Ceveut, the 5th of Gerna 1200 AU - 05/03/1200

“Ye ol city of Splendors, gleaming towers of white gold,
kissed by the sun as it smiles upon ye from skies above,
sit here the childern of the phoenix, adorned in silks of silver,
look now beyond your walls and know, all that you see you rule,
from east to west, south and north united are the children of the skies.
Gathered under wings on high, shall they and all their kin live and prosper under the sun.”
-Verse 123 of 'The Book of Holies'

The sun gleamed down upon the marble white walls and high buildings, washing them in its blessed light. The rays of Kammeth seemed to glisten upon the City of The Phoenix in such a way as to cause it to appear as if molded from pearl gold. High spires of snow white had cast long shadows under the risen sun though no structure was so majestic as the Great High Tower of the Phoenix, built from the Palace of the same name. That great structure of stunning beauty could be seen clearly even from miles beyond the cities walls. So that even ships arriving from sea traveling through the Golden Gulf would see them long before docking. Banners of all golden hue with the most spectacular designs adorned these great and lofty structures, rising high into the heavens as if to touch the gods who the people of this great city worshiped reverently. The mighty battlements and guard towers were as much a work of art as the rest of the city, revealing the tilrinics love for architecture given a poet's touch. They stood sentinel against the world, as if in open challenge to all, daring them to assault its formidable defenses. Three such rings of fortifications did circle inward toward the seat of power. Only once had the first wall ever been breached since the cities construction. And that had been all the way back in The Great Drathii War.

Still the houses within surely did not disappoint, as much sculptures of artwork as they were structures of necessity. Statues lined many streets, the rare fountain strategically placed with gardens of roses and other sweet smelling flowers. Flags lined the streets as long steamers, the streets themselves meticulously clean cobblestones, continuously tended to by dung farmers. In the heart of a square near the cities north entrance stood the proud sculpture of Valorin Tallurian, the Vael of the Blood and one of the great heroes of the Battle of Blood Tears. The success of which had been the decisive victory in that terrible war.

In the high spire of the Phoenix Tower Shamgar Valarien sat back in his polished oak wood chair behind his equally well made desk. He sighed, the tobacco pipe in his left hand still burning as he took this moment to relax. He had been swamped with official edicts and paperwork ever since his brother had passed away one week ago. Throwing the realm into temporary chaos. He did not see it becoming stable any time in the near future until someone sat upon the gilded throne once more. He had already sent ravens to every Arch Elector four days prior to attend the election to come. Soon every High House would be arriving from every corner of the Empire. Steps had already been taken for the preparations, even the Imperial Navy had been stepped up to ensure safe passage across the seas.

Shamgar shifted in his seat as he stooped forward to reread a letter recently sent from the Fifth Regiment stationed in the north. Another request for reinforcements- he had guessed that before even opening it. It was a wonder they had managed to hold something resembling stability given their diminished resources. Shamgar wished his brother had not neglected the north provinces so long, spending the Imperial coffers largely on new ships to venture out to new uncharted lands. Shamgar used his free right hand to rub the temple of his forehead as another headache had begun to set in.

A knock on the door broke him from his reverie, “come in.” he responded in a tired but stern voice.

The door to the small packed office was opened and in stepped Nirlowyn Puronus, one of his aides or a scribe when the need arose. The young man was a fresh faced youth who often stumbled over his words. He knew his letters well at least. He bowed his head in apology before saying, “Milord, s-sorry for disturbing you, b-but the ex-execution will be starting soon.”

Shamgar tapped his pipe into the ashtray on his desk, “I see, thank you for the reminder,”

Nirlowyn nodded, then hesitated for a moment, “Y-you’re not going?”

Shamgar gave a grim half-smile, “An unnecessary distraction, besides, if I know my nephew as much as I think I do. There will be enough Valareins attending as it is…”



“-Here stands accused and damned of desertion, and causation of the deaths of Duke Carles Valarien, his Officer and Son Yarlo Valarien, and the sum lives of ten thousand loyal soldiers!”

A crier hawked, his dim, beady eyes reading off of a rolled parchment. The sun beat down on his bald head as he motioned to a ragged man who stood with a thick rope around his neck and the splintering platform of a gallows underneath his calloused feet and blackened toes.

A crowd had grown around the spectacle of the public execution, many angry faces scowled at the man in hatred and anger. Five years the many people of the Ethica Empire had waited for something to be done about the great defeat that cryptically took place in the mysterious webbed woods of the north, just outside of imperial providence.

Some faces were soft, those who hadn’t lost a brother, or father, uncle or son in the costly battle. They looked at the man who was given such a traitorous title as he stood hunched and broken under the arm of the gnoose with compassion, how could such a single and destroyed figure be the monster to hold the mantle of the cause of the destruction?

Once the skin of the accused may had been very well the porcelain fabric of youth, eager to fight for his banner, but now it was cracked, tanned, dirty and scarred with the pains of failure. What could have been beautiful coal colored hair was a nest of twigs and muck, tangled and covering all but his cheeks and eyes, so colorless and empty. He was no longer an Imperial soldier, and now with his crimes, he was no longer even an Imperial in the eyes of his kin and country.

With a deft nod from the hooded executioner who stood by the wooden lever that held the fate of the deserter, the crier turned to his prey, his entertainment for the aggressive crowd, “Son of no country, deserter of all that is good, do you have any final words?”

The broken man who stood under the beating sun barely turned his grizzled chin to the fanciful crier, an audible hot snort breaking from wide nostrils. The crier reeled back a step, as if caught off guard by a sudden stench, he then turned to the executioner and waved his hand for the hooded statesman to pull the crank.

“PARDON!” A sudden masculine voice broke from the crowd, and the executioner stayed his hand, everyone knew that voice.

The crier frantically waved his arms to shoo the executioner away from the lever as the crowd parted. A breeze of grumbles and rumors from the crowd rumbled softly as Grevis Valarien, son of Carles, younger brother and shadow of Yarlo Valarien, quickly hopped up the platform and beside the crier.

Grevis wore the silk of nobility and the scowl of a dead man’s brother. Quickly behind him, a young woman a few years younger than the young man scrambled to stand behind him, fighting a cumbersome dress. Isa Valarien, cousin to the widowed family straightened herself, patting down chestnut hair and sharpening her bright eyes on the crier.

The duo caused a hush to fall over the crowd as the pair of imperial family members, ranked the highest in terms of nobility, talked quietly with the crier. Razor sharp words spilled quietly from Grevis’ mouth and the crier receded backwards with each punctuation. Eventually, Isa had gained control of the conversation, while the crowd watched confused.

With a slow turn, the crier approached the edge of the platform, conducting the audience’s view with a small flourish.

“Lord Grevis Valarien wishes to conduct questioning on the deserter, for the greater good of the Imperial way and to close his rights to knowing the demise of his family, we will reconvene in two hours,” The crier bowed lowly.

A great utterance erupted from the crowd, some disappointed, some frustrated, some secretly glad they didn’t witness the execution. As the audience dispersed, Grevis waved off their remarks with an idle hand, his dark eyes stuck on the ragged man who stood still before him.

“Should we take him inside and bath him before you ask him questions?” Isa asked meekly, attempting to avoid the blind wrath that was brewing inside her cousin.

“He is filthy inside and out, no bath will change his choice,” Grevis snapped, avoiding the purpose of Isa’s question. Isa pursed her lips and crossed thin arms over her chest.

“What do you know?” Grevis directed his voice to the roped man.

“That I’m thirsty,” Croaked the dusty man, dirt pouring from his beard as his chin bobbled.

“Bastard!” Grevis shouted, forcing Isa to jump and grab ahold of his wrist.

“You’re being hot headed.”

“Shut up -- Tell me what happened!” Grevis yanked, years of depression boiling into anger.

“Very well,” The scratchy voice ribbited, “here is what I saw, but it won’t comfort you.”

“I want closure, the truth!”

“I don’t know about closure, but here is the truth.”
Sullen eyes met Grevis’ raging orbs and quickly the roped deserter was suddenly eager, yet pained to confess the sins of the Battle of Webwood forest. The words were quick to tell of the eager march, the happy songs of the soldiers, and how auspicious the whole event started out. It wasn’t until the actual description of the battle did the faint smirk of nostalgia suddenly fade away from the deserters chapped lips that had formed sometime during the story.

“We were marching, quietly, on guard. All of us felt invincible really, I mean, we had the two greatest military leaders of the time, one in the front, one in the middle. I myself was right behind Old Duke himself, or well… a few rows behind I should say. The nobles rode their horses in the woods, but not Duke or Yarlo, they were smart. Horses are a bad idea in the woods, especially the webbed one.

Either way it was not a bad march, uneasy, but we felt safe. We had the manpower, and we had the brains, and the best damn officers around. The woods smelled funny, though. Instead of the honey and sap that was so thick around the entrance to this damned place, it smelt of sulfur, of brimstone. It spooked the noble horses now and again when a winding guts broke through the sickly, twisted trees.

It was hard to hear over the marching metal, you see, but the sound was not mistakable. Berserkers of the north came out of nowhere, screaming wildly, but not without tact. They cut our line in half… I remember the flames that broke me off from the Duke’s company, they were so high… I couldn’t jump them.”

The deserter paused, and Grevis shook the man’s shoulder roughly, but the deserter only hung his head.

“More!”

“Grevis please, look at him-”

“Isa! Be quiet!”

“Leave the lady alone,” the grizzled man croaked, “there is more.”

Grevis leaned in close as the man continued to weave his story into the pairs minds.

“Immediately the shouting began, metal rang, and my entire body vibrated with adrenaline. Ever been in combat? Real combat? You can feel everyone’s collective heartbeat, like some sick drum in your head and soul. You can feel it when a heartbeat stops, it’s like your own quitting on you. Metal still shrieks in your head afterwards, and the blood curdling screams of the man you cheered with days before never leaves your mind.

One voice though, one voice rang above all the others. I could hear it despite the turmoil of the battle. I could almost see him through the flames. DON’T BACK DOWN… STAND… HOLD! HOLD! Yarlo was as calm as ever, and his orders were like a father’s hand on a fevered head. I could hear the soldiers standing firm on the other side of the flames, as if Yarlo’s presence added strength to their defense. Carles had fallen though, I could feel it, it was in Yarlo’s voice.

Carles column collapsed soon after, but I heard Yarlo still fighting. They were getting pushed into the forest, away from the divide. My leaderless column scattered after some harassment. I was struck many times, but my mail never gave out. My blade was flat and dull with the tip clean off by time I got out of there. I had to run, we all did. If we stood together like Yarlo at the beginning, maybe we wouldn’t have too, but we didn’t.

I knew why we had to stay together, they were trying to break us up and put us into the woods, where we would be easily slaughtered. That’s just what they did with my column. A man by the name of Peter Marshal managed to stick with me, but he too eventually disappeared into the woods in his own direction. I was considered lucky I suppose, because I found myself lost in the woods with my head still attached, but I considered it unlucky.

I spent a countless time surviving there, and even longer trying to find home. Alas, I gave up the idea of home as soon as I didn’t die by my fallen comrades, there is no home for a man like me. There is no peace for anyone who’s tasted the blood that mists through the air in the crudest of battles. I don’t know what country is, I don’t know what calm is… it never ends.”

“What of Yarlo?” Grevis persisted anxiously.

“I don’t know… I was forced in the opposite direction from his column,” the roped man quietly responded.

Grevis’ face twisted as he tried to hold back his disappointment. Years of wondering, of questioning, and still no relief, “Wha.. You- Bastard! Rope him! Hang him!”

“Cousin please!” Isa snapped.

The deserter seemed to hang his head in acceptance, perhaps welcoming the penalty as the cousins started to argue. Grevis snapped back at Isa harshly, his angered voice not making any real words to be deciphered. Isa huffed in offense and promptly slapped Grevis across the face with a whack that caused the roped man’s head to shoot back to attention.

The red hand print glowed on Grevis’ fuming face, and as quick as lightening his trained and worked arm swung in retaliation. Isa spun slightly on her heel as her cousin’s palm connected loudly against her cheek, knocking her off her balance. The calloused hand of the deserter attempted to catch her as she fell by him, but the rope kept him close to the stalk of the gallow and she fell hard onto the rough platform.
The grains of the wood splintered and scratched her face from the force of the fall, and she whimpered softly from the surprising amount of pain on her right arm, which she had fallen on. Grevis’ face sank slightly in shock of his own strength, and from the judging stare from the sullen criminal on the rope. As sudden as his own attack however, a thick fist suddenly hooked from out of sight and landed squarely on the tip of Grevis’ nose, popping it into a burst of blood and knocking him onto his butt.

In front of him stood the tan skinned Gowa Valarien, her dark pretty face angry, her stance protective, and her grey Valarien eyes sparkling with innate righteousness that she so often practiced in the art of fighting. She wore her training clothes, which clung tight to her slim yet athletic figure, damp with sweat, and a blade dangled from her hip threateningly.

“You touch one of our cousin’s again, and that’ll be my blade splitting your stubborn nose,” Gowa hissed.

“Scamper away, lizard,” Gowa waved her hands, and Grevis didn’t wait long to listen to her command, as he scurried away from his mighty cousin, daughter of his uncle Shamgar.

Gowa kneeled, her high leather boots crunching from the strain as she patted Isa’s messy hair, “do you need help getting home?” She whispered in a sweet contrast to her earlier tone.

Isa turned onto her back and looked up at Gowa, “I’m fine, I just sprained my arm.” the young woman gave a beaming smile of courage.

Gowa smiled back, “well get it tended to quickly, we can’t be losing our brave kin to bad arms, or we will be stuck with relying on Grevis.”

“Gowa,” Isa sat up, “could we pardon this man?” Her good arm quickly fingered out the obvious dirty man standing watch over the pair.

Gowa turned her head and brushed a long jet black hair from her face to better observe the mess of soldier and earth.

“I heard the news of your damnation,” Gowa said calmly to the man, “what is your name soldier?”

A cracking croak responded softly, “Furnos… Furnos Lamillur.”

“You are free, Furnos Lamillur,” Gowa smiled.

“Are you sure?” Furnos asked pessimistically as Gowa loosened his gnoose.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Gowa asked politely as she slipped the rope off of his muscled neck.
“Because there are more things than ropes and cages that can bind a man down,” Furnos turned to his savior and a small curve that was almost a smile appeared behind his beard, “but thank you, my Lady.”

“Cryptic, yet grateful,” Gowa nodded, “at least, you are not Grevis.”

“He just wants his brother back, he loved him so much,” Isa defended.

“He should honor the memory, rather than beat on smaller foes,” Gowa looked over to Furnos, expecting support, but the man remained silent.

“No opinion?” Gowa asked suddenly.

“As a man who just had a rope on his neck, I’d prefer not to provoke a fresh one from you, or any one of your family members.”

A sweet, song bird like laugh chirped from Gowa’s throat and she shook her head, “come, Furnos, let’s freshen up both you and your hero. You two must be starving, I know I am.”

Isa happily walked beside Gowa as the taller woman began to lead the limping Furnos towards a civil place to eat and freshen up. Her mouth moved with questions, and each Furnos answered quickly, with slightly interruptions at times from a curious Isa.



Ralltene carefully buttoned up his clean cotton shirt as he mentally shook the hooks of sleep from his mind. Looking back at his reflection in the mirror as he did he noted the hints of dark lines under his eyes and sighed. He had stayed up far later than he normally would have liked. Still the company had been more than pleasant. In the bed behind him, a feminine figure stirred. Noticing this Ralltene could not hide a smile that crept to his lips as his thoughts fell toward the previous night. No, he would not regret burning the night oil for so long.

He took a moment to regard the man looking back at him from within the mirror. His dark hair now combed and proper, clean-shaven save for a carefully trimmed mustache. His tan skin and fine features were clearly tilrin. But his dark silver eyes clearly revealed his Valarien blood.

He returned his attention to his morning preparations. He had recently arrived back within the walls of the imperial capital of Lalrial. Having recently returned from his stay in Violette a messenger had quickly found him when he had come to check on his holding within the city itself. The note had been a missive from Allianna Valarien, his older sister, inviting him to a casual visit. No doubt it would revolve around their father's death and the vacant throne. Ralltene personally still hoped the coming election would not sully their own personal relationships.

Kammeth’s breath that would likely be too much to ask for given the history of past elections. He had always been on rather a good standing with his older sister. Despite having seen little of each other for some years now. Still they had gotten along well enough, which was more than he could say for his brother Jakinius who had never taken much interest in the dealings of his younger brother. Even as children Jakinius was often too busy with his trainers.

After each of them had moved on to their own goals Ralltene had been the only one to keep in contact with their father. His death had likely hit him the hardest. He had taken up with his bad habit of drinking upon hearing the news that fateful day. Ralltene had always been closest to his old man. He imagined it was because both shared that lust for wonder. To see all this world had to offer before they passed from it. They had merely went about those goals in very different ways.

A few minutes later Ralltene exited the Highdawn inn. One of the many such establishments he owned personally. He had developed a habit of staying under their roofs rather than within the palace proper long ago. At least, no one would find it strange he would be leaving one this early in the day. His marriage to Duchess Victoria Gracieux had not been his choice, but he had lived in the empire and dealt with its internal politics long enough to know that personal desire came second to that of the realm or one's family. Both had much to gain from the marriage of houses. He also did not fool enough to think Victoria would not suspect his extramarital affair.

However, the simple policy of ignorance gave both parties a chance to to save face. As he walked through the cobbled streets even now growing busy from foot traffic his mind went to the Duchess; currently staying within the palace proper. He had left after revealing plans to Victoria of meeting with some of his old merchant contacts to prepare for the election. Which had at least been half true.

He soon arrived at the palace's gates, the pearl white iron criss-crossing into intricate designs. After revealing who he was to the imperial guards stationed there, he made his way into the palace itself. A few flight of stairs later he arrived at a small dining chamber for an important guest of the emperor. The room was unsurprisingly well furnished, possessing a few paintings, one of which depicted King Cevest Seval during The Battle of Kawachian Straits waters against the dreaded Black Fleet of the west. The far wall being flanked by glass windows that allowed the late morning sunlight to filter through.

In one velvet cushioned chair sat Allianna. Her red dress sparkled in the sunlight that speared through agape purple curtains, catching the gold that was embroidered into her fine gown. Accustom to the latest fashion, it tightened around her waist, and loosened around her feminine shoulders and hips, flaring at her elbows to give way for her porcelain arms to cross across her lap. A look of boredom lingered on her scarlet lips, and her eyelids drooped impatiently over silvery eyes.

At the sound of Ralltene’s step, her look of discontent sank behind a sudden glow, and an alluring smile as she rose to her feet, and quickly made her way over to her little brother. Quickly she clasped her slim hands around his and pulled him in gently for a quick hug.

“Ralltene, it is unlike you to keep me waiting for so long, I almost started to worry!” She leaned back to look at her brother’s face and her smile dimmed to a parsed line.

“Perhaps, I wasn’t waiting too long, it’s been hard lately. You know,” her voice lost its cheer.

Returning the hug with genuine compassion Ralltene gave a grim nod of understanding, “Recent days have been hard on us all I’m sure. I’m glad to see you in good health - has word been sent to Jakinius in the north?”

“Yes,” Allianna bit her lip, “but I’m also afraid he might be late, being so far north.”

Allianna took a step back from Ralltene and a genuine look of worry crossed her face, crinkling her brow.

“I’m afraid, Rally. Growing up we heard the terrible stories of these elections in the past. Our own father’s was one of pure luck, in that no sibling were killed. I’m afraid we might be at each other's throats at some point if we don’t approach this correctly and thoughtfully. We need to talk before things get out of hand.”

