I'm sorry to say fam. As glad as I am to see a Poland I do have to say: but since you name dropped The Congress of Vienna and ended the Napoleonic Wars at 1815 and didn't continue the period on as if they weren't extended in this time-line, I'll have to ask you to look over the OP again and try again.
You’ll have to forgive me, I didn’t precisely see the start date of the 8th coalition war. It won’t change my sheet too much, regardless.
Konstatin Pavlovich, a former Grand Duke of Russia, is the older brother to Tsar Nicholas I and had served in the Napoleonic Wars, fighting in Italy in the name of Russia in the War of the Second Coalition. Alexander I became Tsar after his father’s death in 1801 to which Konstatin served as Grand Duke, but abstained from politics in favor of his military life. This did not make him a military genius however, as Konstatin had been at some fault for Russian defeat in multiple battles despite distinguishing himself with bravery in many others.
After the the peace of Tilsit, he had been appointed as the Grand Viceroy of Poland by his brother, Tsar Alexander I. Yet upon the ascension of Nicholas I to the throne, the Decemberist uprising had occurred on December 26th, 1825 which tried to put Konstantin upon the Russian Throne, after having secretly renounced his claims to the throne. Yet, Konstantin would go to Tsar Nicholas I to prove himself loyal and refuse the throne openly, promising that he would never hold the Imperial Throne of Russia. Later, he would lead the Polish in the Russo-Turkish War of 1828-1829, fighting in the Balkan’s alongside his brother.
After the war, Konstatin Pavlovich was officially named King of Poland, granting the Polish state further autonomy from the Russian sphere of influence.
The Congress Kingdom of Poland was created out of the Duchy of Warsaw, a French client state, at the Congress of Vienna in 1815 when the great powers reorganized Europe following the Napoleonic wars. The Kingdom was created from parts of the Polish territory that had been partitioned between Austria and Prussia which had been transformed into the Duchy of Warsaw by Napoleon Bonaparte in 1807. After Napoleon's 1812 defeat, the fate of the Duchy of Warsaw was dependent on Russia. Prussia insisted on the Duchy being completely eliminated; after Russian troops reached Paris in 1812, Tsar Alexander I intended to annex the Duchy and parts of Lithuanian lands which were historically in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. However, both Austria and the United Kingdom strongly disapproved of the idea, Austria issuing a memorandum on returning to the 1795 resolutions with support from the United Kingdom.
Yet, Konstantin Pavlovich would be dubbed as the de facto ruler of this semi-autonomous Polish state as the Grand Viceroy of Poland to which Konstantin had grown attached to over the years of rule. While not supporting Polish patriotic movements, Konstatin would support the creation of the Constitution of the Kingdom of Poland by Alexander I in 1815. Considered one of the most liberal constitutions of the time, it was never fully respected by the Russian Government. Tsar Alexander abandoned the freedom of the press and began censoring it, though Konstantin would stand against the Tsar in favor of respecting the constitution that Alexander had himself been a part of decreeing. This would make Konstantin popular with the Polish people as he would defend their freedoms, even if he had held no true attachment to the Kingdom of Poland.
After Alexander I’s death in 1825, Konstantin would secretly renounce his claims to the Russian throne in secret which fermented the Decembrist Uprising of 1825. This had temporarily strained the relationship between Nicholas I and Konstantin until the rise of the Turko-Russian War of 1828-1829 which saw the Polish Army, led by Konstantin, aid the Imperial Russian forces in the Balkans with a force of 20,000 soldiers. This cemented Konstantin’s loyalty to the Russian state and as Nicholas had not been formally crowned as King of Poland, Konstantin would be awarded the title in 1830.
King Konstantin would rule as a liberal king, respecting the constitution that had been put into place by Alexander I. However, it would become clear that the constitution was ambiguous, while liberal, would become manipulated, avoided, and violated by the government. It had revoked rights that had been given to the Polish Jews and peasants and the parliament, which was supposed to be called every two years, would have only been formed four times since 1815. The disregard of the constitution had led to discontent with the Polish peoples, leading to unrest and the formation of plots. The newly crowned king would call the parliament in 1831, but his lack of political experience led to no change as the liberal and conservative branches of the government would bicker.
This would be a recurring event every two years as Konstantin would try to enact reforms for Poland but the parliament simply would not act or, in some cases, ignore the king's wishes. In the year 1835, Konstantin would order a single reform that gave rights back to the Polish Jews, promising freedom of religion which staved off rebellion, but with little being done, unrest still carries into 1836, even while dissent within Russia itself grows into a crescendo.
