Tythmas, Hightide of the Year of the Harvest, Reign of King Timault



Beyond it's high walls, the city of Tythmas was like any other. The walls reached so far beyond the city limits, it was as if Tythmas was a country all its own. It had its own fields, it's own pastures and windmills. It had it's own functional economy, and for decades it's walls had come to bequest the title of "The Unbreachable City" upon Tythmas. From there, King Timault had ruled. His father, King Tenneth had ruled justly for 47 years before following ill during the Short Winter. Timault, ever the brash and sensational Warrior-King, spent more hours planning crusades against the Blackmouth beyond the Southern Reaches than planning to solidify his dynasty as rule.

His apathy to the continuation of his lineage was not a direct threat to the kingdom, thanks to the Order of Silk and Iron. Vaunted protectors of more than just the Kingdom's many codexes, these scholarly warriors and martial academics were responsible for protecting not the king, but the throne. It was with this that over 700 years ago, the Rite of Continuation and the Ceremony of the Choosing was instituted. Never in Osteria's history however had such a rite been issued.

Until now.

The messengers weathered the crags and peaks of The Summit to reach Duke James Conrad. They journeyed east into Enea, where the quiet somber of the trees and the sparse interaction with the wistful and pointy eared merchants that crossed from Celihodon. The messengers of the Order rode to the desolate and dried fields of the Southern Reaches, staying long enough for refreshments and to pass the parchment telling of the death of King Timault to Lord Jeran Gades Stolt. Every Duchy and Barony was visited, and the expectation was every Duke--including Duchess-and Barony would be in attendance at the Hall of the Howling, on the first evening of the next month.

Their arrival would be onset by unfortunate storms, throwing Tythmas into an eerie shadow through the evening. As each Lord or Lady arrived, they were greeted by Lord Marek, the Low Lord of the Order of Silk and Iron and one of the most respected men in the entire kingdom. At near ninety years old, he had weathered a great many trial and tribulations of the kingdom. He was a gnarled and bent old man, standing in the scarlet robes of the Order with golden flecks cast upon the hems and sleeves. He stood at the head of the long table while servants brought wines and cheeses to the seated Lords and Ladies.

Outside, the rain beat down upon the great hall.

"It is a great calling that now rests on your shoulders, Lords--and Lady," he said, looking to Duchess Anfel Allard, the renowned half-elf who had long kept relations with the stoic princes of Celihodon at a high. "King Timault has fallen to Ash, but Osteria will rise anew. And it's new monarch sits in this very room. Who among you are qualified? Who among you would stand and give counsel as to why you wish yourself--or another--upon the throne?"

He stood for a long moment. "Speak now. Speak.. freely. For every moment Osteria goes without a ruler, it's people will suffer."

As Duke Conrad sat in the grand hall with the other nobles of the land he couldn’t help but reminisce of when he was here mere months earlier. Serving the King as one of his advisors, though he had no ill will against Lord Marek, the old man never changed with the times. He and Marek often argued about the course of action the king should take, James often trying to do what was best for the realm and prosperity whereas Merek attempted to remain conservative to the old ways. In the end James lost too many times and was forced to leave, now there are rumors about what James truly did to be removed but James preferred it that way when no one knew the whole truth but himself.

Eventually James came to the present as Lord Merek gave his announcement
"It is a great calling that now rests on your shoulders, Lords--and Lady," he said, looking to Duchess Anfel Allard, the renowned half-elf who had long kept relations with the stoic princes of Celihodon at a high. "King Timault has fallen to Ash, but Osteria will rise anew. And it's new monarch sits in this very room. Who among you are qualified? Who among you would stand and give counsel as to why you wish yourself--or another--upon the throne?"

He stood for a long moment. "Speak now. Speak.. freely. For every moment Osteria goes without a ruler, it's people will suffer.

James waited but a mere moment glancing over the crowd before standing up. Though not the tallest of those in attendance he stood up as if had this divine right over him. “Lord Merek, Baron Sforza and other lords and ladies of the realm. I Duke James Conrad, would like to nominate myself for ruler of this great land of Osteria. I served on King Timault on his council shortly before his death. My family as well were the first Dukes of the kingdom and are now the oldest lords of the land. To the people, I promise a swift vengeance against the orcs before a long reign of stability and prosperity while our old King was loved. I can attest to the fact he cared more on external affairs rather than the well being of our internal strife” James gave a humble bow before the crowd before sitting himself down.

