[center][h2]Holy Empire of Vigentino - February 1905[/h2][/center]

The High Cathedral was a buzzing hub of activity. Tens of thousands of worshippers, crammed between the towering, beautifully carved stone walls that rose up to the vaulted, grand ceiling high above them. And they hung on Pope Carlo Bocci’s every word.  He closed his eyes, feeling the raw religious belief washing over him for a moment, feeling it flood his soul, burning his veins like a glorious, holy fire. Opening his eyes, and looking out over the sea of upturned faces, the Pope held out his hands.

[b]“Go now, my children. And continue to spread the word of the angel. Sarazi to you all!”[/b]

The response was like a wordless roar, and it filled the cathedral, the echoes not fading for several minutes. Once the noise had faded away, the Pope turned, leaving the dais behind him and stepping through the modest, narrow doorway behind the alter. The room beyond the door was modest, and the heavy stone insulated the room from the noise beyond so well that the Pope could almost forget that he was still within the High Cathedral. He sank down into the well worn armchair in the corner of the room, holding his heavy head in his splayed fingers, his limbs stiff. Although he hid it from his loyal followers, he felt his age. In the stiffness of his joints, in how the night air cut into his bones and turned them to ice, how we found himself growing weary. His time as a young priest; travelling the length and breadth of the Known World; basking under the stars; living a life that he chose; was just a distant memory now. 

Carlo Bocci’s reminiscing was interrupted by a quiet knock on the door, and he glanced up quickly, straightening out his ceremonial outfit, and rising to his feet before he called out. 

[b]“Enter.”[/b]

The door was pushed gently open and Bacco Schiavoni stepped into the chamber. The Minister of Foreign Affairs was a dashing man, his hair turned white with age, but he still stood tall and proud. His thick moustache had been a staple of his appearance since his time as a cavalry officer, and he still gave off the same air of command. Carlo had known Bacco for years,  they had become good friends, and the Pope welcomed the man with a smile. 

[b]“It’s good to see you, Bacco. Your job has kept you busy for too long!”

“It is good to see you too, your Holiness. But unfortunately it is my job that brings me here today.”[/b]

The Pope shrugged, still smiling as he gestured Bacco further into the room. 

[b]“I admit I suspected as much. Now tell me, what do you need, old friend?”

“There have been murmuring among the ministers, your Holiness. They wish to reach out to the nations on our borders, but I thought it was best to bring the issue before you before we act.”

“Thank you for that, Bocci. But I could not agree more, we have been in isolation too long, send out our diplomats. A nation cannot survive on it’s own in this new world.”[/b]