James took a moment to process it all before standing before the men with a smile. "Lord Stolt, I thank you for asking my own opinion on the matter. It is as I have stated previously, while I'd like to route the orcs as much as any of you. I know our soil needs tending and wounds need healing. No matter how vast and great this orc army could become, they don't know the southern reaches like our great Lord Stolt does. Should he truly require the help of our forces, we'd gladly sally forth and help defend the realm. But we can't push forward, hold the ground we have and prepare, raise our forces, train them and allow us to heal. That has and will be my proposal." James took a moment to look around the room before turning his attention to Lord Demorotius

" My lord, I am sorry if I offended you, that was not my intention. I simply know how we all fear the danger the orcs could be should they reach our lands." James gave a noble bow to the lord before turning to Aldwyn. "You speak of protecting our people. Yet you'd sooner charged into the lands of the orcs as blindly as King Timault, I will not offer the lives of my men for this crusade which cost more than half the black army's forces." He turned before the crowd and continued "[i] I offer vengeance just one that requires patience. Let them think they've won the day and march into the southern reaches, there my men and those of Lord Stolt would gladly stand to push them back. Now, my lords and lady, I believe the time for debate and discussion is over. Each second we waste on a swift or steady war the orcs have more time to prepare and our kingdom becomes more vulnerable. So please state who you wish to lead and let them decided over us bickering like when we were young lordlings." James gave no grandiose bow or smile, he returned to his seat and took a steady sip of wine.

Alaric Gyre had spent the morning within the royal gardens of Tythmas. Head bowed and knees bent, his sword lay in the damp grass before him under the shade of a willow tree which kept the worst of the assaulting rain away. Eyes closed, the young Duke found himself in prayer, he was a religious man yes, but a devout man, no. To him religion was not something which defined a man, but guided him, and that was what Alaric looked for under the willows. Guidance. Guidance in what was to come. The King and his father lay dead, the Ceremony was almost upon them and he found himself a Duke. Times were changing.

And fast. Thought Alaric as his mind turned back to the present, to the council chambers, to the two claimants and to the platters of famed Marethian cuisine of pastries and delights which adorned every table. From his chair within the chamber, it was clear two aspirants has risen above the rest. Enough eager votes had been cast that should a new man put forward his name it would assure the victory of another if no vote could be turned. Part of him willed himself to put forth his own name regardless, could he serve the realm better than the two lords already vying for the throne? Or would it be a wasted endeavor which could only cut ties and burn bridges? A man surrounded in vile rumors of kinslaying and intrigue, or a warrior-lord past his prime boasting of the natural fertility of his lands?

"My Lords, my lady." Duke Alaric Gyre spoke as he rose from his seat. "I believe none here could question the courage and honour of my late lord father who was slain fighting alongside our beloved King. He was a just man, a good man, and it is with those values which he instilled upon me that I would pledge forth my own name for the honour of Kingship... I realize many among you will not know me, perhaps worry for my age or a lack of experience. I believe no-man is truly prepared for the responsibilities a King might bear, but I believe I might with your aid my lords do so. I have in mind the council I would assemble should you find me worthy of such an honour, a council formed not of bias or of how one voted, but of merit and for the betterment of the realm."

Alaric allowed a pause as his eyes found those of whom he would speak. "Lord Gerantius, you speak of the prosperity of your Duchy and I believe as you have said, that such a prosperity might be found within the entire realm under your administration. I would name you Royal Steward as my prominent advisor in matters of administration of the realm... Lord Stolt, you are perhaps the most experienced man in matters of war among us, your family has guarded the Southern Reaches for years and you are known to be a man of honour and fine ability. I would name you Marshal... Duke Conrad, I would have you serve as Spymaster of the realm. A position that will not be known beyond this room and council, but of great importance to the realm you serve and I believe, complimentary with your own ability... My Duchess Allard, I would name you Chancellor. Serving as advisor in matters of diplomacy and foreign affairs in our dealings with our neighbors in the Dwarves and Elves, with whom I would seek further diplomatic relations with you at the helm of this undertaking... Good Lord Demotoraius, you are a man of known military ability and a master of strategy, I would have you serve the realm as Master of the Order of Celeres, with a seat on the council, your charge would be to lead the Order and it's 7,000 knights. To bring back the days of glory and honour it once commanded and serve as a beacon to the realm." The Duke paused for a moment as he reached the most delicate part of his promises. "And finally, good Baron Sforza. I have only once in my life bore witness to the great floodplains which you and your stout fellows protect the realm from. I have seen the importance of your presence there and I would have the Barony of Lussex, raised to the state of Dukedom to be henceforth dubbed the Duchy of Lussex in recognition of this fact with yourself being raised to my council as Lord Spiritual. Furthermore I would pledge to support this important province in the defense of the realm, financial aid from the crown so that it shan't stand alone against the monsters which threaten this realm."