A grim almost resigned look came over Ralltene, “Yes I have had those exact fears as well.” he paused a moment as he ran the side of his thumb through his mustache. “When brother comes, I want us all to vow we will not let this throne divide us or turn us against each other. Regardless of who wins. To sit on the throne having alienated either one of you would make any victory to bitter to drink.”

“I agree,” Allianna nodded quickly, taking her brother’s hand, “I’m worried though. Our brother, he was always a little distant from us, having trained in the foreign lands. You and I always saw eye to eye, but he was always out being the hero while we culminated our lands, and wealth as it were.”

“You wouldn’t hate me if I tried to win the mantle of Empress, would you?” Allianna asked suddenly.
“Hate you? Heavens no,” Ralltene shook his head at that notion. “It is your right after all. I would not hate you for trying any more than I could hate a bird for trying to learn to fly.”

“That said,” he paused for a moment in thought, “I want you to know I will be placing forth my name for candidacy. I know father would not wish us at our throats. But I must do what I believe is right in my heart.”

“That’s fine,” Allianna smiled brightly, her eyes crinkling. She suddenly added thoughtfully, “Although that seems like a waste of your natural talent.”

Ralltene raised an eyebrow at that, “really? How so?”

Allianna’s smile wavered for a second, as if not expecting to answer that question, “well, Rally, of course, you know that you are an amazing man of coin and commerce. The Emperor is usually so bogged down so many many other tasks, such a skill is hardly flexed and put to the treasurer. I just.. you know… Felt like you were too great to bury such an attribute for others to do it for you. I don’t know, does this make sense?”

"I understand," Ralltene began, "But...I have learned a great deal more than you might guess in my time traveling the empire. I've traveled to nearly every part of this great empire. I’ve seen its hardships and troubles first hand. You say my talents would be wasted upon the throne. No sister I truly believe I have seen enough of this land know what needs to be done."

“This is what I was worried about,” Allianna folded her hands away from Ralltene meekly. Allianna looked at him questionably, “all three of us are going to be running, and it’s just… gah.”

Seemingly defeated, Allianna lets her knees buckle as she plopped into a nearby chair. She let her elbows fall between her knees as she huffed sadly, “it’s going to cause problems, and I mean… not even including what our cousins might do!”

“I understand your fears, dear sister,” Ralltene then added as he took a seat across from his Allianna, “but we must at times play the hand fate has dealt us. Trust me when I say I wish it could be different.”

He sighed, “what have you heard from our cousins on the matter? I have been overlong from the capital and my ears would be glad for any news.”

“Grevis is still on his witch hunt, Shamgar’s children are getting brave in the courts, I was hoping my siblings and I would unify before we were undermined by fate. I’ve been the only one in the courts representing our father, the only one, for years! I don’t despise his trips, but it gave me a lot of experience in matters of the intrigue of the courts. So you can imagine how happy I was hearing of your return, and you can understand my sudden heartbreak at the news that I’ll be left alone again to keep things in order.”

Ralltene sat back in his chair, “In truth I had hoped you would aid me in the election,” he balancing his fingers together. “I more than anyone knows of your work here in the Capital. However, few of the Arch Electors are nearly as savvy to that knowledge or appreciate it - I’ve met with nearly all of them at one point. They know me and I dare say gathering support would not be a difficult task. You are absolutely correct we would stand a better chance together than apart. The Arch Electors want a face they recognize and someone they know will stand for their interest. I could be that face Allianna and with your help we could avoid a dozen family members squabbling after father's throne!”

“And what of after the election? Are you going to return to your adventures and leave us with all the work, like father?” Allianna’s face twisted.

“Of course not sister, I might have shared father's wanderlust at one point but I have plans for the Empire that will make it as great as it was always meant to be. You won’t be left alone with the brunt of the work again.” He sat forward with an almost sad look in his eyes. “Please Ali, I know together we could make this nation great again.”

“Fine,” Allianna surrendered, throwing her hands in the air, “or at least maybe… I need to think about this.”

Ralltene nodded understandably, “Absolutely, think on the matter and know I will accept any decision you make.” He stood straighter. “But if you will excuse me dear sister, I best check on my wife and see how she is settling within the Palace. The last time a servant brought her the wrong desert and she was none to please. ”



Frealaf glanced up at the trees again, and almost stumbled as he ran into a snow-covered rock. Regaining his balance he concentrated on running. He took a deep breath with each stride, his long loping steps taking him effortlessly down the mountainside. He heard a keening howl behind him and risked another look over his shoulder.

There, just coming out of the trees, he saw his pursuer. It was easily twice as tall as a man, and its thick shaggy fur trailed behind it as it bounded through the snow drifts. It had been steadily gaining on Frealaf for the past hour, and he knew he would not be able to outdistance it. Leaping a few feet into a crevasse, Frealaf changed course and headed west, towards the Frostflood, which cascaded down the valley five hundred paces to his left. Hoping to mask his scent in the fast flowing waters, Frealaf spurred himself to a burst of speed and sprinted for the icy river.

Frealaf then saw another Ice Troll closing in from the other side of the river. Almost wild with fear he swerved down hill again and sprawled headlong in the snow as his foot touched a patch of ice. The Ice Troll that he had originally been fleeing from was now only a hundred paces away, and he could see its rank breath issuing from its mouth in blasts of vapor. The smell of the creature drifted downwind and Fealaf gagged. Fighting nausea he got up and pulled his small hunting spear from its strap on his back. Taking this in his right hand he stood, feet shoulder width apart, and faced the onrushing creature. When it crouched for its killing leap ten paces away Frealaf hurled the spear. As if guided by Olric’s hand it flew true, straight into the creature's open mouth. The barbed head protruded from the back of its skull as it crashed to the ground in front of him.

Hearing a bellow Frealaf turned to see the other Ice Troll bearing down on him. He leaped to the fresh corpse and tugged at the spear. It was stuck firm and Frealaf knew he wouldn't be able to free it in time. Whirling around once more he set off running again. There was a small copse of trees, two hundred paces down the valley, and Frealaf headed for this somewhat temporary sanctuary. Reaching the trees Frealaf dived in and grabbed a branch. Swinging himself up with ease, he crouched next to the trunk, waiting for the Ice Troll. It was a few heartbeats and then the ragged beast crashed into the copse and stood below him sniffing the air.

Drawing a long hunting knife from his belt, Frealaf stood up on the branch. When the creature turned away from him and bent to sniff the ground he dropped onto its back. Bringing his arm round he plunged his knife into its eye. The Ice Troll threw him to the ground and reared up above him.

The creature took a step towards him and then staggered. As its slow nervous system registered the knife sticking from its eye it bellowed with pain and slowed. When it realized how fatal the injury was it tumbled to the snow, almost crushing Frealaf. Sighing with relief Frealaf retrieved his knife and started to skin the body. He would bring it back to his tribe as proof of his success. If Ymir favored him he would be first to return successful and win the right to lead his tribe on their raid to the south-lands. The Long Night, after all, was fast approaching...

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In the shadow of the new imperial election tensions were brewing as rulers across the realm began to debate of how to approach a decision before they had even left for the imperial capital. The Kingdom of Xandria was no different as much was clear as distorted interjections and debates flooded the chambers of the high council in Ebonheart Keep. The question of who should rule and direct the empire as it should be was a peculiar one; there were many options. However, a different type of argument had begun elsewhere in the castle as much was clear as the two eldest sons of King Alexander III Valian began a debate of their own; one completely separate from what was going on in the council chambers.

In the castle courtyard, Alexander IV Valian spoke his points in-between the swing of his sword against a stock training dummy. His brother, William Valian, refused to accept Alexander’s revelation to him only moments prior.

“Are you sure?” The voice of William Valian stood in disbelief in the royal courtyard (though it my as well had been a royal courtyard & target range) as he looked at his elder brother, the heir to the throne of the kingdom.

“I’m twenty-eight years past my nameday, brother. If I’m going to see any real military experience I could use as a ruler I need to join the imperial banners against the barbarians in the far north. I cannot stay here fighting knarls and kobolds, I have seen enough… learned enough.” Alexander sighed as he swung his longsword one last time into the training dummy that was in front of him. He paused for a second before he turned his head to look at his younger brother. “The only thing I will learn by staying here is how to get fat and bored. Father may have a shit leg and a broken heart, but he isn’t on his way out just yet.”

Was his brother serious? Fighting barbarians and risking his life for the sake of his own amusement? His own experience? He was a fool not to know that the life expectancy rate was low as low could get for others who followed this path. The tales of young men going to fight in the far north had basically descended into horror stories— and the few that actually did survive had either gone mad from the experience or lost their limbs to the frozen plague that was the harsh weather that resided there. It was suicide.

“That is a death sentence. Father won’t approve.”

Alexander shook his head, “Father respects my decisions as my own. Not to mention he is too preoccupied with other things to notice.”

William hated to admit it, but his brother was right in that way. Their father, King Alexander III, had been in a constant depression for the last twelve years and had gone through hobby to hobby, philosophy to philosophy, distraction to distraction all to find something that would take his attention away from his deep sadness; a sadness that some had come to call “The Long Sadness” to describe the ridiculous and long drawn out anxiety that the king held and couldn’t get away from. Both Alexander IV and William had for some time realized that their father had descended into a sort of madness but didn’t feel he was inept to rule so didn’t bring it up at high council meetings.

“Duncan Cragmore agrees with me.”

The mention of Benjamin’s pig-headed imbecile of a brother caused William some discomfort. Had Alexander been convinced by Duncan that this crusade was in their best interest as warriors? If so, Alexander couldn’t have been so stupid that he could be convinced so easily.

William groaned, “Duncan Cragmore is a psychopath.”

The crown prince chuckled as a smirk curled on his lips. What his brother was saying was true but it took someone like Duncan to see the far north as an opportunity and look at it from a warrior’s angle and not a paranoid son of a lord. If he perished in the north he would perish in the north— it wasn’t like his father was short on heirs if he ended up on the end of a nordheim’s blade. Though he had absolutely no intention to die. There were many reasons why Alexander had made up his mind on his expedition to the far north and not all of them were so vain and foolish as he made it seem. The barbarians were becoming a exponentially larger problem as the years dragged on and many of them still raided southern shores. He had to see it with his own eyes.

“What about Adelheid?”

Alexander’s expression changed as his brother brought up his wife of fourteen months. It was true that he had not mentioned the prospect to her yet and between the anxieties between Adelheid adapting to a new home and the lack of an heir procured between them, it probably would not be received very well. Tough as it was to say, he would tell her of his intentions whether she liked them or not.

“I have made up my mind. She will respect that.”

William rose his hands in defeat. “My brother the fool. And people called me The Jester Prince. I hope you know what you’re doing, Alex.”

Alexander nodded, “I do not intend to die, if that is what you are inferring.”

“I know that… it’s just…” William looked down at the ground for a minute as he tried to collect his thoughts. “...isn’t it reckless to go to the far north to fight the nordheim, threat or not? You’re the heir of the throne. You shouldn’t be even consider this, you should be focusing on procuring a child with Adelheid and making worth of your time here...”

Alexander laughed, “Other second-born’s would be thrilled about their elder sibling’s absence and possible death yet here you are dreading it. I’m sure Benjamin Cragmore is thrilled about his brother leaving. It’s very interesting how different you are, William.”

“I suppose it isn’t an ordinary behavior.”

Alexander wasn’t wrong, that much was for sure. Since their mother’s death twelve years ago, William had decided that it would be his mission to live up to her standards and expectations of him. This led to William taking a huge interest in the more political nature of things since his brother by comparison was a bit more a brute; a soldier. He would need a strong diplomat and steward when he finally became king— at least that’s how William looked at it. There was nothing wrong with being the future King of Xandria’s chancellor or ambassador; a position he had resigned himself too years ago when he started his advanced studies in politics, diplomacy, and political history.

The sword-toting prince nodded, “Indeed. But don’t you worry about me, I’m going to the north in good company and I don’t just mean Duncan Cragmore but also plenty lesser nobility willing to prove themselves.”

“I suppose you can be very convincing when you have a point.”

“Right. Now, if you excuse me… I have to tell father and the high council about my intentions. I leave my responsibilities in your hands.”

William nearly retorted with a sarcastic ‘good luck with that’ but felt it unnecessarily condescending at the moment. Alexander may have been sure of himself, but he had always had a conviction that was far more relentless than his own.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that, Aristal.” William commented as he ran his right hand through his hair in frustration.

The long cool woman looked up from her hands, that she had sunken focus into as soon as the arguing started. Her eyes darted wildly, catching her up from the conversation she had retreated from. She bit her pink lower lip in thought before shaking her head, “It’s okay, such is life I suppose.”

Although their marriage had be recent, the two had always shared the experience of being the lesser, younger members of a royal family. William provided a certain bark in his voice that Aristal had lacked throughout a lifetime of patronizing rumors about her being a true orphan, only favored by her adoptive father rather than begat.

“William,” She started in her soft voice, her mind immediately jumping to the people of this foreign land she married into, finding the soft reserve of emotions she carried for them, “if your brother is going away, and the arch-electors called for voting, who is going to look after the land?”

William took another breath, “If my brother gets his way? I suppose the responsibility will fall to me when my father goes off to the congregation at the capital.”

The idea that William could possibly have the option of ruling was one he hadn’t thought about. He had always had simple and more supportive aspirations and here came the thought that he might have to sit in the throne for a brief period and dish out the king’s justice. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do if it did turn out like it was expected to. He hadn’t studied rulership, criminal law, or anything of the sort. Perhaps taking a backseat was counterintuitive after all.

“Unless he decides to take me with him. In that case the responsibility of watching over Xandria would fall to Lucius.”

Aristal shifted slightly in her spot, tugging nervously on the green sleeve of her dress in thought, “If you go to the capital, would I be coming?”

“Unless you don’t want to, in this completely hypothetical scenario, yes you would.” William let out a nervous chuckle as he looked at her curiously. “Are you uncomfortable with going there still? The capital?”

“Years of discrimination hardly goes away, even when you learn a weapon or read some books, William.” Aristal defensively crossed her arms, trying to hide her embarrassment.

“Aristal—” He paused as he placed his hand on her shoulder, “—don’t worry about it. If we pray really hard they’ll all go away. At least that’s what the priests tell me.”

Aristal squirmed under his hand, “Maybe. They wouldn’t have to go away if they just treated me like their sister instead of some stranger. Yarlo was nice to me, why couldn't the rest? Am I ugly? Do I sound bad? Do I smell? I bathed!”

“Maybe you used the wrong soap? Imperials are finicky like that.” William laughed, “I really don’t know why they act as they do, but it is unbecoming and sinful. If the gods are real then Helstar will come for them soon— with the big hammer they say he has.”

“Well he is going to need an even bigger hammer for the whole family,” Aristal let a flash of a pearly smile break her pout.

“He’s got a really big hammer. We have a big statue of it—” He paused as he walked over to the stone balcony that oversaw the city below and the large island on Ebon Lake in the distance. The statue of Helstar was huge, so huge they could even see it from miles away; a fact that had always been one of the great wonders of the ancient Xandrian builders. Even Lalaifia was impressed when Ixyan displayed it to his newfound friend and ally back during the unification. “—right over there, actually.”

Aristal looked over her shoulder to the sight of a massive stone hammer in the blue distance, a look of stupidity crossing her face, “How did I never notice this before?”

“It is a pretty colossal thing.” William replied, “What do—”

“You don’t think my family has the right to call me names do you?” Aristal surrendered her insecurity.

William sighed. This again.

“I don’t think I’ve ever read anywhere in the religious tenets that they forced down our throats to ‘not call other people names’, to be honest. There’s ‘do not lie in bed with the same sex or face judgement’ but not calling other people names.” William joked before shaking his head. Whilst he hoped that his humor would redirect her mood, he knew his newfound wife well given their meeting some years back when she found herself sent to Xandria to be educated through his father’s tutelage. But she lived far more in the past then his sister, Imara, did. It was hard to break her of that.

“The hatred you suffered was and is deplorable, but the only way for it not to affect you, is to refuse to let it be a weapon against you. Don’t sink the knife deeper than it already has been set.” He added as his brows narrowed.

Aristal reached out and rubbed William’s brow, “Relax, you’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“Not wrinkles! How will anybody take me seriously with wrinkles?!”

“You tell me, Jester Prince.”

“Haven’t heard that one in awhile.” He chuckled. “Anyway, we won’t know if we have to go to the imperial capital or not until my father makes his decision.”

“I’ll await the word then.” Aristal nodded.

The first rays of the morning sun peppered Edgar through the colored glass window, painting him a hazy gold. Muffled snoring trickled from under his pillow, which was plastered over his face. For all his discipline, he was just the opposite of a morning person. In his youth, it took the might of the royal servant staff to rouse him from his slumber. Eight years of marriage helped matters only slightly.

Softly beside the bed, the lithe yet unmistakable figure of a curved woman snuck silently in a thin nightgown. Her fingers grasped a pewter platter tightly, and despite her bouncing steps over to her husband’s side, the small cup of golden liquid in the center was kept from spilling.

Slowly she placed the serving tray upon the nightstand close to Edgar. Kneeling beside his head she lifted the pillow with one hand, and used the other to flick the tip of his nose.

“Pssssst!” a playful voice mirthed past a pink vulpine grin.

Lazily, the heir of House Duvard batted an eye, and the smiling face of his wife, Sophsi Valarien, greeted his vision. He smiled back, but all that came from his lips was an unintelligible groan.

“Aw, nasty,” Sophsi squinted catlike eyes of emerald and waved the air from her face, causing her golden hair to flail, “your morning breath is deplorable.”

Quickly she cupped the drink from the platter in her hands and brought it to her husband, “here, drink this.”

Edgar reached a hand to help bring the brim to his lips. When he sipped the contents, his face wrinkled, and he recoiled from his wife’s hands. Forcing himself to swallow, he pulled himself up from the bed, the liquid having suddenly cured him of his fatigue.

“And this is supposed to be any better?” he winced. “Kammeth save me, if this becomes any more of a habit.” The Duvard wriggled himself free of his bedsheets, patting himself on his cheeks to keep awake.

“Vinegar is better than tea,” Sophsi smiled, “People don’t think to poison the vinegar, and with the entire Imperial Family assassinated last night, save me, we can’t afford to lose the Emperor Consort.”

Hopping into bed next to her husband, she threw her slim arms around his shoulders, her face suddenly growing dark and sad “it isn’t easy suddenly becoming Empress due to the crippling deaths of all your loved ones.”

“That’s morbid, even for you,” Edgar replied. “If the Imperial family starts dying off, then I’ll make double-sure not to drink the vinegar.”
A small pout formed on Sophsi’s face, “eight years, and you can’t even trust my vinegar-loving instinct?”

“Sorry, you can blame my palette. As wondrous as you claim it is, straight apple vinegar is a… taste I haven’t yet acquired.”

“Eh, no different than our night life then,” Sophsi smiled sarcastically and shrugged, “I finished some of your duties while you slept: ordered the horse boys around, yelled for no reason, listened to criminals plead innocent… the usual stuff you busy yourself with. Oh! and I got the local bakery to make us some delicious croissants, they were delicious times two.”

Edgar smiled and planted a quick peck on his wife’s cheek and asked, “Were your underlings cooperative?”

“Always,” Sophsi looked over Edgar proudly, “I know what I’m doing just fine. I was -- arguably still am -- the best in the rigorous courts of the capital even as a teenager.”

“And your taste in croissants is impeccable,” Edgar laughed. “How long have you been awake? I pray I haven’t missed anything important.”

