Napoleon, Reccurence, Lovecraft? {Story Information!}

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The name of the game is recurrence and change.

The genres by which this is pursued are wide and overlapping, including but not limited to: horror, adventure, romance, tragedy (with all the seven deadly aspirations set between).  Certain elements in the story have been influenced by Jules Verne and the collected works of H.P. Lovecraft and it is in an extremely limited sense steampunk, though truly it is more historical fantasy than anything.

The goal of the writing is to witness a metamorphosis of personalities under an extreme variety of situations.  The story is not all going to take part in a single piece of time; it may hang in one place primarily, but my desire to bring a little perspectivism into play will not be ignored.  With the use of psychotropic drugs, (or a time machine, however the reader wishes to interpret it), story participants will occasionally be visting different themes and times, even dreams, to explore themselves as momentarily different beings and all with their captain at the helm, Napoleon I (portrayed by me; my avatar is his portrait as a young man and that which I am using for this story). 

As any Elliquiy Freudian may point out, most of my proposed adventures and reactions thereto can be simplified within a group by a dominance in carnality (not to speak technically).  My writing ability therefore should rest in my capacity to present a kind of nonstop insano-thrillride that keeps us on the edge of our computer seats with a tension that aggressive carnal behavior can only briefly sedate, never settle.  Above all I want the writing to be entertaining and inclusive for everyone.

The SL is private and open only by invitation.  I want it to move at a reasonable pace, so I can permit no more than four to join at this time.
I welcome all Private Messages, Comments, and Slander.

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The year is Alternative History (AH) 1825; the Emperor of the French and of Europe and of All Men Who Count is Napoleon Bonaparte, coronated Napoleon I. After thwarting the so called Seventh Coalition and mercilessly subjecting the British and the Prussians under his heel of French Imperial rule, Napoleonic law swarthed the land like a plague, without one single renegade.  Even the British, once their fearless and beloved Duke of Wellington was shortened by a head, raised no words to express their meager objections.   

Now ten years into his undaunted Empire, Napoleon finds the peace to be suffocating.  His eccentricity spreads unchecked across his vitals as his mood for peaceful governance becomes increasingly embittered and all but impossible to conceal from public view.  Among wild and wildly expensive parties of unparalleled extravagance (a habit which he continued even in his morbid seasons), the Emperor might adorn a pearl and opal-emblazoned evening gown of rich blue velvet or burgundy, or a floor length cape of priceless and impeccable ermine, as white as untouched snow.  In his letters Napoleon became an increasingly outspoken critic of the philosophic ideas of his age; as he was the "Enlightened Emperor", who better to speak on such subjects than he?  He wrote treatises on men, and God, and the eternal causality of all objects and subjects.

His works, widely read and guffawed, influenced little.  What was worse: Europe no longer possessed either her economic or military might to oppose his empire, making his rule unstained, unchallenged, and a perpetual flow of ennui.  He paces uneasily in his stainless comfort.  He longs for an adversary to slaughter at the bequest of French nationalism, but alack!  There are none yet standing who possess the might enough to for him to notice.  Restless, he throws himself completely into his philosophic pursuits; also studying the fundamentals of modern chemistry and becomes fascinated on a scientific article describing certain kinds of plants that could be boiled or grinded down, and send men into states of euphoric bedlam, the kind of madness that would put you in the dungeon of any civilized society.

But when the blood lust daunted, Napoleon sat, enthroned, and waited, impatient.

Waits, for what? For the first lightening to come and destroy him.

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Lightening happened that on the eve of 1825.  A grand banquet for all the privileged lords and ladies of his empire, emissaries even from the farthest Eastern regions of mongoloid kingdoms.  The Emperor had just finished listening to an overlong and boorishly prolix bit of pontification from regional lord Winkle something-or-other, and to bring the whole grandiose affair together Napoleon himself was to give the climatic evening address.

The Emperor stood.  A shitfaced kraut dared to speak out of turn, "To the Emperor! Before none other than God!"

"To God!" Napoleon fiercely cried, silencing the kraut's stupor, hand and goblet high in in the air, his proclamation silencing the room briefly before a thunderous applause.  An irritated pause settled on Napoleon's mouth and subsisted until he could begin again without shouting or ringing a goddamn bell.  When the applause finally was quiet, Napoleon spoke thus:

To God!  My dear countrymen, what we have consecrated here and to what we bow our heads in meek acquisance in the conclusion of this fine year, one-thousand, eight hundred five and twenty, what could we name this blessed triumph but our deepest and most sincere interpretation of God's will?

Applause.  Napoleon raised his hand and it was silenced.  He continued:

We have created the perfect kingdom upon the earth, one that maintains the promise of a new future while doth it yet remains true to the virtuous tales of our Grandfathers, grander Christians still were they than are we today.  But with my French empire having declared the first unified in European history, we can rejoice that we have been meek enough and indeed weak enough to inherit the earth as it was promised.

Scattered applause mired with confusion.

Indeed, we are become in every way like our Hebrew forefathers

Dead silence.

Slaves.

Napoleon chortled, and drank.  The banquet table exploded into such violent commotion that a freshly baked suffle collapsed.

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The Emperor's Proposition:  Emperor Napoleon declared the very next evening that he would be embarking on an ocean exploration towards India for botany research and perhaps document to a new race of dark skinned Carib maneaters - with luck.  What made this proclamation exceedingly queer and made all eyes, ears and newspapers in his Empire raise a unison brow in collected disbelief: that the Emperor wanted for his traveling party a very peculiar selection of men and women: as he declared, "I want to be accompanied by the greatest representatives of our great humanity, from every region of our world beneath God, the finest educated in matters of the physical world and the spirit - perhaps instruct a headhunter how to worship properly."

The compensation for travel?  Each companion selected to accompany Napoleon on his adventure would receive a sum of five thousand Napoleon coins (French standard gold bullion), the equivalent of three hundred kilograms (625lbs) of pure gold.

Suddenly there was a new kind of fervor altogether...