---

---

The death of King Timault had come to Lord John Demotoriaus like the death of anyone else would, it hardly affected him in any physical aspect, it had only come to hinder him from learning more on the subject of ruling. The courier had come and gone without anything else of note, seemingly vanishing from the lord’s life altogether. He had informed his wife and she looked more distraught than he, possibly because she had been a noble longer than John, but that was to be expected. Demotorias arranged his wear of fine linen clothing before he departed to the Tythmas. Much of the ride to the highlands was long and dreary, not a thought of the King had come to John’s mind nor did it bare down on him at all.

Upon reaching the capital province of Osteria, he was greeted kindly, as a noble. Demotorius was still not used to such a greeting, chuckling lightly at the formalities that the guards shown in the presence of him. Soon he was beset by servants who beckoned him to where the Council had supposedly set the meeting and so he had followed them with a light haste and a smile coming to his face despite the rain and the mood of the event. Seated close to Duke Conrad, someone who he had never seen before in his life due to John’s own preference for staying home and learning how to properly govern an area.

Upon hearing Lord Merek, John feigned a look of sadness as he attempted to fit in with the rest of the contempt faces around him. Demotoriaus had only been considered a duke for over a year now, still he had never received anything from the king other than having to send some tax to him which John was not outwardly opposed to. Though, he felt a true tug of sadness come to him as the man spoke with such eloquence, twas a strange thing to affected by a speech of someone he never cared for.

For a moment, Demotoriaus heard only silence before the voice of James Conrad had come to his ears, again a man he cared not for, but hopefully he would be able to get to the man proper. The man spoke of another fight against the orc menace after bringing stability to the realm, stability being the key word to reach John’s ears. Then Lord Gerantius spoke, speaking of prosperity due to the bounty of food that his province produced. The choreographed servants certainly caught his eye but not his heart for any fool could organize servants to do one thing at the same time, he denied food or drink.

“Well said Lord Aldwyn,” John began, a small smile on his face, “but I stand with Duke Conrad here. While I appreciate your choreographic attempts to woe me, I believe a man should speak without such a show to get his point across. Trust me when I say that I believe you would, perhaps, make a ruler, but I see Conrad better suited to be King of Osteria currently.” Demotoriaus spoke clearly and swiftly, not wanting to keep the attention of these fine people when more important things were at hand.

Lord Marek listened as each Lord made his or her claim. First was Duke James Conrad. "Duke Conrad, of a long and very noble lineage. Perhaps it is finally time for the Conrad name to sit upon the throne of Osteria.." Lord Marek remained unmoving, his hands tucked to the small of his back.

Next was Lord Gerantius. "Ah yes, Lord Aldwyn Gerantius, head of the most noble House Gerantius and Duke of Marethia. A man with a great understanding of the intricacies of managing the breadbasket of the empire. A strong argument for the line of Gerantius. Who else might speak for or against these men. Still other voices yet we have not heard."

Marek's gaze teetered to and fro, to the other nobles that had not yet had a chance to speak.

Conrad Sforza

It was a gathering of crows, circling for any scraps of flesh that could be gorged upon now that the King's spirit had been released from its mortal shell. For Baron Conrad Sforza, the death of the King was concerning but only in the aspect of who would fight for his possessions. As a warrior, Sforza could appreciate that politics much represented a battlefield -- just in a different sphere. Deals would be struck, betrayals would occur, and fortunes would change drastically.

As a man of honor, Conrad Sforza had his misgivings about his liege lord. Reigning from on high on the Summit, Duke Conrad had an enigmatic reputation. It wasn't one that endeared itself to a man like Conrad who had fought and killed the abominations of the Flood Plains since the tender age of twelve. Yet he was his liege lord, Conrad had sworn an oath to serve him and more importantly he had sworn an oath to God.

Calloused fingertips toyed with the prayer beads that hung around the Baron's neck. While the Duke's made their speeches, Sforza attempted to gauge the men infront of him. Each man had their own ambitions and behind every flowery speech, there hid a ruthless bastard. None that Sforza regarded very highly above his own master. Betrayal remained out of the question. The Barony of Lussex would rely on the gold that would come from the Summit and in order to ensure that it continued to flow, he knew where he had to throw his support.