“Behold yonder and seeth our shah, so resplendent and fustian a sir yet succumbed with grief and tragedy. Doth thee not seeth yond that gent suffers with us? His sons hadst been lay base upon the day of red sun? Certes any sir wouldst beest wrought with despair to seeth his children dead by any such hest, coequal shouldst it cometh from the gods?” -Herald of the Great Shah Hurang
Hurang lay upon his bed, merely gazing upon the wall in a sadness that no parent should ever have to come to terms with. His sons all lay dead upon the field of battle and he knew that it had been his fault for sending them to lead his armies into those now bloodied fields to the south. Had he been less impetuous perhaps they would yet live, but he could still hear the hallowed words of the Red Sun ringing in his head - compelled to fight against his better judgment. But now, Hurang merely clutched tightly upon the sword of his eldest, the sword that he had gifted his son to aid him in battle. The shah had since lost the ability to weep for his lost children, only hoping that his misery would soon come to an end - death would return him to his sons soon enough.
The Nalusan Shah shifted in his bed to check his shoulder, seeing that his wife had long since left his bed - not content to sleep next to a weeping man such as he. It was a pitiful thing to be dejected by one's own wife, for it had been days ago where he had been merry and treated her as if she were the only thing that he could live for in this world - the news of death, however, forced them apart. That said, Hurang wished for nothing more than to be alone with the hallowed items of his sons to comfort him, not that he could receive comfort in the death of his children. After all, who amongst his subjects could share in his grief?
Turning in his bed, trying to get comfortable, he let out a pained hiss as a reminder of the sun’s existence made itself known in his eyes. Has the sun always been so bright? Had it always looked upon him in such a pitiful manner? With a melancholy sigh, Hurang knew that he could not plead for further sleep for the sun beckoned him to attend to his people - to attend to matters of state. Yet, even as he swung his legs over the side of his bed, knocking the goblet to the side without care, Hurang could not release his clutch of his eldest’s sword. How could he let go of the one thing that he currently held so dear to his heart.
Hurang would eventually get to his feet and dither about before finally dressing himself, making himself seem of disheveled royalty. Slowly did he walked through the halls of his home, his feet seemed so heavy that they must be dragged forwards. There was nothing more that Hurang could do as he slowly crept his way to his throne for all of his court to see - the priests, the nobles, his confidants, and his wife could all see Hurang trudge his way to throne. Yet, they said nothing, no words to console him nor any gesture for him to distract himself from the entropic pain that ate at him. All they did was pity him, gazing upon him in silence with sorrow filled eyes as he sat upon the throne and slumped down, unable to muster the energy to even seem regal.
The day dragged on, he answered questions that he hardly focused on - merely spouting out whatever would get whoever conversed with him out of his hair. Hurang no longer cared about his post as the malaise that his mind would always remind him to clutch his son’s sword until eventually he felt his emotions begin to get the better of him. The shah gazed into the sword and the reflection he saw was that of his eldest, his heir. It made his broken will shatter and all that he could do was weep, breaking down in front of his court.
“M-my Lord, but one more cometh for an audience,” a courtier said nervously, attempting to help the shah bring himself together before the final person would come before the court. The servant continued to whisper into Hurang’s ear, “He is an outsider, we mustn't show weakness to those of another land.”
With a drawn out breath, Hurang straightened himself and looked to the door with an impassive look, merely ready for the day to finally be at an end. Yet, his tired mind would be stirred as the stranger walked in with his dog, while it would have been mundane, it was the garb of the stranger that made Hurang’s interest rise. The man was adorned with jewels and golden wears that certainly could not have come from any of the nearby lands - certainly he must have come from outside of Nalusa. His black beard was finely kept, braided in a way that a woman would do her hair and a golden band wrapped itself around the short curls of his head. The dog’s fur was blue upon the top and white upon the bottom with jewels of different colors impeded in the beast’s skin. Light spilled from behind the two, the setting sun cascading into the room threatening to blind all in the room.
Hurang would not be the first to speak as the stranger did not wait to be welcomed by the shah or his court, his voice carried with it a cruel satisfaction, “Good day, little shah. I have traveled far to marvel at the wonders of your city. I have heard it is so great and opulent that it would match the moon in its beauty.”
The stranger’s words made the shah cock an eyebrow before he would respond slowly and solemnly, “You will find nought but heartache and woe, stranger. Our city has lost much the past few moons, there are hardly any men to stand vigil at night.”