“Aside from the assassinations I so morbidly depicted, you’re fine. I couldn’t sleep well last night again, so I had busied myself with your work,” Sophsi rested her chin on Edgar’s shoulder, a hint of exhaustion escaping her joyous cat like eyes for a moment.

Edgar tiled his head to lean his brow against Sophsi’s. “All I ask is you leave something for me! As I’ve told you before, I don’t want you to wear yourself out with duties that ought to be mine.”

“It doesn’t wear me out in the slightest. I was my father’s best accountant, administrator, advisor, everything really! This is…”

Sophsi’s insomnia suddenly caught up with her, and her eyelids drooped slightly as her breath slowed and body hunched against her husband. For a few moments she laid there silently sleeping, then suddenly her eyes perked up and she lifted her chin, “this is easy, Edgar!”

“Clearly,” he snickered, running his fingers through her hair. “Just promise me you’ll take good care of yourself.”

“The worst that could happen is maybe I get a papercut filling out import papers,” Sophsi snorted, crinkling her nose as she giggled.

“And then I’d feel guilty,” Edgar replied. He squinted at the rays of light piercing the window. “Say, what time is it? I have the sneaking suspicion we’re to be expected somewhere soon.”
“It’s about time for you to get up, I can do everything for you but vote for our next fearless leader,” Sophsi shook her head and whispered in Edgar’s ear, “even if all the real work still will probably fall on people like us, more specifically me rather than you, sleepy head.”

“It would be your own fault,” Edgar retorted, “since you seem to like doing my work for me so much. Speaking of the election… what do you think of the candidates? They’re your family, after all.”

“That’s easy,” Sophsi crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back, looking dignified as she spoke, “I have the innate advantage of not only being schooled in the art of numbers, words, and court my entire life, but also the advantage of knowing all the brats since we were kids. Jakinius was always pretty sporty, and to be honest I didn’t see much of him after he left to be a squire. He is pretty soldier boy though, if you get what I mean. Allianna and I used to fight a lot as kids… I mean her daddy got her everything, EVERYTHING. I had to earn all my things, and she was always flaunting her advantages and heritage, meanwhile I had to always work doubly hard just to make a dent. I was still better in the court though.”

A smug look went over Sophsi’s face, “and Ralltene, or Rally as I’ve heard his family call him, is very adventurous and money savy. He is like a foreign banker version of my Uncle Taramyth. Over all, no matter who people pick, our great empire is still going to be the mess it always is, and always has been. They are glory hungry, and they know everything, of course they know everything, right? That one person becoming a head will fix everything, not like the rest of us do all the work or anything.”

Sophsi huffed, “I like you though, you’re good.” she patted Edgar’s head, still clearly annoyed.

Edgar shrugged, running a hand up and down Sophsi’s arm. “You aren’t wrong; the Empire is too big and its institutions are too established for one person to change. But that just means we have to do all we can to keep Ethica strong. In any case; I meant out of all your cousins, which one is easiest to imagine on the throne?”

“Uhhh,” Sophsi racked her brain, “honestly, so many of them are just clear cut tropes of each other and emperor’s past, it could be anyone. I mean, Jakinius probably has huge north support, but Ralltene definitely has the richer votes. Allianna might bully her way into the vote, but that might be hard considering the marriage ties of Rally. Probably Ralltene, or Jakinius definitely, Although with the loss of my Uncle Carles a few years ago, Yarlo, and a good amount of men, the North military has been a touchy subject in the Imperial courts, but I doubt that’ll get in the way of Jakinius gaining a mob of support. In any case, the Empire will sway to where the weight of the nobles swings, no matter what. If the vote goes sour, it isn’t a new phenomenon for nobles to take it into their own hands to change the person sitting on the gilded throne. Kammeth knows the danger of sitting on that throne while unpopular.”

“Whatever happens, I just pray the best for Anastázie. I can’t imagine the burden of being Jakinius’s wife; especially so, if he’s elected. At the same time, I’m sure she’d bring great fortune to House Duvard at his side.”

“You bring great fortune to those underneath you, and to those above you,” Sophsi poked Edgar’s cheek, “honor is in ruling the people right, not so much where you sit, especially since YOU’RE STILL IN BED!”

Suddenly Sophsi pushed Edgar cleanly off the bed with a loud chuckle as his bum hit the floor.

Edgar let out a yelp as he hit the floor, clearly caught off-guard. “You’d think after so long, I’d learn to see you coming,” he groaned. He shuffled to his feet, a hand creeping to the pillow nearest his side of the bed. “I hope you’re prepared for the consequences!” he roared, grabbing hold of the pillow and swinging it at Sophsi in a fluid motion.

Sophsi’s head poofed into a wild mess of golden hair as the pillow hit her face, leaving her stunned, her mouth agape, “hitting a lady!” She teased.

“If you’re going to launch an attack, be sure to expect retaliation,” he sneered, letting himself fall gently atop her chest.

A soft snore came from Sophsi as her body sank into the bed, her lips parted as a sleeping breath broke free, her hair around her head like a halo as sleep finally caught up to her.

Edgar sighed, lifting himself up from the sleepy Valarien. That was his cue to get dressed and see what was left of the work Sophsi had taken upon herself to complete.

---

It was a bright, cloudless day, a full four years ago. The young Anice Gracieux, heir to her family's power and fortune, was even younger: a shy, but cheery, six year old girl. She was not yet the heir at the time; that title still belonged to her aunt, Zoé Gracieux, her mother Victoria's elder sister. Anice's grandfather Frank had not yet passed away, and Zoé was the heir presumptive, residing in the House Gracieux seat of Fleur de Violette, assisting the aging Duke Frank in his twilight years. Anice lived with her parents in her father's seat, Sunvale, a castle perched on an island in southern Xandria. The island was owned by House Dustin, of whom her father, Trent Dustin, was Lord. House Dustin of Sunvale was a prominent family in Xandria, wealthy and well respected. Their island seat's ports were filled with merchant vessels and war-galleys alike, the masters of the Xandrian seas.

Anice was not sure exactly what the Dustins did, but she knew it had something to do with grapes. Sunvale, and all of the rest of the island that Anice had ever seen, was practically overgrown with grapevines. It was as if the entire island was one huge garden, and this was much to Anice's liking. The warm weather of Sunvale, and the vineyard's pleasant scent, offered something pleasant for the young girl. A distraction, to draw her thoughts away from what went on in Sunvale underneath the warm sunshine and vibrant orchards. Anice's mother, Victoria Dustin, who would in four years be the imperious Duchess Victoria Gracieux, with eyes on the Imperial Throne, now had only one ambition: escape. Every night, far past Anice's bedtime, Victoria would enter her young daughter's bedroom, freshly bathed, but crying. Sometimes she would limp, and sometimes she would wear makeup over her face, to hide her wounds from her beloved daughter. Anice would almost always wake when her mother crawled into her bed, but rarely would she say anything, or even open her eyes. If ever she spoke or moved, it would be to whisper a soft goodnight, or hug Victoria more tightly. Anice didn't know why her mother visited her at night, always crying, but she thought she might be sick. She hoped she would feel better soon.

Young Anice would have her wish on that fateful, cloudless day, the first in over six years whose night held no tears for Victoria. Lord Trent Dustin, Anice's father, had been drinking a lot of grapejuice all day. It was a special grapejuice, only for grownups, and Victoria had always told Anice she wouldn't be allowed to have any until she was older. Trent sometimes poured Anice a glass anyway, but it would always go to waste. Anice trusted her mother's judgement, and she was fine with drinking the same juice as the other children. Drinking all o the juice would sometimes make Trent very happy, but other times, if he drank too much, he would be very mad. Anice would always leave and hide in her room if that happened. Her Dad was always loud, but when he drank too much, he would be even louder, and sometimes storm down the halls of his own castle, stumbling over and breaking things, making a ruckus. This was the first time he'd ever gone to Anice's room in such a state.

"Victoria!" he hollered to his wife angrily, as she pushed open the doors to his daughter's bedroom. He was shocked for a second, finding the room smaller than he remembered and all of the furniture out of order, but after a few moments he realized he'd stormed into the wrong room. His stupor was too strong for him to care, though, and Lord Trent decided he didn't talk to his daughter as much as he should.

"You know, girl..." he began, sitting on Anice's bed next to her, and staring down at the floor. "You're six years old, now. Over five years your mother has had to make you a brother, and she can't. You want a brother, don't you Anice?"

The young girl squirmed uncomfortably, scooting down her bed a little further from her drunken father. "Maybe a sister, daddy?" she asked, staring down at the same spot on the floor that her father seemed to be fixated on.

Trent took a few seconds to reply, smacking his lips and grumbling before any words escaped. "Another girl wouldn't do me any good. If I died right now my brother's son would become the Lord, you know? I don't know how it works in Violette, but there's no such thing as a Lady her. There's never been a 'Lady of Sunvale', except for the wives of the Lords. So you..." Trent trailed off, turning suddenly to grab hold of his daughter, closing his hands around her small arms and pushering her down onto the bed. "You are completely useless to me." He released her left arm, only to use his hand to strike her, smashing a fist against the child's face. His ring cut into her cheek, leaving a gash that immediately started bleeding, heavily. Both of his hands were then around her neck, squeezing it, strangling the life out of his daughter. He spoke to her as she strangled her, glaring into her eyes, utterly enraged. She didn't hear all of what he said. She couldn't see or hear or even feel much of anything, except the wound on her cheek and the tightening around her neck. "You had a brother, you know. Or maybe the sister that you wanted. Probably more than one. And your mother, your fucking cunt of a mother, she killed them! She murdered my sons!"

Suddenly, Anice could breathe again, but only slightly. Her father's hands had left her neck, and he had broken out into tears, collapsing onto the floor next to the bed. Anice felt like crying too, but she hurt too much to cry. Her father's screaming that attracted the attention of a small crowd of servants and guards outside, but they didn't dare open the door, for fear of their lives. It wasn't until Victoria arrived, having grown tired of waiting in Trent's bed, that she opened the door herself. The sight of her daughter, bloodied and gasping for air, sparked an instinct in her that sprung instantly. She grabbed a candelabra off of Anice's bedside table and smashed it over her husband's head, crushing his skill and killing him instantly. The guards did nothing to stop the Lady of Sunvale as she carried her barely conscious Anice out of the room and away. That was the last part Anice remembered.

---

---

"Anice?" "Anice?" "Hello?" The third word was accompanied by a gentle poke to her cousin's shoulder as Tsirine tried to get her attention. Her face showed an expression of confusion and concern. Was something wrong? She didn't normally just sit there staring. Tsirine knew all sorts of things that could be wrong, she'd looked through one of her mom's books on healing a few times and sometimes people's heads just stopped working and they died. The young red haired girl was about to go get her mother when Anice finally responded.

"I'm sorry. I was looking out the window, and it was so sunny today. I'm okay."

Gathering herself and moving her thoughts away from the past and into the present, Anice Graxieux returned her gaze to the chess board assembled before her. It was made of some sort of fancy glass from across the ocean, one side's pieces tinted violet and the other's tinted gold. She still didn't fully understand the game, but the sunlight from the window reflecting off the glass sure made it look pretty.

Reaching forward, Anice grabbed a rook off of the board and moved the piece to the right, defending her King from Tsirine's Queen. She wasn't entirely sure if that was a legal move or not, but she trusted that Tsirine would tell her if it wasn't. She rubbed the scar on her cheek idly, waiting for her cousin to take her turn.

Tsirine nodded, but her eyes lingered on her cousin's face for a long moment as if looking for any sign that there was really something wrong. She knew what had happened to Anice, she also knew she wasn't supposed to talk about it, her mom had been very clear with her. And if Anice said she was okay...

She looked down then at the chessboard and frowned a bit as she took in the current boardstate and what her cousin had done. Then she reached out with a hand and pointed to the rook. "If you do that then I can do this," She picked up a knight and moved it over to put Anice's king in check again while also threatening the rook.

"You always have to look for opportunities like that. And not just ways you can get my pieces trapped, but also how I can try to trap yours if you make a move." Tsirine nodded again as she tried to explain. "It's part of the fun, thinking ahead."

Anice pouted, frowning slightly, not quite bored so much as disappointed in herself. "I don't like this game. It seems like there are so many different things that you can do, but none of them is the right thing. I don't know how my mother thinks moving around bits of glass is supposed to teach me how to rule. I bet she never played this when she was little, and now she's going to be Empress."

"If Raltene wins the most support she will be Empress." Tsirine corrected instinctively. "That might not happen." She pointed to the chess board. "My dad said that chess was like life, you take the best possible move and try to guess what your opponent will do but you never know for sure and you should plan for everything. I bet even if she doesn't win she'll have a plan." Tsirine smiled then. "Don't be too hard on yourself, you are doing better than I did when I was first starting to play and you won't make the same mistake again."

Determined not to lose, Anice carefully looked over every piece on the board, analyzing every move she could move and every move Tsirine could make after her. It seemed as though none of her king's soldiers could save him, though, and so the king had to save himself. Grabbing a hold of her king piece, Anice moved him out of the way of Tsirine's knight, and carefully ensured she hadn't trapped herself before releasing her hand.

"Another part is making your opponent have as few options as possible." Tsirine spoke as she reached out to move her knight again, this time to take the rook she had set up with her previous move. "You only could move your king which meant I was guaranteed to be able to take your rook."

Raising an eyebrow and sighing, Anice crossed her arms over her chest and grumbled. "Can we play this again sometime later? I'm tired of chess. Auntie Vel!" Anice turned away from the chess table and Tsirine and towards Velhara, sitting off in the far corner of the room. "Did your big sister ever play chess when she was little? Do you need to be good at chess to be a good ruler?"

Velhara stirred from her chair, lifting her head up as she looked away from the book she was reading to smile over at her daughter and her neice. It was the expression she almost always seemed to wear. "Varminia always enjoyed those games. But you don't need to be good at them, a ruler must be more than just a planner. And if you aren't good at it, you find someone who is and have them help. I was always forgetting the rules, I think the only time I ever won was when she was sick and fell asleep while we were playing." She seemed to be waxing a bit nostalgic, thinking about her own childhood.

Tsirine looked across the table at her cousin and said softly. "Okay. We can play something else if you want."

Anice thought about all of the different games the two of them could play there in Fleur de Violette, and eventually had an idea. "I know!" She reached over, tagged Tsirine on the shoulder and ran away, laughing. "You're it!"

And Tsirine scrambled up to her feet and chased after her cousin in a hurry. Velhara, still smiling returned to her book.

---

[Collaboration between myself and Raptorman]

Kawachian Southern Ethica, Point Break, Crashing Wave Citadel

Vicereine Deana Swiftwave sat silently by her study, looking over the letter that had told her of her husband's demise, most of her family, and that of the Emperor. She still could not believe it, could not understand how such a thing could of possibly happened. All her children had perished, all but Ryan... perhaps it was divine providence that he had offended his father and the Emperor, which kept him alive. He was not with the small fleet of ships when the storm had come screaming in from the West, and sweeping them all to a watery grave. They still had not found any bodies, or really any wreckage for that matter. It was though they had all just disappeared beneath the briny blue depths of the ocean, never to ride its waves again. Her eyes welled up with tears, as she began to cry again, letting them run down her face as she cursed the Emperor for inviting her family to go with him on his stupid expedition...

Deana must have cried for sometime, when she next looked up, the sun was already setting. Her eyes were red, and her heart was heavy. The official summons had come forth, from the Phoenix Emperor's regent, to bring forth all those who would oversee coronation the next Emperor or Empress. She knew that deep down, even with all that she felt, she'd have to go, to make the journey, in her son's place. No more Swiftwave's would be lost, not for a long while. The family must endure, no matter the cost, and furthermore, now that her son was Viceroy, the fifth born child of the Swiftwave family, he would need a suitable wife, to not only help bear more children for future generations, but also to solidify the ties of her family with another. Kammeth be damned, the Swiftwave's have ruled Kawachia for centuries, and their dynasty would not be snuffed out so easily.

Vicereine Deana Swiftwave slowly rose from her solitude, pushing her chair in before making her way over to her nightstand. A candle burned low, lit for her husband, who she knew was never going to come back. She licked her fingers, and then snuffed the candle out, letting the wisps of smoke rise up an away. The dead are best left that way, less they come back as vengeful spirits to curse those that raised them from their final resting place. She shook her head, laying those thoughts to rest, and left her room. The servants had already packed her luggage, and the ship at the city docks was waiting on her and her brother, Lee Swiftwave. Together, they would travel to the Imperial Heartlands, and together, they would help cast their lot in with whoever seemed to be the best person to become the next ruler of Ethica.

But more importantly, Deana needed to begin the search for someone to marry into the family, for a person to become Ryan's wife, and Vicereine. She could perhaps look among her own subjects she thought, but it would not hurt to look beyond her own borders, as her husband had done so many years ago. Time would only tell what would happen in the world, what would become of her, of Kawachia, of House Swiftwave, and what would become of her son, the unlikely heir to a throne he never intended, nor was prepared to take. Ryan was young, brash, and full of life, but he would make a good ruler, no matter what things seemed like right now. A touch upon her shoulder brought her back to the real world, the hand belonging to her brother.

"Are you ready Vicereine? The voyage will take a few days, and the carriage ride to the capital a few more. Have you said your goodbyes?" Lee Swiftwave asked, smiling at his sister, before he turned to walk onto the ship that rode the waters of the harbor. Deana looked back up at the castle, looking up to where she had spent most of her life. "Yes, I am ready... let us cast off and make for the capital. We have a sacred duty to undertake, and other matters to take care of." She sighed, taking one last look at Kawachia, at Point Break, before she too climbed aboard the ship, and readied herself to head for the Imperial Palace.



Ryan sat on the cool marble floor of the Temple. His body still ached, the pain and fever finally subsiding even after a week had passed. Whether or not it really worked, or it was a coincidence, he smiled at the polished mirror that stood upon an altar. The priest had not lied, when he said that all magic comes with a price. Still, that price had been worth it, no matter what anyone would say. He lay down, allowing his body to relax, and for his muscles to lose the tenseness within them. Watatsumi, Dragon God of the Seas, had always been a paramount of the Swiftwaves, second only to perhaps Kammeth. But deep down, Ryan felt otherwise, and yet, perhaps there was reason to believe so. He shook his head, there was time to reflect upon what he had done later, when the world was back to normal. For now, he needed to pray, and commune with Watatsumi, to let the ichor leave his body, and allow him to return to his normal duties.

Or rather, his new found position as Viceroy. Either way, Ryan closed his eyes, and let himself slip into a trance, letting all the world around him fade away. There was always more time for the rest of the world, but now, more than ever, Ryan just needed silence, and the quiet introspection that only meditation could bring him. The young Viceroy spent the rest of the day in the temple, alone with his thoughts and Watatsumi. Only time would be able to tell what was going to happen next with the Empire, and who would rule it.

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For Theodric Valian, the life of a Prime Magistrate was one he had to adapt to even though it wasn’t a role he had particularly ever aspired toward. Before his father’s death he thought himself as a lifelong academic with a bit of a stewardship lean. Much like his cousin, Lucius Valian, he had become quite astute with the science of mathematics and was thinking about advertising his skills as a potential steward to the lords in the Imperial Heartlands. After all, there were many dukes who had aging stewards who he could easily replace and give a fresh perspective on modern economics and mercantile arts. But King Alexander III had elected him as his representative in the Prime Estates after Theodric’s father had lost his life to a burglar’s blade. A event that oddly Theodric shook off quite well enough— sure, it was saddening to have such an event happen but estate invasion wasn’t exactly an uncommon thing in Lalrial… though rarely did it end up with a fatal conclusion. In many ways, he wish it didn’t happen in the first place.