'' My Lords and Ladies... '' Baron Sforza said rising. He took no pleasure in the brief attention that his words brought. A scowl slid over his ravaged and pockmarked jaw. '' I have no aspirations for Kingship. I only wish to see the best candidate for Osteria...and there is no better man Duke Conrad. '' Perhaps that was stretching the truth but if Sforza could turn the support for Conrad from a trickle to a landslide, perhaps they could avoid bloodshed from competing claimants.

Perhaps.

The white stag hung limply on its standard, the fine emerald green having been turned the colour of miserable swamp water by the merciless downpour. Anfel had very rarely made trips up to the capital and this latest excursion did not place her in the lightest of moods even without the miserable weather. With the royal family all but scattered to the winds the nation was left leaderless and no doubt each noble representative looked to the others as carrion feeders looking to usurp their way to power through this ritual of choosing. That was certainly the way Anfel's mind was leaning, her thoughts racing with the dire possibilities and conflicts that so often followed power vacuums like this in her history books. Would that she could be back in Stag's Hearth, preparing for the coming storm.

Tythmas looked a truly downtrodden place under these heavy clouds. The crowded streets and rain slick stones gave the city an glistening, almost diseased, appearance. Back in Enea the popular style of architecture was rather more... organic and flowing. The rich lumber yards provided the majority of their building materials, with thatched roofs and the fertile lands springing up wild flowers everywhere they could the towns felt more like an extension of the land itself. Here in Tythmas every living thing felt crammed in against each other, clawing at each other for survival. Perhaps that was just the bumpiness of the carriage talking, putting her in a foul mood.

Though if the journey had been dreadful then the meeting would do little to improve things for her. Anfel greeted each representative politely in kind as they all filed in, bowing her head in deference to Lord Marek as he proceeded with the beginning of the cerimony. And after that... well she waited. In theory it was open to any who cared to put themselves forward as a candidate but Alfen wasn't naive enough to think that even half of those here would willingly elect someone of her heritage.

So the bigger contenders came forward, some of them with a backup troupe bearing snacks, how pleasant! Anfel was half tempted to abstain from voting, already the wind was taking a turn and the risks of putting one's neck out could be very dire to those in her position. Toying with her braid in one hand as it rested over the front of her right shoulder, she weighed and measured them both.

Both houses had name and history behind them to carry their weight. Both had proven themselves competent rulers in differing ways to their duchies. What remained was a matter of character and reputation. There things became more clear cut. Little was known about Conrad with certainty, the man cultivated rumors and half truths around himself like a farmer did crops, he'd never even fought the accusations that had haunted the disappearance of his younger siblings. Hardly a tale that would go over well with the common folk. Then there was the shady past passing talk that had given away his standing on matters of race. Besides not giving Anfel much hope for how she personally would be treated in the court it could well threaten the foreign trade her family had worked so hard to secure and the allies they might bring to the kingdom. Part of her could only assume given how little of the Summit's lord was shown that all these praises the others gave him had been bought through ties of fealty or iron.

Then there was Gerantius. Half the realm relied on his lands to help provide them with food and in times of hardship pilgrims had flocked to Marethia for safety both physical and spiritual. In the past he'd proven himself a cunning man and one with a known sense of justice, something that almost always went over well with the citizenry. And even in his current age the man's well kept features wouldn't look bad stamped on a freshly minted coin. This one might be counted on to see the world beyond Osteria's borders rather than locking himself away in his keeps.

Of course the votes were not going his way... and silence might be safer.

"My lords." Anfel began, voice gentle as a summer breeze. "Like others here I have no designs on the throne myself. Only to see the best done for the kingdom and it's people. There is no doubt in my mind that both of these fine candidates are capable of ruling fair Osteria and guiding her to a peaceful and prosperous future." Her eyes scanned the room as she spoke, flitting from one face another of those sat at the table and the expressions or masks they wore. She found it unsettling that such weighty decisions have been made so quickly, no one had even asked a question of the candidates, of what their policies on trade or on dealing with the Blackmouth threat might be. Desperatly Anfel thought to call a pause to it, as if to demand those that stepped forward might explain themselves in more detail. Yet it seemed lines were already been drawn and a cadre already forming. Each lord was well known and each expected their past deeds and reputation to speak for them. Such was the way of the aristocracy.

