Court of the Empress: An RPG Exercise

[mcroft]

A Game of Neel Krishnaswami's Court of the Empress. Rules are here.

Let us look upon the Empress's court.

It is a frosty winter's evening on the longest night of the year. The Empress Iphigenia has taken the court to her royal barge, locked in ice until the spring thaws. An orchestra performs quietly in the background and the court has been dancing, for her Imperial Majesty's pleasure, upon the surface of the frozen river. The courtiers can see each other's steamy breath and there are braziers of burning coals for heat and a bit of light. The full moon is low in the sky, behind the Empress's pedestal on her barge. A few honored servants are there with her, but most are a few steps down, on the surface of the wide, frozen river. Her Imperial Majesty is resplendent in a dazzling black gown with a stiff collar behind her. She carries the Scepter and there is a banner with the Imperial Seal behind her throne.

And now let us hear what may be said.

Comments

Benedict

[mrsitouh.livejournal.com]

Your Majesty is too gracious. I feel honored to offer a few words in the memory of our fellow courtier. While I know little of him, what I saw of him shows him to be a man of many virtues, although with a fatal flaw that overcame him in the end. He was a man of great passion, one who put his whole mind and soul into whatever task he undertook. It was that passion, I believe, which brought him to your court, in pursuit of your favor.

He was at his best in action, not in a court of words, though that did not stop him from pouring that same passion into his discourse. From listening to him, I feel confident that his self-confessed wordiness was learned from some pretentious tutor, and that he did his best to overcome the handicap this imposed on him. In so doing, that passion served him well, for he truly spoke from the heart with fire and conviction.

However, he let that passion overcome his reason, allowing it to guide him into ill-considered action, and so he fell. May God have mercy on his soul, and may we learn from his fate - to let that passion burn within us, but yet be masters of our passion and pride. Requiescat in pace.

Firdausi

[libskrat]

Now drink we all the parting glass, for we will follow Roland soon enough. His faults we now forget, his virtues praise, in hopes our fellows here will do the same for us.