So here he was now, in the present, waiting on the arrival of King Alex III once again— this time for the imperial election. Though he also had to accommodate with the visitation of one of his fellow magistrates, James Conrad. His peer in the estates had a busy week and with the coming legislative issues that Lalrial’s higher nobility were talking about he found it inevitable to be forced to inquiries about how he felt about the soon-to-be election as well as other issues.

“I think King Alexander is going to lean towards Jakinus Valarien.”

James nodded as he had heard that is what many of the people believed. “I’m sure he will, though if I may can I offer my own two cents? Jakinus is a rather militaristic man and would want to strengthen the power the imperial crown has; which I would assume most noble and richer houses wouldn’t like as I suspect higher taxes would be implanted upon them would they not?” James asked looking around the officer which was very clean and well mannered.

Theodric shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh?”

“Jakinus has a honorable reputation, so I’m not sure if he’d impose harsh taxes or laws on imperial vassals; especially those that have been loyal since the beginning of the Empire.” Theodric responded. Admittedly he was putting a lot of faith in the word of mouth spoken about Jakinus and his reputation— a reputation that spoke volumes if it was true. Though it was a fact that he had never personally met Jakinus... or many Valarien’s for that matter, so he couldn’t say this came from personal experience. Even with that fact accounted for Theodric felt himself still on the fence and his opinions, much like the ones he spoke in the Prime Estates, changed from day to day. He never found his personal politics as concrete as his father’s had been.

James chuckled “Loyal? For all of the elections, many lords have been loyal to different family members only to gain a step ahead.”

“I don’t know what political history you are actually educated in, but that sounds like a fallacy if I’ve ever heard one, especially considering the great houses of Ethica.”

“Regardless, even if he is as ‘honorable’ as they say he is still a military man; and working up on the northern wall hasn’t exactly shown anyone his proof of how he’d manage a kingdom. Perhaps he do well, though I’d guess he want to conquer those northern tribes and unite the land once and for all.” James paused, clearing his throat as he redirected the conversation. “Now, if I may ask who would you be so inclined to suggest to King Alexander about who should be the next Emperor or Empress?”

The black-haired man sighed, “I really don’t know. Jakinus would unite the realm with a strong military and understanding of the Nordheim threat, Allianna knows the capital better than anyone with many ties politically, Ralltene has more trade connections than anybody else, Sophsi is well-liked by many, and Deand knows how to make the right deals with the right people.”

“There’s a lot more contenders than that, but these are the ones I keep debating. Anybody could sit on the throne and be a good look for one reason or another.” He added as he took a sip of the wine-filled goblet in front of him.

“That is something we can agree on very much. I also see you have taken the time to learn of the candidates well enough. While each of them have their strengths they all have weakness; the question is which of them has the least detrimental weakness.”

“Very true.”

“If you were to ask me, I’d say Allianna as she knows the capital, she helped rule while Jakinus was away and Ralltene traveled. She even has her own title, sure she whined for it but none the less she didn’t do a horrible job leading now did she?” James asked raising an eyebrow.

“She also knows how to let the magistrates do what they were appointed to do in the first place. I think she’d be the least intrusive when it came to legislation, so I can see why you favor her.”

“She would make all our lives easier would she not?” James chuckled. “But, I do believe that if you spoke to your Lord about who you believe would be the best for the job as you know the city and those in contest for it then he’d be more inclined to vote for the least terrible option.”

“Your life easier, maybe.” Theodric laughed before he took another drink from his goblet. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to my uncle, the King, in quite the while so I don’t know if I could. He is a former warrior himself, so I think convincing him away from Jakinus even if that’s something I want to do is going to be quite the endeavor.”

“But, you must remember you aren’t alone in this. I mean you helped me in starting up businesses across most of the city. I could easily return the favor if you’d want. Besides, I’d love to meet your uncle whenever he reaches town, at least if you gave me the honor to?” James asked ready to get up as it seemed the conversation was dying down and he told Theo all he needed.

“It’s an idea. I’ve already received word that he left from Harrow several days prior. He should be here quite soon, I wager. I’ll keep you in the know when he arrives and if he has time for pleasantries. My uncle… is a somber man.”

“Please do, Though I believe I must be off. I’d like to give my lord a head count on which way the majority is feeling. It was nice speaking to you again though. I hope to see you uncle soon.” With that James got up and began walking out.

“Very well. I will speak to you later.”

In the shadow of the new imperial election tensions were brewing as rulers across the realm began to debate of how to approach a decision before they had even left for the imperial capital. However, Khomeria was quite different from other nations, it had often been sealed within itself and had never really paid attention to to the world outside besides the times when a new emperor had to be picked. The leader would leave his eldest son in charge of the kingdom whilst he went on the capital. This time was different however, the king of Khomeria had no heirs or brothers that could rule in his name, only a sister and the nobles of the land did not want to respond to a woman. And the princess knew it full well.

King Dorias sat on his throne, a thoughtful look adorning his face as he tried to think of what to do. His sister sat next to him on the throne usually meant for the king's heir, she looked very nervous as she awaited her brother's judgement. After several minutes of silence, Dorias abruptly got up, taking Remis by surprise.

"I have decided, wheter the lords like it or not, you will handle the kingdom's affairs while I'm gone." He said in a decisive tone

Remis sighed. "Brother, this will make the lords lose their faith in you as the protector of Khomeria, it's not worth it to risk a rebellion for this from one of the lords, please, have Lord Fokas handle the kingdom while your gone, the populace and the lesser nobles love him." She said to him, putting a hand on his shoulder to reassure him.

Again, Dorias started thinking. Remis was right that the lesser nobles and the general populace loved Lord Fokas, but the other two noble lords did not like him one bit and appointing him as regent while he was gone would make the other lords think that he favored Lord Fokas over them, either way, it would still end up with the lords of the kingdom being displeased.

"No, no, that can't be the right answer, the other two will think that I favor Lord Fokas more than them." He said, walking towards one of the windows and stared up at the city. His kingdom was among the most prosperous in the Empire and it's kings had worked tirelessly to make it so. He his not want to be the one to tear it down because he had not conceived a heir yet.

Remis looked at her brothers troubled face and wished that she could do something right now, but not even all the spies in the world would be able to solve the situation, if only that council... then it came to her.

"I have an idea, brother, a way in which you could make them all three happy!" She said, feeling proud at her idea. "You could make a regency council, all three lords will form a council and jointly lead! And to make it better, the fact that they'll bicker among one another will mean that they won't be able to try and usurp you."

Dorias smiled in relief, even if he was the king, many of the ideas that he had implemented came from his sister, not from himself. That was partly one of the reasons he was reluctant to marry her to some distant lord in the empire.

"I can always count on you to come up with great ideas, sister!" He said with a smile. "I'll send messages to the three lords, then I will be on my way. The sooner these elections end, the better."

"Brother..." She said, remembering something. "You will most likely meet brother there, you'll have to promise me you won't act out towards him."

Dorias gritted his teeth, his older brother had given up the throne as soon as their parents had died ten years ago and left him with responsibility to lead the kingdom and fend off the nobles attempts to usurp the throne at a very young age, something which forced him to grow up and give up his childhood. For that, he despised his brother greatly, but now that he was the head of the Royal Guard, he couldn't do anything about it.

"He's family, my emotions for him won't affect my judgement." He said, forcing a smile. "Plus, he's the head of the Royal Guard, I can't be rude to someone so important."

Remis wasn't convinced, she knew Dorias too well, but she chose to trust him, so with a sigh and a smile she said "Very well then, I'll go write the letter, you get the Iron Guard ready and go, I'll handle things here."

"I understand." Dorias said and rose from the throne.

Lothar had been listening to his daughter, Charlotte, when he had finally received a full picture of what had occured. She had been regaling him - with sufficient embellishment - on how House Amrothan could, if they so chose, claim to be House Practen due to how such matters of blood and bond had worked through history. She had a way, at least, of turning the dusty genealogical tomes that traced back through times ancient marriages and births and notes on such things into something that near resembled a fable. He respected her for her scholarly passion. Charlotte was a different kind of Amrothan to her older siblings, but she was still his daughter, and he loved her. She had been disappointed to end her tale early, but understanding in his need to process another Imperial drama.

No, he thought, it was wrong to be so frivolous in matters of death. His House engaged in the politics and the dance as much as any other, but it retained a noticeable sort of distance, deferred to maintaining the status quo, voting with a tact that was seemingly random but at all times were intended to preserve such a balance. This was different. The loss of so many was surely a time of mourning even beyond that of the Emperor himself - who had, after all, not been the worst to sit on the Throne, at least when he chose to sit upon it - yet it was a time where the bickering nobility, further exasperated by the sure to come scandalous actions of those who would contend, concentrated their focus on one vote in what was sure to feel like a very confined space.

And it was one vote he would have to be present for. He would need Deiter and his knowledge of the capital as soon as he arrived.

On that thought, his mind returned his hands to action and he began to formulate a letter.

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Charlotte missed her mother and her little brother and sisters, almost as much as she missed Adelheid. Adelheid was in Xandria, whilst her mother was at least still in Dreiben. Why Reimar insisted on spending so much time around Flusstadt she didn't know. It was a big city, she knew, and probably very interesting, but all he ever seemed to want to do was ride horses. It was a mystery. Why he had enticed everyone save herself and father there she couldn't quite fathom, but it was only fair that he would want to see them. Of course, it left her father with only one immediate option in who to drag to the capital. Take to the capital, she mentally self corrected. She wanted to go, it was true, and this afforded her father the opportunity to make it so, but it didn't mean she was particularly enthusiastic about the timing. All the same, she'd have some time to herself, though no doubt her presence was meant to advertise her availability to anyone who cared to investigate. Such was the order of things.

She had risen early and dressed for riding. Father had insisted they leave early, although it would not take anymore than a few days at worst to reach the capital. He probably wanted to talk to Dieter as soon as possible for as long as possible - While Adelheid may of relished the prospect of being amongst assorted nobility for several days, she doubted that was her father's intention. She wondered if Adelheid would make an appearance, it was possible, of course, but she wasn't about to get her hopes up.

Rounding a corner she arrived in the relatively, at least compared to most Amrothan decoration, opulent Bannerlord's stables. Squarely inside the Einhorn, it was pretty much exclusively stocked with the finest horses that Amrothan and Dreiben could muster - and the Bannerlord typically accepted nothing less than Adelpferd in the Castle stables - but several favourites of other breeds had made their home here over the years. There were a few figures making themselves busy in the dim morning light that broke over the ramparts, she noted her father's horse was prepared, as well as her own - though her Father was nowhere to been. She wondered where he could be..

"Ah Princess, I see you are as graceful a figure in the morning light as at any other hour." Came a voice, that voice. She rounded on the spot, managing to conceal the small start she had given.

"Lord Weiss, a pleasure, as always." She responded, smiling pleasantly at the man, all but four years older than her and as of recent, somewhat of a would be courter of her affections, though it was unlikely to ever come to pass. All the same, they both enjoyed the dance, it was a change of pace from the informality of family, at worst. "What brings you to the stables so early?" She asked.

"Well with you and your father's departure, duties of regency in their absence would fall to the Chancellor, but with your Aunt and myself in town of course other arrangements have come to be. As such, it would of been terrible manners for me to at least not wish you well and that no harm should come upon you in your journey, no?" He flashed a smile, and she returned it. It made sense of course. If the Elder Lord Weiss and her "aunt", the now Lady Hermine Weiss, were present in Reiterburg that her father would entrust affairs of the realm to them. The Weiss family had always been loyal. Truthfully, Hermine was an adoptive sister of her father - a member of a cadet branch - she had been a boon to the family for some reason or another when Charlotte had been young.

"Terrible manners indeed, thank you for your concern, Anselm. I shall do my best to not tumble from the saddle." She let a small, short, but pleasant chuckle accentuate the joke that Anselm returned in kind. It would be no small scandal if she did take such a fall, that was sure.

"No doubt it would be the talk of the realm if you did, Princess. I believe I see your father at the western entrance. I shall leave you to your preparations. Do enjoy the capital." Anselm nodded his respect to rank to herself and a darkened figure that cut the shape of her father as she mouthed her own goodbye. She turned and approached her father, who greeted her with a raised eyebrow.

"I know!" Was all she said, all that needed to be said. Her Father's brow dropped its accusation. For a moment, she looked at him, waiting for the inevitable transition to matters that were purely business.

"We'll ride with some of the Patrol and then meet with a few of the Bannerguard in Sudreiten. We can then try our luck through the Herzpass. There shouldn't be anything to worry about, and you know how to ride as well as any Lady of Dreiben, so I'll save you the speech today. Only today. Come." He smiled at her as he approached, taking her hand and allowing her to ascend onto the back of her Horse, Geschwind, in a manner befitting the Lady he had just described her as. He double checked a few of the packages afixed to Geschwind, before he patted the beast and returned to his own steed.

Charlotte breathed deeply and gently massaged Geschwind's neck, feeling the mane flow between her fingers. Like all in her family, like many in Dreiben, the bond between her and her horse was special. Geschwind was an Adelpferd, and that bond was on yet another level. The predominantly white horses were a uniquely Dreibene stock, and it had been schooled into her from a young age just how precious they were. She was no doubt sitting on something that could buy a reasonable guild enterprise - but to her, he was not wealth, he was an extension of her, even as a largely leisurely rider.

Her Father had been doing the same, and now his own steed was moving forward, leaving Einhorn. Unprompted, Geschwind began his own trot.

The capital wouldn't be so bad, she was sure.

Sevryth Lastren woke to a soft green glow pulsing through his staghide tent. He threw off his fur bedrolls and squeezed the grit of sleep from his eyes, exposing his body to the cold. A yawn escaped his mouth as a cloud of frigid mist. The waking world was a cold, miserable place and his cocoon of warm furs beckoned Sevryth back to blissful sleep. But Sevryth was not so easily tempted; Frostmouth Keep remained a full day's ride away and they could ill afford another night camped out in such dangerous country.

Sevryth threw open the tent's flap and was immersed in the truly cold air outside. It was still dark out; only the faintest glow of blue sky could be seen on the eastern horizon. A dusting of frost covered his tent and the grass that crunched underfoot. He took a few steps away from the tents to a sizable stone jutting out from the grass before unbuckling his belt relieving himself. A frothy puddle of piss formed at the bottom of the rock, steaming vigorously in the predawn air. As he waited for his bladder to empty, Sevryth gazed into the sky and watched as ribbons of green light shimmered and pulsed against the stars. These were the lights of the north, a spectacle reserved only for these extreme latitudes. The peasants who still followed the old ways claimed these bands of shimmering light in the northern skies to be the very breath of their ancient god, while the imperial priests professed that they were signs of Kammeth's power and grace. Whatever they were, the lights of the north had never ceased to astound Sevryth. The sting of the freezing air on his member galvanized the Lastren boy from his reverie. He buckled his belt back over his leather cuisses and returned to the tents.

The campsite was a spartan affair; nothing but a pair of tents and two horses tethered to a large boulder. Loud snoring could be heard from within the other tent. Sevryth rolled his eyes as his partner slept loudly; Davan would sleep until noon if he was allowed it.

"Enlightened Brother," Sevryth said in a calm, yet firm voice as he gently shook the tent with his hand. "Time to wake up." A loud, drawn-out groan could heard from within the tent.

"But it's still dark yet, young lord," a disembodied voice complained.

"We have a long ride ahead of us, Brother. Nearly ten leagues by my guess. We must leave now if we wish to arrive before dark."

"Then if we leave at dawn, we'll arrive in time for supper," retorted a groggy Davan.

"I expect you to be ready to break camp shortly," Sevryth said with finality. With that, he left Davan to wake while he set about dismantling his own tent. Sevryth had rolled his tent, packed his supplies, and was halfway through saddling his horse before Davan even emerged from his tent. Davan was but a few years older than Sevryth, but was already a fat man. A pot belly protruded out from underneath his clerical robes. His fine cotton robes, adorned with an orange sash around his shoulders, were an immaculate white - or at least they had been before yesterday's ride. The oil and dirt in his horse's saddle smeared an unsightly ruddy stain on the robe's backside where his buttocks and thighs had rubbed against the saddle for an entire day.

"You should consider wearing trousers, Brother." Sevryth suggested.

"An Enlightened Brother not in the garb?" Davan scoffed. "Do not be ridiculous! A Brother in trousers is no Brother at all."

Many candles passed as Sevryth waited for Davan to pack his tent and bedrolls. The sky above was gradually changing from black to purple to blue as the sun creeped up toward the horizon, banishing the lights and all but the brightest stars from the sky. A band of pink to the east meant sunrise was nigh; had Davan not been so pokey, they could be a half-candlemark down the road to Frostmouth by now. Sevryth strapped the saddle to Davan's horse while he stuffed his tent and bedrolls into his pack in order to expedite their departure. While Davan strapped his pack to the saddle, Sevryth ran his boot across the trampled grass and raked it upright.

"What in holy Kammeth's name are you doing, young lord?" Davan asked.

"Concealing our campsite," he replied. "This is why I don't make campfires - besides the fact that they attract unwanted attention. It is as simple as sprucing up the grass and leaving."

"What difference does it make?" Davan asked as he flopped upon his saddled horse on his belly, twisting about awkwardly until he could sit upright and put his feet in the stirrups. "It's nearly day."

"Even during the day, this is treacherous country," Sevryth replied as he stepped up on the stirrup of his own Varlander steed and gracefully climbed into his saddle. "We must be cautious and avoid drawing the attention of the savages whenever possible." With that, Sevryth pressed his heels into his horse's haunches and spurred it onward. The ride to Frostmouth was on at last.

The sun rose up over the eastern plains, setting aglow the frost-dusted grassland and hills. Sevryth and Davan moved quickly across the land upon their shaggy grey Varlanders. On such hardy and swift-footed mounts, the two travelers quickly reached the road and continued the northward trek where they left off at dusk the night before.

The Northern Road stretched endlessly northward before Sevryth and Davan. The term 'road' might have been unjust glorification, in truth, the Northern Road was nothing more than a dirt path through the grasses and wildflowers barely wide enough for a single oxcart to pass through. Davan, a southerner accustomed to the wide cobblestone thoroughfares that webbed across Ethica from the Imperial Heartlands, was hardly impressed by the rude dirt road that they set out upon two days ago.

"You call this a road?" Davan had scoffed when they departed Vandaster. "I've seen goatpaths that were better maintained than this." Of all the highways in the Empire, the Northern Road was perhaps the most scarcely traveled. There were no settlements of any size north of the seat of the realm. Nearly all the manors and farms in the Septentrion were to be found to the south of the banks of Stony Run where the clime was more agreeable to settled agriculture. There were no towns or cities north of Vandaster for peasants or burghers to travel betwixt. The only things of interest this far north were the Imperial strongholds anchoring Ethica's northernmost boundaries - the small hilltop keep at Ambush Watch and the seaside fortress of Frostmouth Keep. Imperial soldiers on Imperial business were the only ones who traversed this road-less-traveled, and they were fewer every year.

Though the road was crude, it had the benefit of passing through glorious unspoiled country. Before them, the rolling hills ran gently onward, bisected on either side by the unwavering road. Copses of scraggly pines crowned the hillsides. Between the sparse trees, the meadows were painted with patches of wildflowers. A soft cover of purple-pink heather covered the hills, interrupted occasionally by swathes of blue lupines and yellow St. Bandaran's crown. This was pristine land, no sheep had ever grazed upon this country nor had any serf cut this earth with a plow. It was exactly as Kammeth or Tihune or whomever intended, unsullied by man.