"And my own conscience bids me to cast my support in favour of Duke Aldwyn Gerantius. Yet whatever the result it is my greatest hope that no bad blood be formed from this choosing. We have each come here with the same purpose and one far greater than ourselves at that as servants of our people." Even if this were to fail, at least Anfel could hold her head high in standing by what she thought was right.

The fate of King Timault was still yet unknown when Lord Jerran Gades Stolt returned to Thunderhall, that single bastion overlooking the wild reaches of the South. Osterias frontier was more than scrubland, desert and waste-it held the ruins of an ancient era, and the blood of generations of Stolt men spilt by the foul orcs of the Blackmouth Clan. Creatures summoned from the very pits of hell, black fanged and cruel, with yellow eyes and bubbling muscles that wielded weapons more akin to a butchers than a civil knights. Under orders from the late King Timault himself, Lord Stolt led a cadre of crack troops against the flank of the horde in an attempt at a feint. The Kings army was to deal a decisive blow to the enemy right in the center. In truth, Jerran Stolt did not believe the tactic would work. It was a strategy that might persevere against a civilized army, where rows upon row of knights in polished armor waited for the order to advance. But the orcs of Blackmouth Their ranks were amorphous, and deceiving. Where fifty orcs appeared, their may have been 500 lying in wait or ambush. But Lord Stolts duty was to follow orders, not contradict them. He had parted at dawn with the King and his host not knowing it would be the last time he spoke to his liege lord.

Lord Jerran Gades Stolt entered the chambers of the council garbed in the black and tan cloak of the Knights of the Southern Reach. He wore upon his neck a black scarf of mourning, still covered in the silty dust of his homeland. Hidden beneath this scarf was the necklace of black orc tusks that Stolt refused to remove. On his hip was the blade of his father, a curved scimitar with a simple hilt and pommel, an amalgamation of the Orcish blades and the civilized weapons of the kingdom of Osteria. He was a warrior, hardened by life on the frontier, and he felt uncomfortable the moment he and his men entered the metropolitan city of Tythmas, with its endless walls and windmills and storied buildings.

Stolt arrived later than his fellow noblemen, left his cloak and scimitar with his retainers and entered the lavish meeting hall. He could not help but stare in wonder at the feast sprawled before the men-his people rarely if ever dined with such fine foods. Gods...that must be cheese, thought Lord Stolt.

Lord Marek, of the order of Silk & Iron was presiding, and it appeared that a discussion was already underway. Most of these men Stolt had never met, and as he took a seat among the most powerful men in the kingdom he considered what he would add to the discussion. The very business at hand made the old warrior uncomfortable-democratically choosing a king? A divine ruler chosen by men and all their vices! It seemed an absurd but necessary business to Lord Stolt.

A pockmarked man with a shaven pate and topknot was speaking. "I have no aspirations for Kingship. I only wish to see the best candidate for Osteria...and there is no better man Duke Conrad".

Duke James Conrad. Stolt spied him at the far end of the table, pale faced and dressed in fine clothes. Courtly clothes. Lord Stolt knew this man and had heard of his plea to King Timault to halt his crusade against the Blackmouth Clan. Duke Conrad had been dismissed, much to the shock of the court.

It also seemed that Lord Garantius, of Marethia was in contention for the throne. It seemed it would come down to these two men, whom Lord Stolt hardly knew, if by reputation only. As graceful as she was, even the Lady Allard seemed unsure in her nomination of Garantius.

Lord Stolt gathered his courage and stood, chalice raised.

"My lords, and lady. I am Lord Jerran Gades Stolt, forgive me if I have no steward to announce my titles and privileges, for I am a simple man. In truth, this is the first time in twenty years I have set foot in this fair city-"

Jerran paused. His heavy southern accent seemed to amuse the nobles at the table. Jerran coughed awkwardly. "Forgive me, I am still in mourning for our beloved King. I rode from the Gates of Thunderhall under his banners, and soon parted ways at the Ravine of Snakes where..." Lord Stolt pulled the black scarf of mourning from his neck and folded it carefully on the table. His fiery red beard framed his chin perfectly, and below it, hung the necklace of polished black orc-fangs.