The strange man let out a light laugh, “Such is the cost of war, Shah Hurang. We must celebrate your victories, surely your sons would be out making merry with the people!”
“Speak of my sons again and I shall rip your tongue out!” The shah snarled in a sudden anger, causing the stranger’s smile to change only to mild interest. The room was silent with the exception of the dog who growled lightly at Hurang, positioning itself between its strange master and the shah. Hurang leaned back in his throne, allowing his son’s sword to rest in his lap for the time being. He would speak again, this time restraining the sudden urge of anger, “There will be no celebration, even if the gods themselves demanded it.”
The stranger frowned, clearly dissatisfied with the answer but, without another word, turned away from the shah with a flourish of his cape. The dog snapped its jaws at the shah before turning to follow its master out the door which came to a close without the aid of any of the servants. Hurang slumped back in his seat and loosed a pained sigh, knowing that the interaction had been merely too much for him. Sleep called for him again and he stood to dismiss the court but before he could, there was a sound of drums and music that came from outside the temple palace. The court all looked at each other and muttered in confusion, but many broke from their positions to see what would be happening, including the shah himself who continued to keep the sword clutched tightly at his side.
Upon the balcony, the shah saw the opulent stranger rousing the populace into a fervor of festivities that would have been reserved only for his own triumphs. The people formed a circle around the stranger’s form, watching as he spoke to them, but Hurang could not make out what they said. His own coronation as the Shah of his own lands had seen such happiness and jealous rage began to spur within his heart as he moved towards the stairway of the temple. Yet, he stopped when he saw the dog sitting vigil on the way down, staring at Hurang with glowing yellow eyes and a growl so fierce that the dog seemed a demon!
Hurang stopped a few paces from the dog, too afraid of moving past it, but, focusing back to the crowd of the people around the stranger, the shah would scream and holler to get the people’s attention. Eventually all would look to their leader in time, but before the shah could even bother to speak it would be he, the foreigner who would call out to Hurang. The voice mocked him, “Oh look upon the shah! So inconsolable is he that he would come to ruin our fun!”
The crowd began to boo and jeer at their shah, but Hurang’s anger would quell them, “I will not be mocked by some cretin from far away! I do not celebrate our losses nor will I celebrate victory in a war compelled by the gods that cost my sons!”
“But the gods are what brought you victory! Even the lands that you rule!”
“The gods are nothing! They took- no, killed my sons! Have you not seen the red sun!”
It was after that statement that Hurang would come to regret his words as within the blink of an eye the stranger was not within his sight. Hurang looked around before he saw a silhouette behind him, but quickly seeing that it was the stranger, the shah raised his sword to stab at Him.
Yet the sword was shattered upon His skin, metal fragments clattering to the ground as His glowing eyes pierced into Hurang’s own. As He spoke, light came from His mouth blinding the shah and forcing him to look away, raising his hands to block away His light.
”You would dare say that I am nothing? That my Lords are nothing?”
Hurang could only stutter, unable to find words in His presence.
”I grant you power to rule and you shun me after the loss of your sons.”
“You are not more important to me than my sons!” Hurang cried, falling to his knees as His divine will compelled him to, his legs having become weak in His presence. He did not know what to do any more, not even able to form any further coherent thought as the growling dog drew closer and closer.
”I am Shahansha, Shah of Shahs! You have abandoned me, He Who Stands Above All, the Great Sun! Your sons serve me in death!”
It was at these words that Huran’s eyes widened and he was forced to look upon Shahansha with tears streaming from his eyes. He knew not what to say but could only fall and prostrate himself above his Lord, pleading to see his sons once again and to return them from a death wrongfully deserved. Yet, there was silence, no answer from Shahansha, who cast his light elsewhere, bringing darkness to Hurang’s world.
”You have abandoned me, and so my Light shall abandon you. You are no shah any longer.”
This post serves to introduce the Monarch of All as Shahansha, the Shah of Shahs, to Nalusa in the form of a precautionary tale of what he means in their society, notably to their kings.
A shah known as Hurang is saddened over the deaths of his sons after Moneo ordered a great war to start and has locked himself away from all, even the gods, only attending to duties and nothing else.
A stranger and his dog come to his court and tell him that his city is beautiful and he should be proud of that, but Haruang has none of it. The stranger suggests they celebrate their victories and to remember his sons but still Hurang tells him off.
The stranger goes to throw a party anyway and Hurang says that the gods are nothing because they took his sons.
This is when Moneo reveals himself and berates Hurang for abandoning Him, the light of Shahansha abandons him in a world of darkness, leaving him cursed with blindness and without rule.