"I did not know any country could be so resplendent," Enlightened Brother Davan exclaimed. "To say nothing of as hard of a land as the Septentrion."

"There is a beauty to this realm, to be sure," Sevryth replied. "It is a difficult place to rule and to live. It is a hard country and life can be ugly here, but in consolation the dominion of House Lastren is the most majestic of all."

Many candlemarks of riding passed and the land sloped down to the north. A breeze rolling southward carried with it the smell of the sea, and it wasn't much longer before they could see it. Perhaps a league ahead of them, beyond a jagged coast of headlands and inlets, the sea stretched on endlessly and melted into the horizon. Whitecaps of distant waves could be seen rolling in toward the land; the sound of their crashing against the cliffs was carried southward on the wind.

"The Bay of Lights." Sevryth declared, gently halting his horse to take in the ridgetop vista. He drank in the smell of seaspray on the wind through his nostrils. "We are almost there, Enlightened Brother."

"Praise Kammeth!" Davan exclaimed. "What an arduous journey it has been, but through the grace of our Celestial Father, we have made it."

"Almost there," Sevryth reminded, spurring his Varlander onward again. "Another two or three leagues remain from this point."

"Three leagues?!" Davan groaned. "You have a queer definition of 'almost', young lord!"

As the road veered eastward, Davan could not help but vocalize his irritation. "You said this was a bay, did you not? A bay of the Eastern Ocean, no?"

"Correct." Sevryth replied. "To our northeast, the Narsland continues northeastward perhaps 150 leagues as a peninsula. Ultimately, this is a gulf of the ocean."

"So why come do we not simply sail to Frostmouth Keep?"

"It is a long distance by ship just from Vandaster, to say nothing of the southern ports like Luzerne or Westport. At the latitudes at the tip of the Narsland, the winds are temperamental and even in midsummer it is easy for a vessel to be crushed by pack ice. I have heard of perhaps two ships making the passage, but many more have sunk in the attempt. It is simply faster and safer to walk overland."

The next two candlemarks consisted of riding along the coast. Here, the wildflower fields of the inland hills gave way to tufts of yellow-green grass interspersed with scraggly bushes of wild roses. Gulls and cormorants cast shadows around the two riders as they glided up on the updrafts coming off the sea. They passed over the ridges of headlands and down through valleys that ran seaward into coves of pebbled beaches.

Then, upon cresting one last ridge, it came into view at last. Frostmouth Keep.

It was situated at a bay where a wide river met the sea. The coastal plain rose gently up toward it until it formed a great hill of a headland half-eaten into the sea. But a great column of rock had resisted the constant crashing of the waves and stood defiant against the sea as a mighty pillar of stone. Waves crashed against this enormous sea-stack, spraying its gray rock with mist. From its rough-hewn trunk rising out of the sea, the column transitioned from rock to fortification. A fortress stood atop this great rock, carved out of the stone in some places and built up of stone bricks in others. This was a castle both sculpted and constructed, done in such a manner that made it seem like the castle was not built by the hands of men, but rather hewn from the rock by forces of wave, wind, and frost.

But built by mortal hands it was - by Imperial stonemasons, the masters of fortification engineering. Parapeted walls of stones circled about the upper reaches of the citadel in an upward spiral, featuring guard towers whose roofs were outfitted with ballistae and catapults pointed outward toward the headland. The only access to the outside world was a single drawbridge that spanned the gap between the headland and the fortress. Should that be raised, the fortress would be impenetrable by even the largest and best prepared army. The only way that such a fortification could ever be taken would be by starving the defenders out. And if that were to be attempted, an Imperial Regiment would surely be sent from the south to relieve the defenders. It was difficult to imagine Frostmouth Keep from being anything but impregnable.

"By the Gods," Enlightened Brother Davan gasped, "what a castle."

"Indeed," Sevryth agreed. "Welcome to Frostmouth Keep, the end of the Empire."

Sevryth galloped up the great hill to the cliff's edge and halted at the edge of the drawbridge. The iron drawgate across the chasm was lowered, and he could see Imperial soldiers in shimmering plate gathering on the ramparts above the gate and behind the drawbridge. When Davan caught up to him, Sevryth raised an open palm to the soldiers gathering above.

"Who goes there!?" An officer called out from atop the gate, his voice barely-ringing out above the ferocious crashing of waves below.

"I am Sevryth Lastren, son of Anastus Lastren, Noble Lord of the Septentrion, Servant of the Phoenix Emperor, Bulwark of the North!" Sevryth's voice echoed against the stone walls before being drowned out by the crashing of waves.

"State your business!"

"I come to escort Enlightened Brother Davan Goriolus to this place, that he may carry out his duties as chaplain! I come also to fulfill my duties in the defense of my father's realm!"

With that, the gates cranked open, allowing Sevryth and Davan entry into the keep. The two riders trotted across the drawbridge, wet and slick from the seaspray, into a small parade ground beyond the gate - which was ratcheted back down after their passage. A cadre of shining Imperial soldiers stood in formation before the two riders. Two small phalanxes of soldiers flanked a stoic, humorless man clad in ornate commander's armor.

"Taxiarchos," Sevryth reported respectfully as he dismounted his horse.

"Glad to have you back at Frostmouth." The Taxiarchos replied. "We're in need of good men out here, and you Lastren boys are as tough as steelpine." The Taxiarchos looked over to the portly monk struggling off his horse, and nodded over to him as if to say 'Who is this oaf'?

"Right. Taxiarchos Otelio, this is Enlightened Brother Davan Goriolus. He has been appointed to serve as our chaplain, to take the place of the late Dawnbringer Doloros."

"Kammeth guide you, Taxiarchos," Davan greeted with a chipper demeanor. "I am eager to see that the will of our Celestial Father is done here."

"Right," Otelio replied, rolling his eyes.

Out from the sky above, a ugly black bird swooped down upon Sevryth's shoulder and began nipping at the scruffy beginnings of facial hair growing on the Lastren boy's chin. It was a large raven, with several patches of feathers missing around its neck and face and a tail of ratty old feathers. It was a wonder the old bird could even fly. In spite of its unattractive appearance, Sevryth grinned with delight as the bird continued nipping playfully at his scruff.

"I take it you recognize him." The Taxiarchos said, watching Sevryth pet the old raven on its mangy head.

"Tatters, my father's raven," Sevryth affirmed. "I'd recognize him anywhere. What's he doing out here?"

A grim frown crawled across the Taxiarchos' face. "When did you leave Vandaster, young lord?"

"Three days ago," Sevryth diverted his attention from Tatters and his eyes widened upon seeing Otelio's unusually dour face. "Why?"

"Then you would have just missed the message. Lord Lastren's raven arrived this morning. He sent me the message that he had received from a raven from the South," the Taxiarchos sighed before continuing.

"Emperor Taramyth is dead."

“Oh come on Visia, it'll be fun. Haven't you ever wanted to get out and see what things are really like without the guards?” The red haired girl in a red and white dress looked across the table in the archives at the identical face of her sister, an identical face that was currently frowning at her.

“No, and I'm busy.” The other girl pointed to the large book in front of her. “I'm studying. You know, like you should be. Just because mother's away doesn't mean we stop following the rules.”

But the first girl looked and her sister and shook her head as if disappointed. “That's exactly what it means! Avalia is in charge and she won't even notice, she's too busy trying to be Queen.” It was however clear that her pleas were falling upon deaf ears however and after another minute of failed attempts to convince Visia, Meliri gave up. Visia was such a stick in the mud lately, but Visia was just the first person on Meliri's list. She had a plan...

But, where Meliri had failed, she’d also succeeded. Alais emerged from behind a bookshelf in a whirl of curly pigtails, having heard Meliri’s plot to escape the confines of the castle.

“I, on the other hand,” she proclaimed, “have all the time in the world! I’ll tag along as usual, Mel.” She gave Visia a disappointed look and added, “These tomes will always be here when we come back.” She stuck a book as wide as her torso back into the shelf and skipped to her friend’s side.

Well that was a pleasant surprise and the disappointed Meliri’s face lit up again. “See Visia, you’re going to miss something fun!” She called to her sister, but Visia just lifted her book up and seemingly ignored her. It would be good to have Alais along as she was mostly game for adventures even if she was constantly mooning after Morion these days, and Meliri knew she could get Alexia to come along. She even knew where to find her.

There wasn't much green in Rianis, there wasn't really any ground or soil for things to grow on atop the waters of the lake, but there was one place where a lone plot of soil remained. The garden in the palace. Meliri made her way to it and began to look around, it wasn't big and normally Alexia wasn't hard to fi… Ah there she was.

Meliri ran up behind her friend and wrapped her arms around her in a hug. “Hi!” she called out cheerfully afterwards as she let go again. “Do you want to go on an adventure?”

There was a high-pitched yelp from the black-haired girl as she found her current activity, a sort of meditation, interrupted by her friend’s sudden appearance in the gardens. Alexia Valian didn’t really have a proper response to Meliri’s surprise antics as she found herself utterly flabbergasted as she lost her complete train of thought. This however was not really surprising behavior for Meliri, who had always had this sort of spontaneity about her and despite living the majority of her life in Rianis, Alexia had found herself surprised consistently when she knew Meliri could’ve been around the corner planning out some way to jump her and scream ‘adventure’.

“M-M-Meliri! You cannot sneak up on me like this!” She half-stammered as a reply.

“Why not?” The red haired girl asked as she cocked her head to the side slightly and smiled in that winning way she had.

“W-Well for one thing, it’s kind of…. impolite? What if I was doing something important?”

“Were you?” She sounded genuinely curious and her expression was a bit less radiant than. “Why is everyone so busy?”

Alexia bit her lip as she wondered if she had upsetted Meliri with her response to her sudden presence. She liked Meliri’s company quite well and she didn’t want to disappoint her by rebuffing her aspirations for entertainment. “Well… no, not really. I can meditate anytime, I suppose…”

“Well then…” Meliri seemed to bounce back from whatever brief flash of disappointment had manifested as her smile returned. “Do you want to go on an adventure?” She repeated her earlier question. “Come on, it’ll be fun! I promise.”

“In the castle? Like, are you going to try to sneak into the dungeons again? That didn’t work out so well last time...” Alexia half-heartedly commented as she recalled the incident; though to be air it had been the worst incident that the girls had gotten rounded up into doing. She still remembered the scolding the Queen of Tellaria handed out personally, refusing to allow such dalliances go unlectured. Did they want to risk the same consequence again?

“Okay…” Meliri paused as she kicked at the ground a bit at the mention of that particular ‘adventure’. “But that was the exception! You can’t tell me that you haven’t had fun almost every other time.”

Alexia nodded, she did have a good degree of fun in these kind of situations despite the lectures that came afterwards but it wasn’t for the reasoning of enjoying Meliri’s absurd activities either. Though she still didn’t really enjoy the end results of these adventures as her friend called them. The Valian girl was a honored guest and she knew very well that anything she did reflected on House Valian as a whole. How was she supposed to be on her best behavior when Meliri was just so convincing though?

“Alright.” She stated, albeit defeatingly.

With the confirmation that Alexia would be coming Meliri’s face lit up again in a radiant smile as she spoke again in what was half a cheer. “Yay!” A few seconds later. “I think you’re going to really like this one. It’s right up your alley.” Meliri nodded enthusiastically. “And Alais is coming too!”

“Mel can’t go on an adventure by herself!” Alais said, stepping out from behind Meliri. “...and if she did she would never get away with it....” she teased. “I think you’d be better off meditating after we get scolded.”

Alexia wanted to say something about Meliri avoiding consequence being wrong but she decided not to interject.

“Exactly! And mom is away so Avalia is in charge. We might not even get in trouble this time.” Meliri’s infectious smile stayed on her face. “And I promise, no dungeons or smelly tunnels. No getting scolded for dirty clothes!”

Alexia looked at the two with a quizzical expression; had they lost their minds? “Might? I don’t like where this is going.”

But clearly at this point Meliri had decided it was time to set out on whatever adventure she had planned as she took her friend’s hands and half leading them set off, talking as she did so. “We should be okay this time Alexia, don’t worry.” She spoke in what was doubtless meant to be a reassuringly upbeat way. “Alais isn’t worried, right Alais?” Meliri glanced towards the other girl as she asked.

The Duvard shook her head, grinning. “I only worry if I have to,” she chimed. “Although, you still haven’t told us where we’re going.”

“Shhh” the red haired girl replied, “It’s a secret.” She teased before laughing and continuing. “We are going to the shore by ourselves, no guards to stifle the fun!”

“The shore!” Alais exclaimed. “I’ve always wanted to go there, since I first came to Tellaria. It’s so romantic!” she floated after Meliri, visions of warm sands and glistening water in her head.

Alexia’s eyes widened a bit by the suggestion. No guards? The idea that Meliri had concocted a way to get around the royal guard assigned to make sure they didn’t get into trouble was a worrying precedent. Still in a bit of disbelief as the Xandrian girl found herself led down what felt like the twisting hallways of the castle.

“How?” She murmured, finally.

“We take my boat.” The Tallurian chimed happily as if that answered everything. It was common knowledge that she often went out on the lake, though that didn’t really answer how they were going to dodge having to take a guard along with them. “Don’t worry Alexia. I’ve got a plan.” She gave her friend’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“You always have a plan…” Alexia muttered under her breath.

“Of course I do.” Meliri chimed out happily as the group emerged from one hallway only to find their way blocked by a figure who perfectly mirrored their leader. Meliri for her part took it in stride. “So you are going to come too after all?

And her twin nodded after a long moment. “Someone has to keep you from being too crazy.” But Visia was smiling, even if it looked somewhat reluctant as she said it. And then, the group of girls, now four strong set off once more upon a grand adventure.

----

Collab between myself, Gowi, and Aristo

---

There were three different wines to be offered for the meal. A red vintage, imported to the Imperial Capital from the southern Fleurs de Mer, was Victoria's favourite. Its colour was excellent, and it had the perfect amount of sweetness, accentuated by a very light citrus aftertaste. The best wine to be found in eastern Ethica, the Duchess would opine. Of course, to only offer the best wine from one half of the continent was woefully insufficient to charm a woman such as Lady Marra. Thus, the second choice was the best wine in the west. Another red, this one from the island of Sunvale, a possession of House Gracieux along Xandria's southern coast. Xandrian wines tended to be much spicier than Veletian brands, and Sunvale vintages were far from the exception. Each bottle was entirely pure, no added spices, yet still had a kick stronger than any wine found on the mainland. Victoria loved to talk up the exceptional nature of any one of the innumerous products House Gracieux had for sale, but Sunvale wine was one of her family's possessions that, although it tasted as excellently as she claimed, the Duchess loathed to taste herself. It brought back too many bad memories from horrible times. The third option, the cheapest by far, was more or less for decoration. An afterthought, that no one who cared even slightly about wine would select. A peasant's wine, made from grapes in the northern Luzerne. It was the sort of wine one might offer to children: grape-coloured water more so than alcohol, and sickeningly sweet. When entertaining newly monied merchant families, or especially destitute old blooded nobles, Victoria would sometimes play a game of trying to pass off Luzerne wines for something substantial. Those without a drop of class were far too easy to fool, and she'd yet to be caught in the act. Lady Marra, though, if the rumours of her partying and rampant debauchery were true, was likely to be able to distinguish a Luzerne from a Sunvale.

"Wonderfully pleasant to see you, Lady Marra!" Victoria spoke with a grin as the sister of the Queen of Tellaria walked in. The Duchess was sitting in a private room in the upstairs of an upscale Lalrial restaurant, having been waiting for her appointment with Lady Marra. The door to the elite, private dining quarters was flanked by two officers of the Veletian Gendarmerie; a future Empress could hardly afford the luxury of going out unattended, after all. The inside of the room held no guards, though, as Victoria loathed to be accompanied by the under-classes when dining. This was especially so when the purpose of the meal was not to sate hunger, but to impress. If the wines weren't enough to impress by themselves, hopefully the fact that the entire restaurant was owned by the Duchess Gracieux would be. Victoria rose from her seat for a moment, giving Marra a friendly welcome. "How does the toast of Lalrial fare?"

The Lady Marra, resplendent in her crimson dress that went so perfectly with both her hair and her eyes smiled beatifically across the table at her current companion as she stretched out a delicate ivory hand to pick up one of the bottles of wine. "I fare well Victoria, I do love the city, so many things to do, people to see, it never grows tiring." She raised the bottle up and looked at the label for a moment before setting it down again and doing the same with another.

"And how do you fare?" She continued, this time with further pleasantries. "I hear Violette is more prosperous than ever." And as she finished Marra seemed to have made her choice regarding the wines, "I think this will do nicely." She said as she tapped her finger lightly against the side of the first of the three options. Then raising the bottle she poured it in the proper amounts into the glasses set before them.

Victoria returned to her seat and took a sip from her glass, still wearing an accommodating smile. While Lady Marra was dressed in a vibrant crimson, matching her fiery red hair, Victoria wore an elegant, dark purple dress, and her long black hair was tied behind her, in a Veletian braid. The most splendid part of her ensemble, though, was the jewellery decorating her neck. House Gracieux's ancestral artefact, the gilded bouquet: a golden necklace decorated with gemstones in the shape and colour of flowers. The largest and most central of these flowers, at the nape of Victoria's neck, was of course a violet. "Violette fares excellently. We've recently had to grant a substantial loan to the senate for them to expand the city's docks. I'd dare say we have more ships and more bodies travelling through the flower of the eastern sea than ever. But how has this city we sit in been, of late, with Taramyth's passing?"

"The smallfolk continue on as if nothing happened in truth. But the parties have been dreadfully dull. All anyone wants to talk about these days is who will be the next Emperor, and none of the people talking has any say in the matter." Marra shook her head, a slight frown on her features as if the thought of wasting a perfectly good party with political conversation was offensive to some degree. "It's been the closest to boring I've seen the city."

Victoria decided to speak her mind. "It requires a special sort of person to pursue politics for any reason other than greed or familial necessity. A benevolent ruler is a sort of rarity that most, like the smallfolk, have never witnessed in their lives. It fuels their pessimism. Most of the best remembered leaders in history are those who simply did nothing in prosperous times. But we're getting into a nasty subject here, aren't we? I'm sure both of your ears have been talked off about the succession quite enough already. How goes the most important affair of all: love? Does the beautiful Lady Marra have a man in her life?"

Lady Marra's own smile returned as the subject veered away from the endless discussions of sucession once more and she took a somewhat larger sip from her wine glass than those Victoria had taken. She seemed to be pondering the proper way to reply to the question before at last speaking in reply. "Perhaps..." The one word was spoken in such a way that it almost certainly implied that there was someone, and also implied that she wasn't necessarily wanting to disclose it. But she did continue. "You meet so many delightful people at the parties." Then she finished the rest of her glass of wine.

A pert, knowing grin was drawn across Victoria's face at Marra's words. "Making plenty of friends is all well and good, but be sure you're more diminutive when it comes to lovers." Her smile then dwindled, and she took a healthy sip of wine before continuing. "And that applies doubly to husbands."

Marra's own face showed a brief flash of sympathy as Victoria spoke in a veiled reference to her own misfortune. "I have refined tastes Victoria, you needn't worry about that. I'm pleased you escaped your own misfortune, it was an ugly affair." And as she finished she picked up the bottle and refilled her own glass before topping off Victoria's.

"Hopefully none of the men involved in your affairs have been ugly." Victoria joked.

"Mine have all been gentlemen, if not always perfect ones." She smiled. "You don't get far in my line of work without some ability to judge character." And again, she raised her glass, taking another fairly long sip from it.