"We parted ways. That is all I will say of King Timault. As for this business of 'electing' a king to rule, I cannot say I agree with the process wholeheartedly. In that spirit, I cannot in good conscious submit myself for candidacy of governance. I will provide, however, to whomever may prevail in this debate, a lifetime of knowledge and service fighting and defending this Kingdom from our most horrible enemy. I will not lie my lords and lady; my soldiers are hungry. They are tired. They have suffered the worst defeat in half a century and they have lost their king. I have lost my King. The enemy is more vicious than anything you can imagine my lords. I would ask for a place at the council, so that my voice may be heard and my experience in fighting these animals considered. I abstain from voting for election of a king. I have said my peace, my thanks."

The Ceremony of the Choosing

Lord Marek

While other Lords and the Lady of Enea chimed in, Marek nodded in turn. "Two great candidates have arisen, it seems. Perhaps each in turn might discuss the great threat to our South, the Orcs of the Blackmouth. They have been quelled, even if at the cost of life of our King*, but what should the future of the threat of Orcs be under a new monarch? As the Lord Stolt might tell you, the Blackmouth have a great many brutal, barbaric warriors at their behest, it is only their constant infighting and lack of leadership that keeps them from swarming our very borders."

Marek's eyes turned first to Duke James Conrad, then in turn to Lord Aldwyn Garentius. "Still yet a great many things are decided before casting your vote so quickly, Lords and Lady. The future of Osteria should not so easily be decided, but once a majority is established, Osteria's throne will have a new ruler."

---

* Battle of the Arches: The last battle between the Kingdom of Osteria and the Orcs of the Blackmouth and part of the Southern Crusade. The Battle of the Arches occurred when King Timault of the House of Osteria led a force of 41,000 soldiers, including 8,000 cavalry and a host of feudal levies under Lord Jerran Gades Stolt, Protector of the Southern Reaches into the Southern Reaches hoping to catch a massing horde of orcs before they could meet with a much larger host in the East.

The Osterian Black Army, while traveling through a valley called "The Arches," was ambushed by one of the many chiefs of the Blackmouth, Gorguth the Swift. During single combat, Gorguth slew King Timault. 27,000 Osterians were killed or wounded. A minor victory, Lord Stolt of the Southern Reaches was responsible for the death of Gorguth's son Groth, who he similarly slew in single combat.

---

---

Lord Demotoriaus watched as the other lords and lady cast their votes, confident that he had picked the right side until Lord Marek had brought about the subject of Orcs and thusly the crusade against the barbaric beasts. He turned to look at Conrad, stroking his beard lightly as the question came out of his mouth. “Yes, what of the tribal orcs? Would we continue the Southern Crusade against them?,” he asked with light concern in his voice. That crusade was the one thing that John was certainly knowledgeable about, the one thing the lord was probably most capable of doing at the moment. Then his eyes flickered over to Lord Gerantius, another question coming out of his mouth, “And what of you Gerantius? Would you continue the Southern Crusade?”

"Oh so we are doing this after all." Anfel smirked quietly to herself. Trust old Master Marek to open the way to such things.

"Perhaps we might even ask what our would be monarchs plan to do regarding the other peoples that share our borders then?" She asked conversationally, as if they were simply discussing daily matters over tea in the parlour. "Osteria has known her share of isolationists in her time. How would each of you approach the elves and dwarves who ply their livings among us? Or the rulers they answer to their native lands." A matter close to her own heart and that of Enea's economy.

As James sat hearing the pledges of lord around the room meanwhile refusing to eat the food of Lord Aldywn for fear of tampering and the distrust of open pride that came from the Lord. As the Lords and Lady gave their differing support and ideals James listened intently specifically to that Lord Jerran who had seen the war first hand and they had worked together on the King’s council previously. Eventually Lord Marek and the others decided to question the legitimacy of the himself and Lord Aldywn and why they were most deserving of the Kingship.

