Akin to the Obamadammerung. Provide wikipedia links for context.
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Know then, O media analyst, that the throne of Queen Gillard, the Flame-Haired and Fire-Hearted One, is challenged by usurpers. Long has she sat on that ivory throne in the depths of Kan-Ber-Ah, the mighty Ram City, built upon the ancient sheep-fields themselves in the time before the first Great War. It was Burley-Griffin that hewed it into forms pragmatic and yet unsettling; it was Burley-Griffin that tore the right of rule from Burning Mel, Marvel of the World, that golden-wraught place that still bickers with its hideous sister-citadel Sydden Eye and does nothing else save to slake its ravening thirst for the Black Drink. They say that blood flows thicker than water, but in the native Lords of Burning Mel, there flows only coffee.
Gillard, of course, is an usurper herself. It was she who wrenched the crown from the still-twitching hands of Rudd the Unspeakably Bland even as she twisted the knife to let his lifeblood spill to the chamber floor. The Wheelmaster spoke of this in his iron chariot that he drove forth with his own two massive legs, ever-treading the jewelled pedals of the Earth beneath his battle-hardened feet. He promised prosperity even as he pointed fear, promising to wreck the ships of farthest shore that made way to our sea-girt land. He pointed armoured fingers at the spilling of coffers, of the pain and anguish that our treasuries would suffer under the Queen still on the ivory throne.
Battle was drawn, but no victor came forth. In the end, it was the wild men of the places farthest from civilisation's softening touch that saved Gilliard. So often scavengers, prone to following the wills of whoever had the truest steel, the greatest utility-mount, the most fuel. For in lands to the East, men may ride in zeppelins to meet their doom or divinity, to the North, they may hurl gold and walls of fire, to the West, they may stand aside beasts of a million eyes and arms and heads.
But here, in these southern lands, where the least of animals is the deadliest, we ride on steel chariots with hearts of fire and stickers of bumper proclaiming the great name of our land. And so it was, with the aid of the wild desert-men, that Gilliard, the Flame-Haired and Fire-Hearted One, beat back the Wheel-armies of the Magister Abbot, the sinister Family Prime, and the adventurers who dared to set out alone in their own small bands against the might of the Laborious Army.
Akin to the Obamadammerung
. Provide wikipedia links for context.
—-
Know then, O media analyst, that the throne of Queen Gillard
, the Flame-Haired and Fire-Hearted One, is challenged by usurpers. Long has she sat on that ivory throne in the depths of Kan-Ber-Ah
, the mighty Ram City, built upon the ancient sheep-fields themselves in the time before the first Great War. It was Burley-Griffin
that hewed it into forms pragmatic and yet unsettling; it was Burley-Griffin that tore the right of rule from Burning Mel
, Marvel of the World, that golden-wraught place that still bickers with its hideous sister-citadel Sydden Eye
and does nothing else save to slake its ravening thirst for the Black Drink. They say that blood flows thicker than water, but in the native Lords of Burning Mel, there flows only coffee.
Gillard, of course, is an usurper herself. It was she who wrenched the crown from the still-twitching hands of Rudd the Unspeakably Bland
even as she twisted the knife to let his lifeblood spill to the chamber floor. The Wheelmaster
spoke of this in his iron chariot that he drove forth with his own two massive legs, ever-treading the jewelled pedals of the Earth beneath his battle-hardened feet. He promised prosperity even as he pointed fear, promising to wreck the ships of farthest shore that made way to our sea-girt land. He pointed armoured fingers at the spilling of coffers, of the pain and anguish that our treasuries would suffer under the Queen still on the ivory throne.
Battle was drawn, but no victor came forth. In the end, it was the wild men of the places farthest from civilisation's softening touch that saved Gilliard. So often scavengers, prone to following the wills of whoever had the truest steel, the greatest utility-mount, the most fuel. For in lands to the East, men may ride in zeppelins to meet their doom or divinity, to the North, they may hurl gold and walls of fire, to the West, they may stand aside beasts of a million eyes and arms and heads.
But here, in these southern lands, where the least of animals is the deadliest, we ride on steel chariots with hearts of fire and stickers of bumper proclaiming the great name of our land. And so it was, with the aid of the wild desert-men, that Gilliard, the Flame-Haired and Fire-Hearted One, beat back the Wheel-armies of the Magister Abbot, the sinister Family Prime
, and the adventurers who dared to set out alone in their own small bands against the might of the Laborious Army
.