Victoria allowed the conversation to pause for a time, and allow Lady Marra to continue with her wine. After she had carefully decided upon her next words, she spoke. "What do you make of my character, Marra? You are one of the most well known and respected personalities in Lalrial. What does her most astute Lady Marra think of Duchess Victoria Gracieux?"

And Lady Marra's broad smile remained as she listened to the duchess' words, words that contained praise for her as well. "I think you are a clever and charming lady who turned her mistake into a source of strength and resolve, and I think you've got steel in you, just like Varminia does."

The Duchess raised her finger as Lady Marra spoke of what she gained from her mistake, and waited until she had finished speaking before adding, "More important than strength and resolve, though, I'm sure you'll agree, is good wine! My old mistake's seat makes some of the best. Please..." Victoria gestured to the wine cabinet at the side of the room facing the door, which held multiple bottes of each of the three vintages that she had offered, and several more. "Help yourself to a bottle or two, for later, or for your own collection." Victoria took a final drink from her glass, then stood from her chair, smiling at Marra. "I'm afraid I need to attend to my husband, Ralltene. I swear, if a man doesn't have a strong woman behind him, he can't accomplish much of anything."

Marra nodded with clear agreement and a bit of a stifled laugh as Victoria mentioned that wine was more important. She certainly didn't disagree about the importance of such things. And as her host gestured towards the cabinent Marra approved of that as well. "Well you are strong, I'm sure you'll keep him in line, I'm happy things are so much better for you." The crimson haired woman stood as well. "And thank you for a delightful chat, I'll give Varminia your regards."

---

[Collaboration between myself and Raptorman]

05/06/1200, Imperial Capital, City of the Phoenix

Vicereine Deana Swiftwave had finally arrived in the capital, her ship being guided towards a dock slip. She was tired, and worn out from the journey, looking forward to conducting her business that she had in mind, and then presenting herself to the Regency, and awaiting the beginning of the voting sessions. She watched the birds flying high in the sky above her, smiling at them. How nice it must be, to be so completely free, nothing to worry about. The seagulls were her favorite, no matter what anyone thought. They circled and danced on the winds, riding the invisible air currents to and fro, only worrying about where they'd next find more food. She sighed, sitting down softly in her chair that was upon the command deck of the ship. Lee Swiftwave guided the ship, an expert helmsman of Kammeth only knew how many voyages. It was nice to have her brother here, in this city so far from home, so far from everything that she knew. Deana looked at the expanding walls of the City of the Phoenix, and could only feel so small and powerless.

The river's current was thankfully not very strong, and allowed for Vicereine Deana to enjoy the view thus far. Still, she had so much to do, so many things to take care of, and yet, none could be done until she was actually within the capital, within it's expansive walls and safely within her own apartments. The wind tugged on her hair, as the ship gently bumped up against the docks, creaking and groaning to a halt. So... this was it, she was finally here. As she stood up, she was greeted by something, or rather, people, that she did not expect to see. The Inquisitors were waiting on the docks, shining brightly under their banners, "guardians and protectors" of the faith. There was only one obvious reason for them to be here, to have been waiting so patiently for the Oceanglass to arrive. They were here for Deana and Lee Swiftwave... the bastards were not going to let her even participate within the elections, let alone step foot as a free woman upon the lands of mainland Ethica.

The crew looked to her, and to Lee, for guidance. They could fight, and perhaps even win, but that would only draw negative attention to the Swiftwave family, and to Kawachian South Ethica. These Vaelie... they were not normal, perhaps even without a drop of empathy and kindness. The male and female Inquisitors nodded their heads, and their retinue boarded the ship. Deana could do little in the way of resisting them, it would only make it far worse for her, so much worse. She held out her hands, ready to be bound and led away as a prisoner. She spoke in a soft tone, looking at her crew, and to her brother Lee.

"Do not bother fighting them... there is nothing we can do. Lee... I love you, if I don't see you again... your brother was a great man, and I hope for all of us to be together on the other side. Eternity begins and ends with the ocean’s tides." She smiled to her brother, and then to her crew, nodding to them all, before being led away in chains. Lee too was arrested, disarmed, and then led away as well.

Lee Swiftwave looked to the crew, and spoke to them as well, repeating the Swiftwave family motto, "Eternity begins and ends with the ocean’s tides." He and his sister in law were now prisoners, and unspeakable things surely awaited them. The Vaelie were beyond reproach, and as the words of commoners went, without hearts or souls, just mindless drones for their masters. Soon, the world went dark, as a bag was placed over his head, the sun snuffed out, and being roughly shoved into an awaiting carriage. Time would reveal what was going to happen to Lee and Daena Swiftwave.


05/07/1200, Kawachian South Ethica, City of Point Break

The dispatch attendant had woken Ryan Swiftwave up late into the evening. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, rising up from his bed. He blinked away the bleariness, trying to figure out what the storming seas was going on. It was late, very late indeed, and whatever it was that required him to be awake, it was no doubt urgent, or something from his mother. Either way, he shrugged his coat on, getting up from bed to walk into his study. The dispatch attendant was awaiting him already, along with the Minister of Trade, Admiral Eekoh Lansin, and the Minister of Defense, Lord Darrius Greenmane. The all stood as Ryan entered the room, looking at him with grave concern. Whatever it was, something bad had happened, something big enough to unsettling both Lansin and Greenmane.

"What is it? Why are all of you acting like you've seen a Leviathan? What is the meaning of this?" Ryan asked in a commanding tone, looking around his study at all three men. They were all hesitant to speak, all fearful of what they needed to tell Ryan. He walked across the room, his feet sounding so much louder than they actually were, to grab the letter clutched in the hands of the dispatch attendant. He looked at the seal, and instantly recognized it as the crest of his mother's ship, the Oceanglass. His heart sank, fearful of what the letter could say... what it held within. He looked up at his Ministers, looking at them with a steely gaze. They knew... they both knew what the letter said, and that was why they were so fearful, so apprehensive.

Ryan sank into his chair, letting the letter fall to the desktop. He let his eyes gaze at the seal, gazing at it for a long while, before he finally regained control over his own arms and hands. His fingers felt cold and ungainly, as he unfolded the letter. He read it, once, twice, three times, before looking up, looking at the Ministers, and fully understanding why they were here, why they had not spoken aloud to Ryan. He looked back down at the letter, it painfully short, written hastily to relay information, to let Ryan Swiftwave prepare for the coming storm.

"Your mother and uncle have been taken by the Inquisition. They will be coming for you Viceroy Swiftwave. We'll wait for their release, no matter how long it takes. Eternity begins and ends with the ocean’s tides. Signed, Captain Orik."

Ryan Swiftwave looked up, rising from his chair, and walking over to a window, looking down onto the crashing waves of the ocean. The Inquisition, they would be coming, they would come in force, with fire and sword, to Kawachia. The old Emperor was dead, and without him, there was no-one to hold the leash of these murderous monsters who would stop it nothing in their divine mission. They were coming, and they had his mother and uncle, the only other two remaining Swiftwaves. Eternity begins and ends with the ocean’s tides, and with the changing tides came both triumph and defeat. He clenched his right hand about the letter, the hate for the Vaelie growing ever darker and greater with each passing moment.

The Inquisition had struck first, showing their hand, and it was Ryan's turn now... to show them, and their masters what came of their folly.

Dorias sighed as his horse trotted on, looking at the nobles of Khomeria arriving in their fancy wagons decorated with all sorts of jewlery and tapestries to show their wealth. He never liked traveling in wagons, it made him feel enclosed, like he was trapped in a cage, this way, on his horse, he could admire the lands of Khomeria, it's majestic mountains, the mountains that protected and made Khomeria one of the richest provinces of the empire. He smiled, he was happy that he was leading his people to a better tomorrow, but he couldn't help think what would've happened if his brother had not given up the throne, would he have ruled like him, or would he have been a more daring and innovative king. He often thought of scenarios like these and while he disliked his elder brother for handing all the responsibility to him, he can't say he did not enjoy ruling.

However as he was thinking, his memories began to flood him, the circumstances under which he received the throne of Khomeria were less than pleasant. About 12 years ago, a disease had sprung up in Khomeria and had started to ravage the population. The king at the time, Karmius Shieldbearer and his own father had sealed the borders, allowing nobody to leave and nothing to arrive, other than the food that the region depended upon so dearly, in hope that the new disease would not spread outside the kingdom. And outside a few isolated cases, it never did spread outside of the kingdom. However that was only good for the other kingdoms, Khomeria was now suffering as it's people slowly died, not even magic being able to cure them of their ailments.

However, after two years, thanks to the king's efforts, this plague seemed to slowly die out as the numbers of the infected started dropping rapidly. Even so, more than 320.000 people had died in Khomeria, it's economy had suffered greatly thanks to the death of so many people, even the nobles suffered as their parents or children withered away. Even Karmius, his father, had lost two siblings to this plague, yet, that never stopped his efforts in trying to root out the incurable plague and now, it seemed like his kingdom could finally start recovering. Alas, it was not meant to be...

His wife, and Dorias' mother had caught the plague and was now in bed, with the best mages and healers money could buy tending to her, however, not even the most devoted of Kammeth were able to cure her. Karmius, despite the risks, had stayed with his wife almost every day, sometimes even neglecting his duties as king to stay with wife. And that did not turn out good, Karmius himself had been infected with this plague and was now in bed... however, as he was about to hand over his throne to his eldest son, Mardanis, he left the kingdom and pledged himself to the Royal Guard, leaving Dorias to lead the kingdom at the age of 14.

Dorias shook these thoughts out of his mind and looked around at the countryside, even here, there were several small forges, with smiths working tirelessly to shape the steel and gold that made Khomeria a nation of the rich. His eyesight, then fell on his bodyguard, the Iron Guard. Professional soldiers clad in thick steel plate armor, a massive steel shield a oak spear with a steel tip and a steel shortsword they could draw upon in case they would lose their spear. These men were the best trained troops in Khomeria and also the most loyal to the royal family, for their service, the kingdom awarded the families significant sums of gold for the risk these troops take in protecting the emperor, even during the Plague, the kingdom never fell short on repaying their families for giving away their sons, brothers or fathers to serve the royal family. And the money for their training and equipment was well worth it, a phalanx of these soldiers was a steel fortress within itself and with the aid of a war magi or two, they would become impervious to magic as well, though he knew all too well that these troops were troops made to defend rather than to attack, it was a reason why the Khomerian kings never tried to expand beyond their own mountain territories.

As he was lost in thought however, he failed to realize that they had already reached the massive fortress of Vermilias, the fortress placed on the only entrance towards the nations heartlands of Khomeria and the capital itself. He would soon get out, which meant, he would soon leave the safety of his nation, but instead of being nervous, he embraced this, he smiled as a new and beautiful world opened up to him.

Offices of the Amrothan Prime Magistrate, Lalrial.

The crisis, such as it was, that politics had become in the wake of the death of Emperor Taramyth had turned things upside down, particularly for those Prime Magistrates who made their lives in the capital. It hadn't taken long for Lothar to reach out to him, almost quicker than he expected, with the news he would be in the capital soon, and with Charlotte no less. He didn't question that too much, He knew his nephew Reimar was of his own mind. Consequently, he had spent far too much time arranging any information that could ever possibly be pertinent, though he fully expected most of it would never be looked at. At least it was arranged now, he reasoned, a small solace.

He had caught a few moments to eat, drink and sadly not be merry, and glean any information he could from his friends, professional and personal. He was where he always seemed to be these days, though, back in the "Office" that he used that was not at all far enough away from the modest apartments in the capital he called a home, of sorts. He knew Lothar would arrive soon, and found that while he intended otherwise, all he was doing now was idly reshuffling the same inconsequential papers he had sorted through all but a few mark's ago.

It was, as if through providence, that the moment of self realisation that had dawned was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Roused to some form of action that wasn't more befitting of a forgotten bureaucrat, Deiter rose, approaching the door. No doubt another chapter in the ongoing Imperial drama. Taking a deep breath that evoked someone about to take a dive into the unknown, an irony somewhat lost on himself, Deiter manoeuvred his way around and opened the door.

Standing there was a man he knew well enough, James Conrad. James looked to Deiter in a somewhat suprised manner yet greeted him with a pleasant enough tone "Hello Deiter, I was hoping we could talk, May I come in?" He asked with a smile.

Deiter released the breath in a discreet a manner as possible, returning the smile of mild familiarity. "Ah James, You've caught me at a good enough time, please, come in. It's considerably more organized than usual, you might actually find somewhere to sit this time." He said, drawing back and extending an arm in a flourish of welcome.

James nodded as he walked in and saw the office looking tidy at least as far as it concerned Deiter's normal standard of organisation. He chuckled as he took his seat and then looked towards Deiter "Everyone's preparing for their family member's arrival it seems, putting off most of the meetings the estate had planned. Yet, I was wondering have you any idea who your brother may vote for in the election for the emperor?" James said leaning back and getting comfortable in the wooden chair.

"You and everyone else." Deiter responded quickly, returning to the seat that was now surrounded by stacks of papers that were at least, neat. "Though that goes without saying. Who will Lothar cast his vote for? As good a question for me as for you. You know how our interests have sometimes aligned, yet this card is held close to his own chest. If I had to guess, he likely will not decide until the last possible moment. There is always something to gain from these things, perhaps he will await a convincing offer." Deiter finished, shrugging slightly. "Right now your guess is as good as mine, and my advice will only go so far."

James nodded in agreement, "I believe you give yourself far too little credit. I'm sure if you were to speak to your brother about your own personnel views on one of the candidates he'd be more willing to side with them. Though, every lord want's their throne handed to them on a golden platter." James paused for a moment before continuing. "Though if you don't know who your brother is voting for, then may I ask who you believe would be the best candidate as concerns our next Emperor?" James said as he looked around the room and seeing how the room wasn't exactly neat just more piles that seemed to look more organized.

"Personally? In the interests of the status quo I'd be inclined to recommend Ralltene, more of the different kind of same, some would say, but the status quo would be mostly preserved. That said, it remains a fluid vote, and whatever would benefit the house the most will likely carry more weight at such a time." Deiter answered, despite all the information he had most of it had been of no relevance or worse, was just useless, not to mention how much credence was often given to idle rumour that proved nothing more than that. He was sure if he started a rumour this instant that was absurd enough yet simple it'd end up written down in every Prime Magistrate's plethora of personal information by the end of Gerna.

James nodded, "While Rall may be the candidate that was most like his father is that really the best thing we need currently? I mean his father wasn't the best now was he and his council was doing half the work if not more. Now, as for Jakinius, he's the first born and was given anything and everything. He seems like a strong leader but if you look at him he's more or less a brute and a soldier, he'd want to tighten the kingdom under the Emperor's hold and he hasn't done much ruling in his life. The last of the main contenders, Allianna of course, while she did argue vigorously to get her own title it's not like she's done a horrible job at it. She at least knows how to rule but she maybe just as forceful as her brother, though I believe her to be the best of the main contenders. Wouldn't you agree Deiter?" James said leaning closer somewhat.

"Perhaps, but to rock the boat, if you'll forgive the somewhat unbecoming joke given the circumstances of the late Emperor, now? I'd expect that my house would seek more from such support than the good feeling of electing an Emperor, or Empress. What invests you in such an outcome? Surely not an act of selflessness?" Deiter asked, chuckling slightly. Very little in politics was selfless, but he was never normally so direct in approaching the subject, this was not a normal time, however, so it was what it was.

James raised his eyebrow and then nodded. "Oh come now Deiter, I can't give my own thoughts on the matter. I am basically the voice for Lord Cragmore after all. Though I don't expect to gain much after all, I am but a landless noble. With no alliances,no family and no loyal men. But I do wish to speak to you as I believe friends should. We must get a concise and coherent Emperor put into power, if for no other reason then to make our jobs a little easier." James laughed while thinking Deiter may be useful for the vote in the future so long as they could get on the same side.

"Perhaps, it would be akin to "selling a sinking boat" as one of those Veletian merchants would put it." Deiter took a moment, mulling over the matter. "I can make a suggestion but I cannot guarantee the outcome. It may, after all, all be for naught if another contender makes an offer that it would be foolish to refuse, of course. We may even see half of the remaining Valariens kill each other off for all we know, dangerous times, James. I think the Prime Estate's concerns will remain junior for some time. I didn't think I would miss them, but, jokes on me this time." Deiter said, casting a glance at the offices numerous piles of parchment and ruffled papers.

James gave a chuckle "You keep saying you could make a suggestion, yet you only spoke of Ralltene, would your mind be open to another perhaps. Though let's be honest you are right, the Valariens may end up making themselves extinct by the time this thing ends, yet until that time we need a central leadership. I do believe if you spoke to your brother about whom you'd prefer, he could begin making arrangements while I work on the side lines, speaking to our colleagues and what not we may see the Emperor or Empress chosen sooner then expected." James said, looking to the piles that pervaded the room. "Yet even when this is all done, I may have to help you get these things in order." He added.

"Ralltene is a choice of simplicity, anyone else will demand something more, though it would be upon Lothar himself to see what rewards could be reaped. That said, the thought of such things would not be a negative. We Amrothan will bide our time all the same, regardless of how quick our minds are set. I could promise you the suggestion of the candidate you prefer, but I could not promise you any more than that." Deiter looked to the morass of papers. "As for those, I'm probably planning a bonfire sometime soon, you're welcome to contribute." He added, smiling.

James nodded "If you truly gave your brother my suggestion I'd already be humbled, though as I said choosing Allianna would be the best choice at least from the current contenders. If you'd allow me, I'd love to join you when you meet with your brother as I've always heard he was a good man. It might be nice to finally meet him." James said, looking as though he was about to stand up.

"I'll see what I can do on both counts, though I have no doubt there will be much occupying him it will cost nothing, at the very least, to present the latter. Off to court more of the Magistrates, then?" Deiter asked, though the curiosity was largely false, of course he would be, Deiter knew.

"Oh Deiter, stop, you know me, I get around. This was a nice chat though and I do hope to hear more from you especially when your brother stops by. But for now I supposed I must be off." James then stood up and headed for the door.

"Do try and keep your head on your shoulders, some of our colleagues are no doubt going to be.. highly invested in their recommendations." Deiter said, rising to provide a modest escort. "And do pass on my good wishes for whatever current hell they may be experiencing politically, let alone their social calendars, I'm hard pressed to do so myself with my new career as paper pusher." Dieter finished, finally ushering his visitor out of the door, offering a simple farewell and letting it close itself with a dull thud. He turned around and perused the scene.

"Yes, a bonfire. I'm sure the local church will love that."





It had been near twilight when the Amrothan delegation had arrived, Lothar Amrothan and his daughter, Charlotte, as well as a handful of the Bannerguard, making little in the way of fanfare as they entered Lalrial. Lothar had kept two of his Bannerguard, now dismounted and forming a guard, with their mounts tended to at an Amrothan owned stable as close to the gate they had entered had offered. The others were given their free time with an understanding of where they were to be in the coming days.

Deiter had welcomed them into his home as only family could, even at such a late mark. The hospitality had been tempered by the need to discuss pressing matters, and as perceptive as ever, Charlotte had hurried them and their escorts through their refreshments and Imperial sourced approximations of homely Dreibene meals before Lothar had set the guard and she herself had retired to sleep. They had come to find themselves in the lounge-come-study-come-entertainment room. Deiter was known for being a fan of clutter, and so Lothar found it difficult to discern just exactly which of those he had favoured, nonetheless, after such a time in the saddle, he welcomed the comfort of soft furnishings whilst simultaneously admonishing himself for such enjoyment. As Deiter joined him, he refocused his thoughts and began to speak.