Though James prefered to listen and see the responses as well as hear his opponent's own thought Lord Aldywn was more than willing to give out his plan wholeheartedly. First declaring that he’d of course avenge our late lord and defeat the orcs of the Blackmouth, and while James did believe the orcs needed to pay he knew the realm wasn’t ready for war and that winter and food shortages would soon be upon them. Those reasons were of course James’ own thoughts when the King demanded a crusade. Furthermore the Duchess Anfel the half-elf brought up the issue of our relations with dwarves and elves. Though she was the most beautiful of anyone he had ever seen, James simply say the elves as a useless species who prefers to remain in the past rather than industrialize of course the dwarves have their faults, without them James would be a poor soul forced to steal, kill or other in order to survive. Lord Aldywn’s response on the matter of course agreed that we’d need the be more open to our neighbors even though James thought he was simply giving hold for support something in the Lord’s eye made it seem honest.

After a few short moments of silence James stood up dressed in his fine clothes of rich material. “While our king did indeed die at the hand of the damned orcs and our own beliefs should of course tell us revenge is the only answer. However, as councilor I was against the action of invasion we were too ill-equipped our own Lord Jerran can testify to that I’m sure. Furthermore, winter is to be upon us soon and I’m sure many lands including my own of the summit will be in dire need of food that there will be barely enough to send supplies to our soldier. As such I’d recommend a time of defense and waiting preparing ourselves rather than outright suicide.”

James gave a slyish smile to Lord Aldwyn before turning to Duchess Anfel. “Duchess, much like your own relation with that of the elfs, I too hold a close relation to that of the dwarves within the mountain peaks of the summit. That isn’t to say we hold some uneasy hostilities with them, but for now it’s a prosperous peace and I see no reason in changing that, thus why I’d be tentatively open to increasing our relations but I of course would see no reason to become hostile against either.” James raised his glass of near empty wine to her giving her a nod before confronting the crowd as a whole.

“ My fellow, lords while I acknowledge my background to be somewhat shady, I can assure you all. I only have interest in this kingdom as a whole. My family has been the oldest to serve Osteria, I myself served on the King’s council often stating the truth even if it was against the king’s own words. While I Aldwyn offers revenge I offer strategy, Lord Aldwyn offers diplomacy, I proclaim patience. For too long we have focused on the external threats and duties of the empire. It is time to focus on our internal strifes and uniting the kingdom behind one ideal and one force. Should I of course be passed over, I will be the first to bend my knee to whomever the new King maybe for I am at your mercy.” James gave a sincere smile to all of them raising his drink before swallowing a gulp and sitting back down ever so humbly.

Conrad Sforza

'' My Lord's and Ladies we are missing the larger point here. '' Sforza said, his voice cutting into the chatter sharply. The Baron was not one quick to react to anger but the display put on in this room churned his stomach. '' The King was slain by filthy abominations! Monsters that now are licking their wounds. They have killed the King, do you not think that Gorguth will not use that as a rallying cry to call the other clans to his banner? If we wait, with respect Your Grace, we will face a foe that is two if not three times as strong when he returns. '' The Baron declared, his hand closing into a fist. In his haste to speak he found himself standing.

'' I would beseech all of you to consider our options. Yes, we suffered a grievous loss...but these men can be replaced. Revenge must be now, the people will demand it, and this defeat is a stain on the honor of Osteria. If needed, the Duke's and Baron's should muster our own forces and join Duke Stolt for a new campaign in the South. If we press now, perhaps we can expunge the Orc threat forever. If we wait, it is at our own peril. '' It was a sharp break with Duke James but Sforza felt as a loyal vassal, he had to speak his piece. The Baron knew about dealing with monsters, he had been fighting creatures on the Floodplains for decades. The Orc's were little better, part of the same cancer that would devour the Realm of Man if cowardice allowed it to.

'' I myself would offer my own troops to serve under you Duke Stolt. '' The Baron said with a nod at the other man. '' Though I would be keen to hear your own views. You have fought these creatures far longer then any of us. What do you advise? You know the state of the Royal Army. Could they be mustered for another campaign to avenge their King? ''

Demotoriaus listened intently to Lord Gerantius who promised swift action against the greenskins should the man become king, something he was all for. Yet, Lord James Conrad, the man he voted for originally, would only delay an attack against the orc menace which fueled a small rage within the young lord, finding that only action would prove useful in their crusades. He looked between Gerantius and Conrad for a few moments, before he heard Sforza voice his concerns regarding the subject of the Crusade. “Yes! We must take the fight against those vile beasts! Every moment we wait they will multiply and when they breed they will overtake us in a night!,” Demotoriaus roared, his fight against the orcs had not been extinguished in his time as a noble. He had slammed his hands onto the table, a fire roaring in both his eyes and his voice as he spoke, “We have the advantage as the savages flee into their homes! We must press it and slay their leader!”

