under his authority in view of his also-ordered Imperial Palace upon the Palatium. And by the time of firm reign, the Primum Carcerem ex Mons Palatinae . . . His thoughts were jarred when the fresh night air of Rome coincided with his recollection of his sister's rebuke. Not even the soft crescent of bright blue lifted his mood.       The guards at the reconstruction site saluted at the Emperor's approach; a synchronized beat of their sauroter upon the ground. Otto returned salute as he walked by, entering the cool stone of the prison. Face periodically illuminated by torches as he and his guard passed the halls, he asked: "Alecian, who did you catch to warrant such a diversion of my time?"       There was a turn in the corridor before Alecian responded. "For your eyes only, my sire. Words echo."       The retinue came to the very deepest cell, where air settled the floor in detectable wafts. As Otto took a stance-and-glance through the bars into the darkness, his Alecian bid the rest to guard the hall, retreating. The young Emperor looked back for a moment until the silence denoted it was just him and the prisoner of the black cell. Otto rolled his tongue bemusedly before speaking. "I am Otto, third of my line, heir to Constantine, and ruler of Rome. To whom do I speak?"       An indistinct ruffle, but the prisoner did not reveal himself. The voice was calm -- even and nonplussed of the situation. "I am Pruflas, first Duke of Inferno, banished of my line, and disgraced; Your Majesty."       Immediately, Otto could see why Alecian bid him during the night. Such claims were heresy, and had the Emperor been older or more hardened of life; he would have executed the apostate now. Otto was young; however, and curious. "Your words carry . . . intrigue. From your faceless tone, you believe yourself. No matter." The Emperor tapped his palm with the pommel of his scepter, before continuing. "I'm in a good mood today. What reasons do you have to stay my hand of your death?"       "I am opposed to my family, Your Grace. I came here specifically because of magia theurgia --so thick in this land it suffocates demons. A perfect place to hide, or more accurately, bide my time. They wouldn't - "       Otto laughed. Was this man insane? At first, the Emperor assumed the man claimed katabasis and was an escapee of Inferno. But these words, was the mad man suggesting he was a demon? "You aren't suggesting yourself demon?"       Suddenly, from within the cell, light appeared. The prisoner was finely dressed, with - with fire in his palm. Unbidden. Otto was awestruck as he drunk the features, eyes traveling upward until . . . no! He immediately performed the sign of the cross on himself, stepping backward. The sitting demon let the flame go out, vanishing back into darkness. Otto swore he could still see those eyes illuminating the darkness. The young Emperor spoke: "Foul demon! I should see you quartered; no, burned on a holy pyre!"       "Expected. Fire won't work. You would be better anointing some spears . . . Ah, I'm getting off track. I forgive you, but there needs to be some allowances for our cultural differences."       The words coasted down the hall, echoing a handful of times. Otto was speechless for a while longer. "Buh! What?! A demon takes that tone - "       "Yes. I do. There is a common misconception that demons are solely dedicated to tempting man-folk. I can see why, that is what demons do, from your perspective. But demons do far more than just sit around in Hell all day waiting for jackasses to scribble shit on the floor. Besides that, I have never made a pact with a human - "       "Enough! Nonsense! I will summon for the most sanctified relics and have you banished." Otto turned to leave, not hearing more of this madness.       A final parting followed Otto out. "They are hunting me, Your Grace. Expect more." That final word echoed in the Emperor's mind for long after he had left the prison. More? Were demons so organized? ~7 April 1000~ ~Having slept on it~ ~Emperor Otto, young king~ Otto dared not even broach the subject with Alecian for a week, needing to sort out the gravity of the situation. There were still two questions he had. One, why is a demon tempting him now? Two, why is it not breaking out or spiriting his mind? Demons, true demons were Lucifer's brood, Satan's ilk. Do we not look upon their fruits everyday? This one was calmer, more insidious than what any scripture suggested. He even summoned theologian missionaries of the pagans as council -- taking away one thing -- patience was a virtue of men, not them. If it was still there in the cell, he would have to divine its purpose. After all, it was belief among the pagans that demons were fond of pacts and binds between men. Otto had to arm his mind and guard against false promises.       