"With pleasantries satisfied, speak to me of this election. We find ourselves predisposed to no candidate, and our marriage ties do not promise our own vote to the support of the candidates my fair sister-in-law or the Valian's may favour. You have done all that you have been asked and more in your capacity as Prime Magistrate, and you know more of this than I. Speak, and you shall have my ear." He fully focused his gaze on Deiter now, it was not unfriendly, just that of liege lord and valued advisor, more than simple brothers.

"I have spent many a mark looking through everything myself or old Siegmund had thought pertinent to the Valerians, and even beyond. I must admit, much of what has been written is difficult to verify at best, pure fantasy at worst. I know you well enough that without some not inconsiderable extension of Imperial favour, you have most likely ruled Jakinius out as an option." Lothar nodded, so Deiter continued. "It leaves us with Ralltene and Allianna. Ralltene would be, while no doubt a different variety, more of the same kind of ruler ship we have experienced under Taramyth. Such would incline you, no doubt, to favour a form of the status quo." Deiter shuffled himself in the seat, re-adjusting his positioning.

"You are uncertain?" Lothar posed the question, an immediate response to the understanding of body language learned over a lifetime of kinship.

"Perhaps.. Times become dangerous, uncertain, in these kinds of environments. Ralltene has his own reputation and is largely untested at least in the rule that he would be expected to undertake, at least, some of the time. In so far that is what I can gather from what I have learned." Deiter responded, letting a hand ruffle through his short red hair.

"I see. You would suggest considering Allianna, then? She is at the very least an able administrator, or so I'm told?" Lothar asked, posing a largely false question that they both knew he had an answer to.

Deiter offered it up anyway. "At the very least. She used words to get her way, a laudable trait for the holder of a Throne, of course. She has not yet found love or a suitable political match, either, from what I am aware of, so it means no House stands to gain in the immediacy of her election. It too, offers some form of opportunity. There is no reason, of course, to offer our loyalty with a corresponding reward un-promised." Lothar noted he placed some emphasis on the latter.

House Amrothan was hardly above the politicking that all the nobility engaged in, and he was right. It offered a chance at something more than simple adherence to the status quo. There was much more that Deiter would need to tell him, that much was sure.

"Ideally I would meet with them all, for courtesy's sake alone. The measure of a man or woman can only really be decided in the saddle, but I very much doubt I'd convince them of that. I am also of some doubt that they will find time for all the people who wish to meet them, but you will spread the word, will you not? In fact, given that I am in the capital at a time of such activity, I would most likely be wise to offer at least some of my time to those who would find time for some conversation." Lothar watched Deiter as he rose, nodding an affirmation.

"Deiter, in the morning, of course, the mark is late and we have not spoken at length in person for nearly two years. I assume you still have the favoured blend?" Lothar asked, a smile now upon his face.

"Blend?" Deiter asked, faking his uncertainty. "Oh, of course. I keep the stocks of wine varied and numerous, it comes in handy more often than you'd think. Of course, Brother, I save only the finest Purpurveil Rein for myself.. And you, of course." He quickly appended. Both men laughed a genuine hearty laugh.

It was good to be amongst family.

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King Alexander III Valian had done a lot of thinking on the approach to the imperial capital abroad his sea vessel, The Black Arrow. Unfortunate as it may have been, the King of Xandira’s thoughts were not about the imperial election that was soon to take place but rather on his eldest son and heir to the throne of his kingdom. The scene was still fresh in the King’s mind: as the high council of Xandria debated preemptively before the King set off for the imperial capital out had marched his son like he was on a quest from Helstar himself. What he “asked” had been a colossal thing to approach him with at such an inconvenient time. It was still hard to fathom.

He could still picture it: right as his council had been debating on the affairs of the imperial election and what King Alexander III should approach the situation with fresh in mind before setting sail— his very own heir announced to him that he intended to travel to the far north in seek of lending aid to House Lastren of The Septentrion and fighting against the barbarians who dwelled within the Webwood with sword and bow in hand. A plan that he had already advertised to Lord Anastus Lastren by sending raven to Vandaster. With the support of several of the high nobility of Xandria as well as Duncan Cragmore of Erayis, it seemed like his heir had put some long thought into the prospect. Still, as brash as Alexander IV was he still generally brought up things through the proper channels and bringing it up as the council discussed the soon-to-be-held imperial election was not.

Where had he failed as a father that his son thought the only way he was going to be accepted was in such a fashion? Had his depression blinded him so much?

“You can either give me official support or I will go without it.”

His son’s words struck him pretty hard during their conversation, but in the end, he understood that this was a matter there was not many options toward. His son would get the support he needed and didn’t have to march off to the north half-cocked like King Alexander was sure Duncan Cragmore had. But he could relate to the ambition of youth and the desire to bring the bow and sword to those who threatened the realm. The Nordheim were a threat worth looking into and with the imperial neglect as of recent years strong and quick-witted soldiers were needed more than ever.

However sensical it was King Alexander was pretty sure this all had been his fault— had he spoken differently about his escapades in the far north during his younger days before he became king perhaps this wouldn’t have become a scenario in the first place. But the past was set in stone and there could be nothing to do about it in the present. He just had to hope for his son’s future.

Perhaps Adelheid Amrothan, the girl he had wed to his heir, would keep his priorities in check once they got to Vandaster or even sway his decision while they sat in the imperial capital waiting for the electoral decisions to pass before they went north. After all, it was easier to travel back with Lord Anastus than the alternative. He hoped so considering the girl had a way with her words that even his second-born and fifth-born couldn’t compete with. She would have to if she wanted to ensure their future together. But then again, his son was exceptionally stubborn when he had his eyes set on something and his plans were quite the endeavor.

If Adelheid couldn’t convince his son, he would be sure to keep in touch as to monitor the situation; he knew how dangerous the far north was. Though he was certain he was going to have a discussion with Lord Anastus once the northern lord got to the imperial capital.

“It’s going to be a long one, Caprica.” He mused as he turned back to face the imperial capital itself.

It had been five years since he had stepped foot in Lalrial. Five years since he learned that his brother had lost his life to a burglar’s knife. If losing his wife twelve years ago had not been terrible enough, he had to lose Alester as well. Since becoming King some twenty-seven or so years ago Alester had served as his representative in the Prime Estates; keeping his ear open when it came to imperial politics. He had mentored King Alexander’s third-born and in many ways he was a good friend as well as his blood. His son, Theodric, had “inherited” the title of being Xandria’s representative and ambassador in the imperial city. The King still wondered if it was the best choice or just the choice grief chose for him. Either way, he hoped Theodric had some insight on the best options to elect for the imperial throne’s successor.

King Alexander took a heavy breath as he gripped the railing, “I hope this is the last time I visit you, Lalrial.”

“Ser Elric, we are heading out to my nephew’s estate now; inform my son.”

“I’ll tell Lord Alexander right away, my lord.”

“Good.”

Flora Asturias shuffled a stack of parchment, placing it neatly on her desk before turning back to the man on the other side of the room. The space hardly seemed like an office; rather, it was like a museum gallery. Sculptures and paintings adorned the corners of the room, which had been laid with alabaster-white stone. It was a commendably tidy space, and the effort put into keeping it that way was surely meticulous.

“...then our houses are in agreement on that matter,” she chimed as she organized her work. “That brings us to the next order of business… Ah, and the most important. Who will fill the vacant throne?” The house representative dropped her parchment for a moment, attention lingering on Conrad.

“As you are certainly aware, Jakinius Valarien is married to Anastázie Duvard, and Sophsi Valarien to Edgar Duvard. Naturally, these marriages have some leverage on the Duvard vote,” Flora said.

James nodded. “I am well aware of these marriages Jakinus is the eldest son. Though is he truely the best candidate? Sure marriages and name help you get far but look at myself. A landless noble from Cragmore’s land no less, yet here I am in the capital with shall we say comfortable arrangements? But if i was to ask your opinion who would you pick?” James asked as he admired the room out of the other offices he’d been to this was one of the cleanest and most organized.
Flora let a chuckle escape her smile, easing back into the leather of her chair. “I am simply a representative of the esteemed House Duvard; what I want is irrelevant. But generally speaking, whatever serves the Duvards best will also benefit me in the long run. Why, who do the Cragmores have on their mind? It is your job, as well as mine, to relay the wishes and messages of our houses.”

James chuckled. “Well, the Cragmores are currently speaking to Ralltene. I suppose he’d attempt to win them over. With Kenten that would have worked in an instant yet, he sent his son Ben to vote in his name and I believe he’d be insulted. As for now, it’s hard to say who’d they vote for at least as far as I know. Though I believe anyone's up for grabs. Though if you lady is married to Jakinius please, tell me is he as good as they say or is he as I would say a brute with no real rulership qualities?” James asked leaning back in the chair.

“What a thing to say!” Flora exclaimed, her expression almost looking pained. “Jakinius is an accomplished leader of men; his mettle has been tested time and again in the North. Not all military men need be ogres. What’s more, he attained his rank by his own hand, without special favor. And Anastázie is very fond of him, I will add. They’ve been close since they were children.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you my dear, though you could say he gained his rank due to the fact he had the training from birth even if he was in disguise. We must also remember leading the military is very different from leading the empire. Compared to his siblings he’s the least qualified to sit on the throne, yet if he does sit on it I’m sure one of his first plans would be leaving the city and heading north to finally “claim” the northern reaches simply to impress those who couldn’t do it before. I don’t think any of us would want a war nor a warmonger no matter what the marriage circumstances were. Must we forget the past and not to mention with him away us Magistrate along with the council would have far more work to do, which I’m fine with but most of our colleagues aren’t as efficient as us. Wouldn’t you agree?” James said pulling his seat closed to the desk.

Flora shrugged, folding her hands on her lap. “You make it sound like he’s frothing at the mouth-bloodthirsty,” she pouted. “Despite his history with the North, I am sure he is no less sensible than his siblings. If you’ve never met the man, then what you describe is simply conjecture.” The representative went back to organizing her desk, eyes on her work but attention still on her guest.

“Nevertheless, It’s easy to understand the Cragmores’ perspective; a taste of Ralltene’s coffers is an attractive prize for the destitute,” Flora jabbed.

James let out a hardy chuckle and then continued “Perhaps, though who said I or they wanted Ralltene to become Emperor, sure he has the rich and traveled enough to get to know people but much like his brother he hasn’t truly ruled any land yet.” James said

“One thing that Allianna has going for her,” Flora added. ”You’re not wrong; the vote has the potential to swing any number of ways. I, for one, am quite excited to see what transpires. But what about the secondary claimants? Are the royal cousins as overshadowed by the front-runners as it seems?”

“I would believe so, even though the royal cousins could be considered better than those of the main royal line. But many are overlooked by the so called Brute, Money hands and the Daughter’s favorite. In all honesty, I prefer Allianna, she has actually ruled and I believe she would make our job easier. Wouldn’t you agree?” James asked hoping to get an honest opinion out of the lady.

“That she has,” Flora mused, “and she is not oblivious to the inner workings of the capital. It has yet to be seen how she handles under pressure, however. Not to mention, in comparison to her brothers, there is very little to say of her - good or ill. She is an enigma.” Flora crossed her legs and took another breather from her desk.

“If you really want to know, I would be delighted to see Sophsi on the throne; regardless how unrealistic that may seem. She is an acute politician and I daresay can outmaneuver any of her competitors. Why, she’s a delight here in Ignis! With her connections, I’ve no doubt she’d be capable of leading Ethica.”

“Perhaps, she is as good as you say yet still, it’d be a hard sell as she isn’t even a main contender to the throne. Though one thing I may add to Allianna, unlike her brother’s she isn’t yet married meaning any house could gain her love or at the very least it stops one house from gaining to much power because of who they married. All I’m saying it’s a thought one perhaps that you could pass onto your Lady.”

“Perhaps she doesn’t intend to marry?” Flora pondered. “A refusal of ties would be an interesting strategy - one that may prove resilient to the promises and wants of other houses. In any case, I will discuss the matter further with my lord. Your input has been noted.” She gave James a curt nod of the head and made herself busy once more.

“Nice talking to you again.” With that James got up and headed for the door. These personnel meetings with Magistrates would hopefully prove to be useful.

In the early fog of the morning at the gates of Lalrial, a black goat began to make its way into the city. At the head of the long convoy was not Kenten Cragmore, but his son -- his second son at that. He wore a thin golden circlet on his black mop of hair, and a gambeson in his ancestral house's traditional blue. His steed, a blonde diregoat with a coat of yellowish-white chomped on his bit tiredly, clearly having carried its master a great distance.

This was true -- The young prince had left days in advance, in the hopes that he would not so easily be dismissed by the High Court for his age, but respected for his punctuality. Though he had been riding for days, the prince had ensured that morning that he was shaved and groomed to be as presentable as he could, which also pertained to his first impression.

To his side was his sister, Reliwen Cragmore. Her armor was a lacklustre dark grey riddled in thin, pale silver scars. Atop her head was no circlet, but a mess of oily blonde hair that she had combed backwards that morning, which was the closest the princess would allow to being "Dressed up". Her steed was an old brown diregoat that was missing half of a horn and chewed a few strands of grass as it walked. Behind the two were two bannermen and six guards, all of whom were atop diregoats of various sizes and colors, though none were as large as the two that the Cragmore siblings rode.

Still in the early hours of the morning, there was little in the ways of peasantry lining up, though the few merchants that had begun setting up their stalls and shops began to murmur and crowd near the procession of diregoats, wide-eyed. To the party's sideide, two vendors -- a fruit seller and a fishmonger, began to talk over one another, before one approached the long line.

"M'lord", The fishmonger began, bowing his head ever-so-slightly, "My friend and I have recognized your banner as that of Cragmore, but we are no Erayans, and have never seen a Cragmore. You seem much too young to be Kenten, though I have heard Tall Duncan towers over most men." He said, glancing up and down at Benjamin's height in disbelief. Benjamin did not dismount his diregoat, though he did turn and stop to face the man.

"I am Benjamin Cragmore, the second son of Kenten Cragmore. It is true that my older brother towers above most men, and I confess, I fail to do the same." He smiled for a moment, patting his steed. "Fortunately, fewer notice now that I'm on a saddle each day." He and the fishmonger shared a brief laugh as the latter turned back to his stall, satisfied with his answer, as Benjamin's small group continued on their way.

Before long, Benjamin, Reliwen, and each of their guards and bannermen reached the High Tower of The Phoenix. It was a glorious structure that nearly broke through the clouds, made of limestone and marble. One of his bannermen rode forward onto the royal court with a horn to signal their approach, sounding off loud enough for a flock of birds to scatter from their treetop abode.

"Benjamin Cragmore, Prince of Erayis, and Archelector of House Cragmore."

As Benjamin came James was suprised but didn't let it show. He stood there as two phoenix guards flanked him. "Ah, Hello. Prince Benjamin, I am Prime Magistate for your Father James Conrad. If I may ask where is he?" James said looking up to the small group.

Benjamin dismounted from his diregoat, handing the reigns to one of his larger bannermen. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lord Conrad." He said, procuring a small scroll from a saddlebag on his steed, before handing it to James. "As he wrote, my father is tremendously ill, and has named me archelector in his stead."

James took the scroll and read it and thought his plans hopefully wouldn't be changed by this boy.

"As he spoke," Benjamin continued, "My father didn't see why he should endure a three days' ride to be bribed, when he can get that at home." He gave James a pat on the back and smiled, noticing Reliwen's dismount.

"You must not have met my sister. Reliwen, this is Lord James Conrad. He's our country's Prime Magistrate." Benjamin said, turning to meet his sister

Reliwen stood a head taller than either her brother or the lord, and carried a greatsword over her shoulder that seemed too large to bear a scabbard. Her face beared the meaty fullness of a middle-aged soldier much moreso than a young princess, which she wore with a rather stern expression. She gave James a nod, and extended her free hand to shake. "My lord."

James disliked the pat on the back and said "Well of course, my lord. Did your father keep you up to date on my dealings here in the capital? If he didn't I can bring you up to speed." James said looking at the rather mannish lady cragmore dismount. then James nodded to her, "Nice to meet you my lady, but please I'm a landless noble call me James.Now as I said Prince, did your father keep you up to date about myself and the capital?" James said trying to process this all and attempting to alter his plans.

"I know of you, though I only know your name and position. Please, explain while we wait to be met by Ralltene. I was given word he meant to meet with Erayis's elector."

James looked suprised "I wasn't aware he wanted to speak with you. Though as to why he wanted to meet you, I'd assume he wants your vote. As far as I can tell it's reallistically between him and his elder brother. Though I've heard one or two rooting for Allianna." James said while look back to Reliwen still shocked that it was a lady.

Prince Ralltene had heard the horn before he had seen the personal retinue of the Cragmore Arch Elector. He exited the main gate of the Palace, the yawning entrance leading out into the main courtyard. As he neared he took quick stock of the group. Noting quickly that Lord Kenten himself was not counted among the delegate. He did, however, recognize the prime magistrate of House Cragmore already there.

James Conrad. He knew of the man only as a local landowner of a few business within the Capital. Dressed in a simple but well-made noble attire that included a vest and a thin over coat that hung long in the back and forked at the end; flanked by single Pheonix Guardmen Ralltene made a beeline for the group at a steady pace.

"Allow me to welcome you to the city of Lalrial," he started when he neared, "If I am not mistaken you would be prince Benjiman Cragmore correct?"

Ralltene smoothly offered a hand by way of greeting.

Benjamin shook Ralltene's hand, smiling warmly at the older prince. "You are not mistaken my lord. I am Benjamin Cragmore, and this is my sister, princess Reliwen Cragmore." He said, motioning to his sister who gave Ralltene a similar nod and grumble. "It is a pleasure to meet you and your city." Benjamin said, passing the scroll from James to Ralltene, allowing the Valarien a moment to begin reading.

"As he wrote, my father is ill, and has named me archelector in his stead." Benjamin said, stressing the 'ill' as he pointed to his father's signature and seal.

Ralltene gave a respectful nod to Reliwen before he read the handed scroll offered. As listened, he gave another nod of understanding then looked back at the young prince offering a dashing smile he had perfected during his career in his chosen profession from a young age. Given enough time and the chance, Ralltene had learned he could put any man at ease with but a few choice words and an unfaltering charm.

"Ah understandable, quite so." Ralltene had not expected the young lord but he did not miss a beat. He handed the scroll to the guardsmen and waved in the direction of the palace. "Well then, let us not tarry overlong in the sun. You must be most tired from your long journey, I have had the servants prepare accommodations. When you have rested and refreshed an attendant will escort you to a modest banquet I have prepared. Then we may talk on more weighty matters."

---

Ralltene and Benjamin sat at a circular table in one of the High Tower of The Phoenix's many balconies, overlooking all of Lalrial. It was now about noon, and the two princes were halfway through their meal. Ralltene's plate held the remnants of his pork rashers, boiled greens, and bread, while the young Erayan prince had opted for a meal of buckwheat and pheasant. In between them stood a golden pitcher half-filled with port wine, embellished with the Valarien sigil.

Behind them, golden curtains billowed in the breeze left by the open doors to the balcony, filtering the warm midday sun into the room with an amber glow. A few sticks of incense burned in their holders as wisps of silvery smoked danced and curled towards the open doorway, towards the princes.

Ralltene had spared no expense in the modest sized banquet nor the presentation. He had even managed to acquire his wife's Victoria's favourite vintage. In tastes, they had at least that in common. There had been little conversation during the duration of the meal thus far. Ralltene decided he would not broach the subject until the most opportune time.

"So aside from the election, do you have plans for your stay in Lalrial?" He took a sip from his goblet before adding, "the elections are not for a few more days. Plenty of time to visit a few sites- it would be a shame if you left the capital without seeing some of what it had to offer."