The Duke sensed he was talking a lot, but there lay another subject yet to be broached. "In regards to the savage orcs of the south. I would follow noble Lord Gerantis. We should allow a short time of rearmament, of preparation and recruitment whilst seeking assurances from the Dwarves and Elves. We cannot however wait too long, to do so would allow the orc hordes to amass in greater numbers and strength than that which ambushed our most revered King. I say we allow a short time of rest, before we embark once more upon the Crusade good King Timault began. Honored lords and ladies, thank you." With that, Alaric fell back into his seat. Silently, he steeled himself against whatever might follow. Wrathful words? Insults? Praises?

---

---

"And now a new voice is added to the fray, the newcomer Duke Alaric Gyre." Lord Marek had remained unmoving, his posture rigid and stone like. "Atop this, Duke Gyre promises a great many things. Perhaps then--with three potential candidates--it would be prudent for each Lord, and Lady, to cast a vote."

Marek moved, one unsteady step at a time to the other side of the table, until a man wreathed in similar colored vestments approached with a rolled parchment. Marek took it carefully into his palms and returned to the head of the table. "This is the Parchment of the Chosen, and whomever among you becomes king, will have it bestowed upon you. It contains a great many secrets of the kingdom. Secrets that must follow you into your grave."

[In your next posts, please post your Vote in brackets at the end for Moderator's sake.]
[Lord Gerantius: 2 Votes]
[Duke Gyre: 2 Votes]

Demotoriaus looked between the three contestants, thinking long and hard about who he should properly side with as that would be his new king. On one hand Lord Gyre promised Demotoriaus a position as leader of the Order Celeres, such a position would only further bring glory to his house as well as let him control many more knights than what he currently has. On the other Gerantis spoke with a great passion, thusly inspiring the young lord to only want to go and fight the orc hordes. At the same time, Gerantis was an older man with much experience and would have less time to rule the kingdom whereas he knew Gyre would have more time to rule yet was presumably more inexperienced.

In the end, the lord knew that the Kingdom would need someone who knew how to more properly govern the people and allow himself to thrive, thrive amongst his peers that is. With a light saddened look to Duke Gyre, he let out a sigh, “I am sorry my good man. You promise me a most honorable and glorious position, I am gracious and humbled that you would considered me worthy for such a title. However, I feel that Lord Geantis would better suit the title of King for all of us. You do have my sympathies Gyre, however, you do not have my vote. I am sorry.”

[Demotorious votes for Lord Gerantis]

‘’ The forces of Duke Stolt are not invincible! ‘’ Baron Sforza snapped, becoming incensed by the Council’s determination to sit upon its hands as the foe in the South grew in strength and numbers. ‘’ All of us will learn that to our peril when the Orc’s mass in a few months’ time. Now with final victory potentially in our grasp we are to stop and dig in? No. God is on our side and He is watching. The Crusade must go on! God wills it! ‘’ It was a sharp break with Duke James but in this instance the Baron felt he had no choice.

While Sforza was a spiritual man, he was not without his own ambition. The chance to match the title of the men in this room was a tempting one. Yes, it could potentially bring consequences with his liege lord but in the end, he doubted that Duke James would bring his army down from the Summit to punish his vassal.

‘’ I vote for Duke Alaric Gyre. ‘’ Sforza said flatly, not wishing to embarrass Duke James any further with public protests.

(Sforza votes for Alaric Gyre)

This one one would throw himself in at the deep end it seemed, Alfen smiled to herself as young Lord Gyre laid out his own plans for the future. An inexperienced young man, suddenly thrust into the place of a duke and already aiming for higher places in the world. Inexperienced certainly but then could anyone ever be ready to be king? Already he'd offered some kind of answer that could satisfy each member of this assembly, although Anfel was skeptical of just how openly he'd offered up the place of spymaster. Somehow she always imagined such a thing being more unofficial and... cloak and dagger in delivery.

'To be the official chancellor though.' She thought to herself. That had a nice ring to it.