The moral is that even in your darkest times, do not abandon the gods when they try to help lest they abandon you.
The palace yielded armories upon armories yet there were no souls to garrison them.
Weapons and armors were being made upon the Galbar within the continent-sized forge raised by Voligan, and yet there were none to wield such great and terrible tools.
The Divine Palace, in all its resplendent glory and filled with gardens and libraries, was devoid of life to walk upon those hallowed grounds. There were mice and rodents, but they seldom strayed into galleries of art or into any room occupied by another. The Monarch of All was left with none except for Tlanextic who had taken up the mantle of guarding the great bridge that connected the Galbar to the Divine Palace. Yet, Tlanextic was the master of the Palace Guard with no guards to lead or organize into ranks to defend the Great Sun and all His domain. It was a fact that the Monarch of All knew that He would have to rectify, especially now that some gods may rally against HIs cause.
Thus, Tlanextic was summoned to that hallowed throne to once more pay heed to the Monarch of All’s words and wisdom - two bright souls sitting with each other. Bowing to the Great Sun, it was then that the Monarch of All would speak and let His will be known to the First Tlatoani of Chicomoztoc. His words echoed throughout the chamber, as if a chorus of His will was making itself known to the two kings.
”Tlanextic, it has come time that we have made an army for you to lead and bring strength to my domain.”
“Thy will be done anon,” the brazen spirit’s voice echoed from within a suit of divine armor, “within heaven, as on the Galbar. Whencesoever they might hail, this soothfast servant will guide them in thy name.”
The Monarch of All may have not been visibly smiling but it was clear that He was for Tlanextic was one of the few that knew how to stroke His ego, the only mortal that had been able to truly please him. It was another moment of thought as the Great Sun thought of how best to discern what souls would be able to fight for him. For only the most dedicated of souls and only the most brave of the mortals would be able to serve after death, none other would be able to hold the mantle as one of His guardians. There was no idea that could presently come to His mind as He was perhaps too critical of most other mortals, knowing that there would never be another Tlanextic that could grace His palace halls. Though, perhaps there needn’t be such a need for another god-king to be recruited to His cause for the Monarch of All looked down upon the mortal.
Who else would know who would be best for the Palace Guardians than the very captain of them?
”Tlanextic, I seem to be struggling on how best to recruit those suitable enough for your men. If it were my way, it would be more of you, and yet, I know that there will never be another Tlatoani of your power and devotion. Who would you feel best to be amongst your ranks, o’ wise Tlatoani?”
”Shouldst thou count any number of my progeny thither worthy, ‘twould be an honor to raise the fain to thy repair and thy host.”
He shifted in the throne, looking onto Tlanextic with amusement before His voice once more spoke and cast away the mortal’s original idea.
”If they prove themselves worthy then yes, but a force of your progeny alone would not be enough to stand against the forces that would be against us.”
”Nowise beyond thy power be it to fashion a host from nothing,” Tlanextic reminded his lord. ”Still, fire that coldens anon has an appetency to break asunder. If it behoof thee to claim only the most tested of rocks, then quiz the crucible yonder,” the guardian went on, opening the heavenly bridge if only to use it as a window. “There, I See war,” the Protector of the Vestibule finished, one of his many hands pointing through the aperture to the rugged grasslands of Nalusa.
There, far below, a war began as man fought maramoda. From his silent post above, Tlanextic had watched their doings with his two eyes and Seen them with his third. From his bridge he heard the grass grow, and felt the thuds of the dead as they fell upon the ground. Some among those warriors were worthy; others were recreants, but the crucible of war sorted them easily enough.
Yet, he did not notice the Monarch of All extending out a hand to seize the heavens of that country until the light of the fields of battle turned red - red as if blood itself made up the sun. Turning around, Tlanextic saw not the familiar sight of his liege, but a wrathful being that cast off pride and sadism in droves and He watched Nalusa with a burning red glare. This was one aspect that Tlanextic had not yet seen - that none of the gods had claimed quite yet. It was War, bloody and unrelenting. His red glow cast itself over the warriors, burning within them the desire to fight - the desire to survive and win. The Great Sun looked upon both Human and Maramoda, and so War uttered unto them a single command.
The Monarch of All finally converses with Tlanextic about the formation of his guard.
Tlanextic suggests his offspring to the Monarch of All but after a half-denial, they look over to Galbar to see the war between Humans and Maramoda. The Monarch of All looks to both of them and orders them to fight. Those that are worthy would be taken by Tlanextic to be inducted in the Guard.