"Actually, I was looking forward to visiting a few of Lalrial's landmarks during my stay. With my wedding scheduled in a week, I was also hoping to buy a gift for my betrothed." Ben refilled his glass from the pitcher, staring out at the expansive city.

Ralltene nodded, "A fine idea. Far too many lords squander their visits to the Captial. To concerned with business to take a moment to relax and enjoy this great city." He sampled another bite of sausage, taking the time to savor it before continuing. "Speaking of business... how goes Cragmore economic ventures? I know many think it a dull topic, but the trader in me knows it pays to be informed."

Benjamin reclined into his seat, sipping on his glass. "Rather well! Our salt trade has increased, as you know, and my betrothal to Imara Valian has given us a fair deal of new trade agreements with Xandria. I hear that they've been trading it to House Gracieux, who have been selling it overseas, and the Lointainians know it as 'goat-salt'." He said, chuckling to himself.

"Ah, this is good news indeed," Ralltene's winning smile returning. "The true strength of this realm -any realm- is born of its wealth. I believe none can deny that. And when competent lords know when and where to establish growth, the realm as a whole can prosper."

Ralltene picked up his goblet, ideally swirling the bottle so that the wine within spun slowly. His eyes lingered on the twirling red liquid, "some lords of this realm, however, do not see it so. Preferring to find more.. stimulating but ultimately wasteful ways to obtain glory or fame."

His eyes met Benjamin's. "It is left to wiser men such as us to make sure such individuals are acquainted with stations suitable for their martial skill. For the betterment of all of course."

Benjamin paused for a moment to process Ralltene's insinuation, before nodding thoughtfully. "An astute observation to make in these times, contender Ralltene." He gave the older prince a knowing smile, taking a swig from his glass. "I surely empathise with you, given Erayis's current heir."

The Prince of Lalrial nodded as he sat back in his chair. "As I imagined you would. I am glad my skills in judging good character have not failed me." He placed the goblet down. "So I shall not beat around the bush any longer. The coming election sees more than a few contenders, but any lord worth his salt - no pun intended," Ralltene added with a smile. "Knows the only real contenders are my sister Allianna, my brother Jakinius and of course, myself."

He brushed his mustache with the side of his thumb as he added, "Can I then trust in House Cragmore then to make the wise choice and support my name for the throne?"

Ben pondered for a moment, finishing his glass before placing it in the table. "I am a man with many friends, but I am not yet friends with an emperor." He said in a lowered tone. Benjamin leaned forward slightly, speaking even lower. "If House Cragmore's vote helped give you the imperial seat, I trust you would not forget your newfound friends in Erayis." He calmly said in a more questioning tone than one of declaration, raising a brow.

Tapping his fingers on the table Ralltene frowned... before his smile returned with genuine pleasure. "It is the wise merchant who places his bet in the winning commodity. It is a truly the skilled merchant who enters no deal without assuring he also gains as much as he offers."

Ralltene drained the last of his goblet, his words almost giving the air that he had been testing the young prince. Or perhaps not? Such was the talent of Ralltene that he could steer a conversation in such a way without the other man ever realizing it. It had been the primary art he had mastered that had allowed him to acquire his fortune at such a young age.

Ralltene's gaze fell to the empty goblet in his hand. "The realm requires a steady hand to rule, and so any wise emperor would do well to surround himself with trusted friends and advisors. Such positions would be wasted on those who did not already share that Emperors visions after all. It should be known should I take the throne. I will not overlook those who have proven themselves shrewd and calculating enough to place their support in the most capable man for the task. Any man who knows me knows I always repay my debts."

"Excellent." Benjamin said, smiling. "It gives me great relief to hear these words coming from Ethica's next emperor."

"And it does my heart good to know there are loyal vassals of which I can depend when I take the gilded seat." A smirk on his lips Ralltene lifted the bottle of red vintage once more. "Now then with that out of the way," He refilled both of their glasses. "Let us enjoy the quiet while it remains before the other Arch Electors arrive shall we?

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The heir to the Kingdom of Xandria had only been to Lalrial twice in his lifetime thus making the imperial election his third experience with the imperial capital. His wife, Adelheid Amrothan, had remained still on the voyage from Harrow some three or four days prior. Alexander could feel it in the air, in the stillness of her movement, and how she was tiptoeing around certain topics— she was not happy with him and whilst she had not discussed Alexander’s intention to journey to the north he knew she wanted to talk about it. He had not married a coward or a mute.

“So are you going to mention your feelings about it or keep quiet until the end of days?”

Adelheid turned to look at her husband. He had finally asked, she knew that he would. Even here, he sought a confrontation, though it was not one of malice, of course. There were battles to be fought everywhere in life, and this was now her frontline. She had already foreseen the likely outcome. She let a hand reach up and brush aside a lock of her red hair - red, she reminded herself, ginger was far too rustic and provincial a term to be used outside of Dreiben, she quietly thought, resenting that erstwhile comment from some foreigner she had overheard some years ago.

“Will they change your mind in the slightest? I expect everyone hopes so, but I very much doubt that even I will ever hold so mighty a power over you, dearest Alex.” She responded, letting the half-compliment half-barb come forth. She knew it was a useless thing to say, but it was how she felt. It was truly something that would likely remain beyond her, to challenge him so when a decision was made. She was still deciding whether she liked it or would someday come to despise herself for it.

Alexander took a heavy breath as he turned to a window that overlooked the streets below. Her teeth had not dulled, that much was for sure; he was glad for that. She also wasn’t entirely wrong about his opinion regarding the issue. Alexander was rarely decided or swayed by the words of diplomats and his wife was cut from the same cloth as his brother— a cloth that hadn’t changed his mind about his quest in the courtyard at Ebonheart and he was sure it wouldn’t change his mind here in Lalrial at his house’s imperial estate. But he had no reason to cause pointless bruises between his wife and he.

“Do you know why I decided on it?” He asked blankly.

Adelheid considered the question briefly, it was not the one she had expected and it required a moment’s thought. She wondered if it mattered, or whether he wanted to at least offer the recompense of a justification, such as it was. She sighed.

“I believe no one really does, even if you have explained yourself. It is difficult to understand, particularly for anyone close to you. You remind me of Reimar in that way, but you are very different in how you choose to go about avoiding things.” She realised that wasn’t accurate, and so didn’t wait for a response.

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair. I don’t know if you’re avoiding anything or not. I shouldn’t judge you by another man’s character. Go on, then, tell me.” She finished, mentally chastising herself.

“The Nordheim are going unchecked.” He stated as his blue eyes looked out of the window. “The imperial garrisons in the northeast are in complete disarray to the point they are becoming ruined shambles as the men in those garrisons exponentially diminish day by day. Imperial support isn’t there and they don’t have a cohesive defensive barrier like the northwest does. People are dying to the sword as barbarians of sin move into hamlets and villages; raping, maiming, and murdering. Back home in Xandria we have problems with vilespawn and the rare occasion of piracy. They seem invisible in comparison.”

Alex frowned as he thought about it, ever since he started reading about the north in the last four or so years he began to learn vast amounts of wisdom that he really couldn’t stomach to ignore. In the minds of many he was probably perceived as a warmongering brute but he did this because the realm needed it and his talks with Lord Lastren only confirmed such beliefs. How long could a child of Kammeth allow senseless genocide. His wife, like his brother, probably believed that he didn’t need to go himself but only support the defense instead but Alexander didn’t find that ideal or honorable in the slightest. He wasn’t a man to sit behind a desk and let others endanger their lives where he was too afraid to do it himself. That kind of fear was made of dishonorable cowardice. He refused to facilitate such a trait.

“They need it. Especially if Jakinus does not get elected to the imperial throne.”

Adelheid considered what she believed to be an honest response. She understood, but understanding and accepting were not the same thing, which was something she expected was somewhat of a subtlety that Alex had a mind to overlook.

“I see. I understand your reasonings, no doubt they have served as a cause for many a man through time. Most of them are no doubt forgotten, but we owe them much. Alex, you are not someone that can simply head off to combat the threat of the Nordheim without consequence, what if the worst were to happen to your father? Would you abandon your newfound duty and return to your people when they need you, or will you find another cause to rally behind, allow your duty to fall to your siblings? To William? Have you really considered all of that which is placed upon you? Upon us?” She stopped, frustrated. “Did you even think about me when you made your decision?” She let it out, that burning question. She had nothing else to ask.

“As I told William, my father may be nearly a cripple and growing in age but he is not a dead man yet. But yes, I weighed my options and considered much. Sitting in Ebonheart drinking wine and working towards an heir would be the easy decision; but true Kings make hard decisions.”

He turned away from the window as he looked at his wife. “I did not think to go about this half-hearted. Believe me when I say this, I love my family and you especially. Consider that this conversation… this explanation is something unique to you. I told them what I was doing and that was the end— with you I tell you why.”

Adelheid met his gaze, just for a moment, before turning away. She let out a frustrated, defeated sigh. “What truly bothers me is not that you’ve decided to go North, not that you won’t listen to all those who would tell you to stay, the gods know you wouldn’t be you if you did, no, what bothers me, what hurts, is that you never came to me when you were making this decision. Instead, it’s made and like the day turns to night it cannot, will not, must not be changed. That’s what cuts deep. I can’t see this, us, working like that if we truly love each other.”

“You’re right.” He admitted, though he wasn’t particularly proud of it. He always had a hard time gauging and dealing with the emotional aspect of others even before his mother died. It was times like this where he wished he could be like William where he could make sense of others and their feelings.

“There’s no question about that.” He added after a brief pause, his admittance likely catching his wife off guard. “I have no excuse for not coming to you before I made off and told my father. There were plenty of occasions where I could have. But I did not. That is my failing.”

She turned back, letting a sympathetic smile accentuate her face. She considered what to say next, but knew it best to not overthink the matter.

“We all have our failings, though I know you, out of anyone I know, will overcome them.” She let her acknowledgement and his admittance be joined, before they became a closed chapter in their joint history.

“Your father is going to be very disappointed in me. No doubt, my father is going to be just as upset when he hears I’m going with you. And don’t even think about trying to change my mind. I won’t hear of it. Rumors are I’m taking after my husband’s stubborn side as of late.” She let a small semblance of laughter spill forth, she needed it, that ambrosia of light humor.

“It will give you a good reason to stay alive and prevent my grisly demise at the hands of the barbarian horde, at least.” She finished, adding an unnecessary softness to her voice that belied a sense that she wasn’t being too serious, though she like any knew the potential dangers the Nordheim could pose.

He smiled warmly, “In the beginning it will just seem like a colder Ebonheart, I’m sure. We’ll be honored guests of Lord Anastus Lastren in Vandaster for some time. My father’s military support won’t likely arrive until some weeks later.”

“A Valian and an Amrothan, the good Lord Lastren may very well have a heart attack.” She joked.

“I think the Cragmore will do him right in.”

“Was that.. a joke?” She responded, almost incredulous.

“A rare performance, indeed.” He chuckled. “That aside, I suppose we should enjoy Lalrial while we are here.”

“No better time than now, we may even run into my own kin. All it takes is the death of the Emperor to bring everyone together, it seems. At least for now.”

“I can relate, the last time my father and myself were here it was to bury my uncle, Alester. It is strange how the rites bring us back full circle.”

“Death has a way of motivating people, at least, for good or ill. They used to bury the Horse Lords in mounds back in Dreiben, before they decided that wasn’t quite holy enough. They once entombed some poor lord while he was still alive. I’m sure there’s some applicable homely tale in that somewhere.” She offered, searching for wisdom where there perhaps was none.

“We have a few tales like that dating back to Ancient Xanditharima, where the lords were entombed into the great trees within The Viridian Sea. Supposedly there are trees out there in the sea that are the reincarnations of my ancestors. Some say if you harvest them they bleed like any man.” Alexander recalled, sharing the particular morbid anecdote.

“Thankfully I don’t think we’ll be needing to deal with either here, just a few days where our worst concern will be which noble we offend the most.” She said, as if looking forward to the latter.

“So, let us find a noble to offend then.” He chuckled following a nod.

“Lead on, my dear. I’ll keep roomy mounds and deadwood off the shopping list for now. Probably.” She flashed him a quick smile.

The carriage bobbed as the wheel descended a cave in the road, sending Edgar up and back down to his seat with a thud. He grunted, rubbing the small of his back as a muffled "Sorry, milord!" shouted from the outside.

“You’d think the Empire has the manpower to fix all these divots three times over,” he muttered. He turned to Sophsi beside him, who was, remarkably, not asleep. “Not even you can sleep through them.”

“It’s okay, I’m sure the bodies of people fighting over the throne will fill them soon enough,” Sophsi crossed her arms, clearly grumpy and with red sleepless rings around her eyes. With a grunt she nestled her shoulders against her chair, attempting to get comfortable for the thousandth time.

“I wouldn’t put it past you if it was your doing,” Edgar snorted. “Speaking of which… I wanted to ask you something. You are technically a claimant, after all...”

Sophsi looked over at her husband, her eyes glaring for a soft moment before a pink curl came to her lips, “if you’re asking my hand in marriage, I’m sorry to report, but I’m already taken.”

“As I understand it, your right hand is accounted for, but your left looks free,” Edgar replied, twirling the gold band on her finger.

“Free!” Sophsi interjected, “it’s at least two crowns value.”

“One for each of us,” the Duvard said, holding up his hand in an O shape over their heads. “But I digress - I’ve been thinking, why don’t you aim for the throne? Nothing against Jak or Ana, but your cousin only knows how to command and fight. Raltene is a shrewd businessman, but has slim leadership experience, and well… I needn’t say anything of Allianna to you, of all people.” Edgar paused, taking Sophi’s hand in his own.

“You, however; I don’t think many hold a candle to your ferocity in the courts, or can boast the same performance in the academics, or politics, or rhetoric… and I’m not saying that just because I’m your husband.”

“But you are my husband, and you are saying it,” Sophsi retorted gently, gripping her husband’s hand. She made a face of thought before shrugging, “the throne only brings trouble, it is an oxymoron of chaotic order, but more chaos than order when deciding who sits on it.”

“I am, coincidentally,” Edgar replied with a shrug, “But imagine how much more trouble the Empire would find itself in if it were occupied by one of your cousins instead? I mean, you and I can sit around and talk about what’s wrong with Ethica all day. And maybe whoever sits on the throne is only a small facet of the Empire at large. But who’s to say your cousins have the same perspective? Jak’s spent all his life in the North with a sword in his hand, Raltene knows numbers and coin, and Allianna cares only for land, with seldom regard for those on it.”

“And together they make the entire brain of a drooling Emperor!” Sophsi beamed sarcastically, softly clapping her hands in mock triumph.

“I’d like to say I doubt that they could mess things up worse than they already are, Edgar,” Sophsi leaned back, “besides, it would be considered… sly for me to suddenly stick my foot in the door and announce myself. I’d end up on the pointy end of an angry power grabber’s lacky’s kill-stick.”

“Not if you had a shield to protect you,” Edgar replied, wrapping an arm around Sophsi’s shoulder. “I know it wouldn’t be the most graceful entrance one could make. But there’s no doubt in my mind that you’d make a better Phoenix Queen than any of them.”

“I don’t know, Jakinius would make a great Queen, but I’m sure Rally has worn a dress before, so he’d be more used to it,” Sophsi teased lightly.

Edgar shook with a laugh. “I can see it!” When the chuckles subsided, he turned back to his wife, eyes suddenly intent with conviction.

“If it makes you feel any more assured… my father agrees,” Edgar breathed. “Rather than support the first-runner Jakinius, he’d sleep better at night with you in Lalria. It’s not just me, Sophsi.” The heir held his wife’s hand firmer, not enough to hurt, but enough to prove his sincerity. “I won’t ask what you’re unwilling to do. But if you ascend to the throne, know that you won’t climb those steps alone.”

“D’awwwww!” Sophsi almost patronized Edgar’s words, but a soft blush on her cheek hinted at her sincerity, “I’ll scope out the courts when I get there for you and Papa in Law, how about that? I don’t go in blind, Edgar.”

“Just don’t go in sleepy, is all I ask,” was Edgar’s response.

“If we hold the court in a carriage like this, I don’t think my exhaustion will be a problem,” Sophsi smiled.

“Maybe I can pay you back for all those nights of work,” Edgar teased. “I don’t expect competing with the others will be easy. But neither was getting me to swallow that vinegar the first time.”

“Yes it was,” Sophsi laughed, “it was way too easy!”

“Then this ought to be more on your level,” Edgar sneered, driving his nose to her cheek in a playful nuzzle.

“We’ll see,” Sophsi poked Edgar’s nose, “we’ll see.”

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For Imara Valian, it was her last day in the only place she had ever known but as saddening as that concept was alone there was plenty of brightness ahead for her. Her life was about to have a new beginning and she couldn’t have been more optimistic towards the future— a feeling she had not felt in a very long time.

In only a week or so she was to be married to Benjamin Cragmore as was promised. A fact that would bring her to Erayis to prepare for her role alongside her childhood friend and now future husband. Though, it wouldn’t be for long considering Rodan’s own wedding in Tellaria in the coming months. She wondered why her father had set up the wedding dates as he did, as the costs on the coffers of the Kingdom had to be unnecessary. But then again it wasn’t really her place to speak such concerns to her father— she neither had the education or position to do so.

“Princess. You have received a raven from Stormgully.”

The voice of Ser Galwyn brought a wide smile to her lips as her eyes looked over to the knight-ranger, a protector and good friend she had known since as far back as she could remember. Galwyn was her guardian, assigned like every other member of the royal guard to her since birth to serve her with integrity, duty, and honor. He was forty-six years past his nameday now and while she wouldn’t admit it publicly; far more of a father figure than her own father had been in her entire life. When she would leave Ebonheart for Stormgully he would follow with her as was his oath; he would follow her until he fell to the sword, plague, or age.

Galwyn held out his hand, holding the still sealed parchment. Imara eagerly took it from him; the excitement boiling within her was heavy and had she not any manners she would’ve swiped it out of hands with all courtesy abandoned. She was a lady after all.

“Thank you, Ser Galwyn. You are dismissed.”

“As you nock, my lady” The brown-haired knight-ranger nodded as he walked some distance away thus giving her privacy without leaving her unguarded.

As she opened the letter she began to wonder what Benjamin’s intentions had been sending a message on her last day in Ebonheart. What did he want to tell her before she set off?

“Hm.” She mused as she began to read the now-opened parchment before her.

Dearest Imara,

Hello!

I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits. As I write this letter to you, Pearlpelt and Rootripper are being fitted with their saddles so that they might take me to the High Tower of the Phoenix, and my brother towards the north, though I believe he will meet with your brother towards the end of the journey. If Alexander has not left, tell him that I wish him the best of luck, and a safe return. In a surprising turn of events, my father has given me his arch elector title, and so I will unexpectedly be helping shape our great empire's future in a matter of days. You should see the fit that was thrown when he was told that a certain someone would attend. I will tell you all about it after the wedding.

With Duncan away, this wedding should be a more peaceful event than I had planned, which I am thankful for. Every detail, from the framing of portraits to the flowers in the garden is perfect. I am sure you will be speechless, which Kenten always told me was a good trait for a wife to have.

All of my jokes aside, as I will unexpectedly be travelling to, or at the High Tower of the Phoenix, please avoid sending any letters until I return, though you will likely have arrived by then. As always, the pain of missing you persists, though our approaching wedding dulls that pain quite considerably.

Yours,
Benjamin

“What an interesting turn of events. I hope the capital does not eat him alive.” She muttered as she closed the letter.