After securing against falsehoods and lining his robes with holy salts, garlic, and blessed water; he returned to the cell. Before he could speak, the demon greeted him.       "Very good, Your Grace. Such ritual isms mask me in theurgia. Makes it hard for my bastard brothers to divine my concise location. You're figuratively throwing salt in their eyes."       "Silence! You will not speak unless spoken to! I will have you killed otherwise!" Otto waited a while. A long while. Longer. The demon did not speak, and despite it being day, the deep cell was as dark and damp as ever. He breathed out, interrogating: "Answer me plain and simple: why are you here on Terra?"       "I will be killed if I am in Inferno."       "Why?"       "I betrayed my father."       Typical. Demons are foul even to their own. Of course they would follow his example. "You betrayed your master Lucifer, you say?"       . . . A long while passed before an answer. The voice, when it spoke, was even more controlled than before, but so focused and clean in delivery that it betrayed the emotions within. "I will say this once, king of men, Emperor of Rome. Accuse me of servitude to Lucifer one more time and I will slaughter you. I am not of Lucifer. My father is Beelzebub, my mother half-succubus, and I? . . . I am Lord of Limbo, ring of inadequacy. My charge is warden, my punishments are your kind. You will not debase me of my purpose by ignorance. I will forgive this only once."       This tone, self-righteousness! This demon believes in self-purity! Otto took his rosary in hand before elaborating. "How can a demon claim such purity of purpose? Your nature is corruption!"       A slam within the darkness so fierce the stones trembled. Otto stumbled back, afeared. "Your nature is corruption, eater of apples! Listener of snakes! I took on my charge for millennia, watching as your twisted hearts festered in my land! How dare you accuse me of corruption!" The voice abated with a sigh and silence suffocated for a time. "I have already been judged by an arbiter of heaven. And yet I sit here."       "Lies!"       "I can see by your countenance you have never met a scion. I have. Because you would be mad if you had witnessed. It plucked my heart like a Roman to a grape vine. I knelt before it, and I was spared." Another moment passed before a chuckle -- Otto cold sweating. "Then again, it also spared my brothers. I can only guess what that means."       Otto crossed himself again, silently praying before speaking aloud. "And what could that mean, demon?"       "Hm. It'd be foolish to expect God to do all the work, wouldn't it? I must kill my family with my own hands. Any less dishonors my second chance."       He's fucking insane! Otto began laughing, even demons became like that, did they? He stumbled back, resting against the wall, letting the stone-cool seep into his ribs with a heave outward. It was time to test both himself and this demon vagabond. "What would you ask of me?"       A rhythmic hum. "Ask? Not much. Harbor me for a time while I gather magia. No effort of your part. I need no food, no water. I am protected here under the veil of holiness. They know damned well that following me here is a death sentence."       Otto looked into the cell, as dark and as pointless a gesture it was. "Why is that?"       "They all neglected the fundamental arts. I would tear them to pieces here. Perhaps that won't be so forever, though."       What a strange demon. It seems almost . . . human? Otto thumbed his rosary just to be sure. "You are interesting, demon. I shall increase the wards on your prison and bind you here. Be glad you keep your head."       A chuckle. "Thank you, Your Grace. I shall await your next visit."       Otto turned to leave, walking back to his lovely Rome. Ah, the air was so clean here. His palatial complex was agonizingly slow to begin construction, but it wasn't to be troubled over. There were many things to ruminate on, chiefly the administrators. They were as bad now as Caesar's time. With another clean breath in and out, Otto walked back to the current capitol of Rome -- a decidedly garish building that paid no respect to heritage. He wondered when his sister would return idly in passing. ~4 September 1000~ ~Cloudy day~ ~Forum of Rome~ ~Otto, Emperor of ill destiny~ It was August when his sister Sophia returned. She was always as astute as any of the family, and easily she sniffed out the nature of his prisoner -- within minutes really. It was like she could read the minds of Otto's own Scholares guards. Perhaps she could; that being another issue. Foremost was the argument the siblings had.       She took one look at the visage of the Duke, and called him Satan. Otto nearly ran from that initial glare the demon gave Sofia back. And the conversation between the two was even more fierce, culminating in the Duke accusing Sofia of being an abomination as worse as himself. This immediately caught Otto's attention, and a bit of a falling out had occurred afterward.       "What did he mean, Sofia?"       She had been pacing around, before calming in that now unusual gesture. That was not something Sofia ever did before. "It is a demon, my brother! You council with a liar and a sower of discord! Why do you - "       Otto decided to roll with his gut, cutting her off. "You've changed, ever since Grandmother and perhaps even mother. Do not lie to me!"       It was the too-calm silence that confirmed his suspicion. That wasn't an emotion of humans, certainly not his sister's. She would have argued him around a bedpost and back before. What is that calm? She spoke up as if not even having had an argument just now. "You've been discovered, foolish Otto. The noble houses in Rome have already banded to overthrow you. Why did you not decry the demon from day one?"       "You refer to the Count Gregory and his diversion game in Tibur. Easily quashed. No, right now I - "       Sophia spoke in a tone of voice that paralyzed Otto. The same as Grandmother! "No, Otto! Tibur is but one part of this. Dissent over your heresy is spreading everywhere, and it's taking all of my time to quell these truths! Not rumors! Truths! You have done a foolish thing in sparing and keeping that thing in your great prison. I have already forestalled over 7 assassination attempts on you since I have returned." She paced around the frozen Otto, mumbling to herself. "I suggest you return to Germanicae for until we can procure you a wife."       The spell on Otto lifted subtly. Something about what she said was wrong . . . "Wait, we? Who is we?" Otto stared at her unmoved back. " . . . Sophia."       She left without another word, until stopping in the doorway of his study -- speaking over her shoulder. "Keep your mind about you, Otto. The many that want you dead are growing." She left, the room stilling in thought as Otto sat back down.       He needed to clear his head, and it turned out going for a walk and visit to his little demon was wonderful for such things. He had a hunch, no more, just a hunch that the demon was honest by nature. It was not unusual of such things according to the pagans. One just needed avoid the pitfalls of oath. ~28 November 1000~ ~Rebellion brewing~ ~Papacy of Rome~ ~Otto di Westphalia van Atreides~ It came out of nowhere, just idle conversation on a cold November night. Otto was recounting the last words of his mother to the always placid Duke -- always sitting in the damp cell. "What did you say?"       A soft laugh. "It's not a phrase, Emperor. A name. One I'm familiar with as it's remembered with bitterness in Limbo. The House of Atreus. The Atreides. Winners of Troy. Hmhahaha . . . (softly) I wonder how Hector and Aeneas are doing now?"       Otto sat on a wooden bench outside the cell, stunned for words. The Atreus, father of Agamemnon? "But that would mean . . . "       "I would not hold too much bearing in fortunes and prophecy, Atreides. Talk to enough oracles, and they'll go half mad telling about paths and strings and choices and . . . No. Focus on yourself. On your hands and what's within them. Only that is what matters in defying fate."       Otto was hunched, staring at the scepter denoting royalty in his hands. In this dark, damp prison hallway, the stave was equally dull and grim. "Fate, is it? You believe in such things?"       "You tell me, human. You're the ones that ate of the apple. What did it say then?"       "How would I know?! That was time before time! Besides, how are you different than the snake?"       "The snake made promises, Otto. It lied and convinced. I also have metaphorical apple, do not be mistaken of that. But I will tell you upfront of its poison, of the lure you wish to pin your mouth about. And one day, if I am fated to live, it will be my hand that cleaves the head of the snake. Once and for all."       It was Otto's turn to laugh maniacally. Perhaps this was the demon's true forte. Insanity. "That cannot be done, Duke of Limbo. What vainglory."       The words echoed down the cold hall. Then came the reply.       "No. The only certainty is that nothing is certain. Not even their lives are guaranteed on the path I forge."       Insanity. Just as Otto thought. But with that final verbal spar, he was certain at least of one thing. The Emperor stood, pulling a keyring from his sash. He undid the lock of the demon's cage and stepped backward. As he thought, nothing. The demon remained.       No words needed to be said. Otto turned and left the prison. There were many troubles, just as Sophia warned. He needed to time a muster of troops with high winter and march on Tibur in Spring. So many little fires needs stamping -- but he was mirabilia mundi -- wonder of the world.       And Atreides.