The man soon realized that he spoke out of line, quickly he composed himself and let out a cough to clear his throat. “Sorry,” John muttered, seating himself once more as he looked between the two candidates. He supposed more questions would be in order before he could make any decision now as his vote for Conrad had suddenly evaporated right before his eyes. “I shall relinquish my vote for now. I wish to know more,’ Demotoriaus looked back to Lord Conrad for a moment.

“You say you wish to stabilize the realm against internal threats. Might I ask, what internal threats could you possibly mean? There are no rebellions currently, as far as I know no lords plan to question the realm’s legitimacy as a Kingdom, and certainly there is no vile thing plotting any of our downfalls currently.”

---

---

"All excellent questions, yes. The state of affairs in the Southern Reaches is a tenuous one, but the Lady of Enea poses a strong inquiry herself as well," Marek mused, his weathered lips hanging parted. "The Dwarven thanes will come seeking to negotiate new trade routes, and the Elves too will depart their sylvan halls to seek counsel with our new lord. With whom would you parlay, or would you treat with them both equally, lords?"

The rain continued to patter outside. Servants roamed up and down the table refilling mugs and gauntlets, replacing half eaten plates with full plates. "It is wise to remember that our new Liege commands the respect of all his bannermen, lest their fiefs refuse a call to fealty. The Osterian Black Army however, is not the great force it once was."

James nodded to Lord Marek's words before answering Lord Demotoriaus's question "Though it woes me that you recall your vote so hastily, I can see the fear in your eyes when you speak of the orcs, However as Lord Marek points out our grand army is not what it once was having lost more than half its force. Even further the original crusade was ambushed by the orcs, proving that they are not only as tactical as us but know the landscapes far more than us. As for our internal strife we must not forget about the wicked monsters in the floodplains that Baron Sforza and his men fight continuously. As for the plotting within the kingdom while in all my time and this kingdom’s time people have plotted for far greater things, the timing could be no better either. A new King in the realm would be at his weakest point without a unanimous vote for them, and a rebellion could begin as quickly as well. I merely ask for patience should I become King and time to evaluate the situation of the landscape we can’t merely rush out for war without thinking of supply lines as well as feed the lowly farmer in each of our lands.” He then sat down as quickly as he had rose.

---

Stolt listened to the noblemen speak their peace in turn. Many spoke of revenge, of grand plans and schemes. But as a warrior, Stolt knew that often a plan on paper did not hold up in the field. Lord Gerantius had spoken well and passionate, it was clear the man was not to be trifled with. Still the grand strategy he had entailed required a great many actions, and would cost innumerable lives. And Lord Conrad was correct in his estimate of the armies losses. It would be a long while before any more 'crusades' could be conducted against the Orcish hordes.

"Lord Gerantius, your impassioned speech does your family motto justice. I can see you are a man of great vision. But I must caution you, as I caution anyone who will listen at this table. Lords Marek and Conrad are both correct. The Black Army is in no state to wage another war for quite some time, and our morale is devastated at the loss of our King, 4000 Knights would be but a drop in the bucket..." Lord Stolt paused and wiped his brow. He pressed his thumb against the necklace of orc-fangs around his neck until he felt a calming pain seize his finger. A drop of blood trickled to the table.

"I have seen great men, giants whilst in armor weep openly at the loss of a loved one. I have buried sons in the desert my Lords. They did not all go to their deaths with smiling faces and singing songs as the fairy tales would have you believe. For my part, when I took the head of Groth, son of Gorguth, I felt a great satisfaction. His dried and foul head has a fine place above my hearth. There are many more heads to take beyond the Southern Reaches. Far more than any of you can imagine, and as Lord Dematorious has assessed, their numbers grow. I fear we do not have the numbers. Lord Conrad, have you anything to say of matters of state? I fear any lingering indecision will only further depress the morale of the army, and of the people. "