The Crowning
The stage had been set with absolute perfection. The skies blazed furious hues of red and gold as the sun rose from between the far fingers of the mountains, an evocative image. The performance itself resided on a high, stretching bluff of solid mountain stone, pure granite that had been carven into the likeness of a Dragon centered within the outline of a Draginan body. Red paint had been sloshed down the sides of the cliff.
Rein himself occupied the highest, most visible point in the structure to deliver his own coronation. Already, thousands thronged below. Unbeknownst to them, the theater had been tuned and tweaked until it gave the appearance of utter reality. It had almost been an art. Everything was set-up for this single purpose. From this very point, the canyoned ridge created a perfect bowl of amplification. His voice gained ten fold in strength when he spoke from there.
On cue, the illusionists began their subtle weaving. The sky took on a hazy, glass-like cast. Light filtered, oddly broken in places, seeming to enlarge the image of Rein upon his dais. He'd carefully selected his simple yet ornate armor, respect from the elders of combat and awe from the unwealthy. Again, on cue, thunder cracked through the cloudless sky, silencing all who beheld the ceremony.
A winding purple robed column that stretched to the horizon bore mountains of gifts and treasures on stretches, some carried by six men or more. The glowing, refractive pile blossomed upward from the base of the congregation, rising higher by the second. The crown itself came, slowly marching from the far east, where the sun had begun its glorious journey upward, its tone strangely crimson. The shadows of the bearers stretched hideously across the earth, as slowly they became revealed. Four Tersid, layered in silken purple bore the shimmering diadem of the Dilosian Empire between them on a hammock of some sticky-looking viscous material.
This part had not quite been planned, but assumed as he had read deeply into the lore of the crown. Rein knelt before the disfigured entities and they before him, in their own strange manner. They set the mantle upon a pedestal and began their long march back home.
The ceremony wore on, Rein's eyes locked impatiently upon his just reward. When finally the time came, he reached out with draconian arms and grasped the crown. As it came to rest heavily upon his brow, its hue altered. The purple became darker as an inky stain spread through it, its elaborate design turned blood-red.
The illusionists worked their magic again, the cloaks of the officials of the empire suffering similar effects, purple to red. A cheer went up from the crowd, deafening and exhilarating. The earth vibrated with their roar.
"The Red Empire. A new order is born on this eve of my coronation, raised from the ashes of a failing time. No longer shall we sit here, our time is now. The world will shake in the winds of our destiny." His voiced boomed, immense and thrumming with promise and power.
Again, the roar of the crowd.
Rein spread his arms, the stage setting. Lightning cracked downward, like shards of neon glass, silhouetting the enshrined figure. Simple logistics pursued. The coronation concluded in a grand celebration. A twenty day feast, preparations from every corner of Fou Lu. The people rushed like a mob to his feet, lifting their hands high above their heads toward his dais.
In the depths of that final evening of the festivity, Rein gathered his counselors and assembled a War Committee, planning beneath the red-stained tail of a passing comet.
ll it, as he ever shall.