There in the heart of the Forge of Worlds, the great anvil of Voligan in which countless artifacts were amassed in the name of the Monarch of All, stirred the many hands of the Earthheart’s servants. They toiled and pounded away upon metals, warping their forms into shapes of all those mortals that inhabited the Galbar - those that would be chosen to serve the venerable Sun God in all due time. Those husks knew not what they did, less so the purpose of their task, but all was to the Earth Lord’s design for autonomous production. The Automatons there stirred endlessly - without tire or hunger to compel them otherwise in the march forwards in the name of their creator and his Liege.
Yet, just as meticulously as the automatons went about their duties, a single light descended from the skies towards the continent. The Forge of Worlds may have had deterrents against outside forces but this light attracted no such ire for it could not be seen by those who were not of divine blood. It traveled the length of the great workshop, inspecting the automatons all the way until it settled behind one. The light wordlessly fluttered around the empty vessel, looking upon the sword that it was crafting, pounding metal against metal in a monotonous fashion. Once the sword was formed into shape it passed it to another of its kind before the light entered the form of the automaton.
The metallic being studied itself with a consciousness that it did not have, yet it knew exactly what it was and even knew of its purpose! Not many beings could confidently know such things and yet the simple automaton did, and it was proud of such a feat. It stood triumphantly with its form before a voice that repeated in countless echoes spoke out, uttering a name to itself, “Vilicus.”
Vilicus turned his head and looked at another of his own kind before clumsy shuffling over, it was odd to have limbs but it knew how to use them in some capacity. He took a chest piece and held it to the sun, inspecting it with eyes that it did not have before carelessly throwing it to the ground with an angered grunt. The other automaton did nothing more than look at the one who threw away its project, but did not complain (for it simply could not) and went to pick up the chest piece before its hand was slapped away by Vilicus.
“No! You cannot use such a ghastly thing! It has no form - nothing even remotely ornate about it!” Vilicus scolded the soulless machine, though letting out a disappointed sigh as the being continued to pick up its project and walk back to its post. Looking back to the sun, Vilicus spoke to the Great Sun, “Master, why do these things not understand true art?”
Without waiting for an answer, the life-filled automaton stomped deeper into the Forge of Worlds towards an area that seemed to be storing the finished goods. The artist could do nothing more than let out a desperate cry at the sight that had befallen him! He turned away and felt as if he needed to wretch (even though he physically had no such feeling) and fell to his knees in tears! For all the arms and armors were nothing more than bare metals, unpainted and ghastly beyond reproach! He slammed a metallic fist into the ground unable to comprehend the horrors that had tainted his mind.
“This cannot stand! I will not allow a single shipment to go like this!” He raged, unable to allow these to exist in His world. Vilicus looked to the air once more, gazing at the perfect artistry that was the Great Sun and His great architecture. How the soul wished that he could have been back there, creating art with the new body that he had possessed! Yet, he would not shirk the duty in which he was charged by the great and venerable Monarch of All. The automaton pointed a finger at the sun, declaring to it with a dramatic tone, “Know this, master, know that I, Vilicus, shall make sure that all these pieces shall be fit for even you to wear!”
The automaton stood back up and turned to the ghastly mountain once more, hunching over a bit in intimidation. Surely he would not have to do all of them, after all it was a fair bit for even the likes of a lowly servant of the Monarch of All. Vilicus knew he would need aid, apprentices to his great artistry who might be able to aid in making these pieces truly something the likes of a Divine Guard of the Monarch. Looking towards the sky, Vilicus did ask a simple question, “Tlanextic, could you send a couple of people my way?… Not that you have to of course I know- Never mind, I’ll find a way.”
Vilicus shook his head before stepping to the great mountain and pulling one of the ghastly blades from a neat pile and looking over it. He had no tools but he would be able to grab some from the other beings that worked the blades.
“This will take a lot of time.”
This focuses on the Forge of Worlds!
A light drifts down to the continent and looks at a bunch of automatons before taking control of one and effectively being the ‘soul’.
This is Vilicus and he critiques a breastplate from another automaton but the automaton does not care and goes back to work. Vilicus scoffs and goes to inspect the other goods only to find -le gasp- they are all ghastly and all substance but no looks!
He laments at this but promises the Monarch that he will fix it. Then goes to Tlanextic to try and get help but decides against maybe angering Tlanextic and starts on his work.
Happy Voligan Week!
Also Vilicus is going to be a champion.
Vilicus starts with none Spirit. +1 for existing +1 for being the main character Not quite long enough to be a medium post.