Author's Note: I just want to make absolutely clear what I mean by a class-swap. Essentially, all the high-born characters are now lowborn, and low-born characters are nobles or some suchlike. With that, thanks for looking in and I hope you enjoy the show!
PROLOGUE
He wasn't the best Emperor, but he was far from the worst. He was cunning, he was fierce, he loved his wars like he loved his whores and booze, and he'd inherited a navy and made it known from north of Tyvia to south of Serkonos. He was strong and hard, but he was honest, and an honest Emperor was rare to come by. Despite his scalding blood he was loved. He was feared, but he was also adored.
His casket was paraded through the streets, a chance for the people to say goodbye. the Emperor had never much cared for flowers, but he was covered with them nonetheless. The carriage pulled went so slowly that the common folk could wander close by, dropping their own wilted offerings into the swath.
There were four Overseers marching with their music boxes- Two before the casket, two behind, playing non-stop to ward off the Outsider, and any other malicious spirits of the void that sought to disrupt this sacred and sorrowful procession. Under most circumstances, the High Overseer himself would be marching at the head, alongside the Lord Protector and the Spymaster, but he had opted instead to remain at the Abbey, preparing for the final sermon and procession that would proceed the funeral pyre.
The Lord Protector, Crowley, trudged dourly beside the Spymaster, his arm linked around hers in a gingerly fashion. It seemed almost as though he were trying to hide behind the doddering old women. It did not become a Lord Protector to outlive his charge, no matter what the circumstances of death were.
It was known that neither the former Emperor nor his Protector were particularly fond of the old Spymaster. She was practically a relic, having served under two Emperor's now, soon perhaps a third. The age had gone to her head. She was humming away as she tottered on, although it was hardly audible over the mathematical music the Overseers churned out. Vera Moray occasionally waved at the crowd, as though oblivious to the circumstances of the march.
Behind the casket was a small entourage of the Emperor's closest friends and confidants, including the Royal Physician, who looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else. Of course, Piero Joplin gave that impression any time he came out in public. He was a whiny, skittish sort of man and one couldn't help but wonder how anyone with as few social skills as he managed to land a position of such high regard.
It was well past noon by the time the casket made its way to Holgar Street. The High Overseer spoke some words of comfort, and reminded people to remain faithful to the strictures.
It was fitting, in a way, that the Emperor wore a naval uniform instead of the traditional Emperor's garb. It was his legacy, after all. It was what he'd be known for- the slack-jawed lord of the sea, cunning and brutish, and maybe not always wise, but honest, and fair, and worthy of his blood.
If he'd had any heirs, the shadows he cast would've been long indeed.