In most things his plans for the future seemed the same as Aldwyn who she'd hurriedly cast her support behind if only to try and stanch the swiftly mounting support for House Conrad. Support that had collapsed in moments. 'Look at us all, and people trust us to run a country.' It all seemed quite mad under even a little scrutiny.

Yet did she also not put some faith in Aldwyn himself? He had proven himself a worthy duke, a skilled governor and if word was to be believed he was something of an amateur detective.

Yet the only thing they truly did differ on besides was their approach to the southern menace and even then by very little. Both were willing to be swayed by more seasoned generals and Anfel held little doubt that the tactics offered in this meeting would be altered come the next day and even more so when whatever fresh attacks were actually undertaken.

"Well you've each certainly given us all some difficult choices to make." Anfel said quietly at last. "Lord Alaric, you've given an impassioned argument and shown an apt willingness to make use of the skills of others, an applaudable trait in a leader and in one so fresh to power and command. But for me experience must win out over heart. I apologise, Sir, but my support remains with Duke Gerantis." She finished solemnly.

"Though My dears, James and Aldwyn," She added with a mischievous smile, lightly tossing her braid back behind her neck. "I would recommend that should either of you ascend to the throne then then you would be better off bringing Lord Gyre here as one of your advisers, unless you would care to earn my ire before the crown is even on your head." She sipped her wine and gave each of the older two men a mock scowl from over the glass' top.

It wouldn't have done for Anfel to change her vote. It was a close thing between the two dukes that had garnered her favour, a close thing indeed. But she would not have it said that house Allard was a fickle brood, prone to switching their support on a flight of fancy. Or splitting votes wantonly. Still her eyes went wandering and found their way back to Alaric Gyre. There was a lot of potential in that one... however this vote went Anfel didn't doubt she'd be dealing with that one soon after.

(Anfel vote goes to Aldwyn Gerantius)

As the votes were being called out James knew he wouldn’t win this game. The votes were already being cast between Lord Aldwyn and Lord Alaric. James knew he had lost the moment his Baron voted for Lord Alaric, however this was part of the plan. While the lords voted James and Conrad spoke briefly for their plans and a decision was reached. James decided to hold his vote to push it in favor of one of the others if possible. However after having seen the support for Aldwyn growing he knew he’d have to do something. He made a swift stand before the crowd looking specifically at Lord Stolt “It seems my support has been lost, as I am no sore loser I will withdraw my name for kingship. I will instead give my vote to Lord Alaric. Lord Stolt, Though I’m pleased I had your trust it seems to me they are the more well liked candidates and I’d suggest you vote the same.” He gave a small smile and sat down.

[James, backs out on his nomination and votes for Lord Alaric Gyre]

---

---

"Two votes for the Lord Gerantius and two still for Duke Gyre. More voices we have not yet heard. A king in the making we have. After the remaining Dukes and Barons have voted, the King-Elect and this court shall move to the Parna for his coronation the next morning, a quite moving affair for those not present at King Timault's own coronation some years ago."

[In your next posts, please post your Vote in brackets at the end for Moderator's sake.]
[Lord Gerantius: 2 Votes]
[Duke Gyre: 3 Votes] [Stolt PM vote*]

With the votes tied at three apiece, Lord Marek was forced to put a pause to the proceedings while the Church was summoned. From it, Ecclesiast Timone II, Head of the Vinossian Church silently cast an anonymous vote--in another candle lit room--for whom might be elected to the throne of Osteria. The proceedings were long and drawn out, with much delegation between Marek and Timone II, while the gathered Lords and Lady were forced to wither away by daily proceedings and nonsensical talk, all the while being away from their prospective lands.

When finally Lord Marek returned, alerting those gathered that the Ecclesiast Timone II had already departed back to the Parna (the Church), he came bidding news. "After much deliberation, Ecclesiast Timone II has made his will known that Duke Alaric Gyre shall be raised to the title of King of Osteria. With the support of the Vinossian Church, as well as at least half of the gathered fiefs, Duke Alaric Gyre will be the Head of House Gyre and King of the Second Kingdom of Osteria."

---

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Spring, 1191
Three Days after the Coronation

The coronation of King Gyre was a monumental affair, held in the Parna and required attendance of every noble from the Duchy down to the mayoral level. It's ending was immediately proceeded by a calling of counsel three days following, with all the fiefdoms in attendance and the following gathered: Merek Thorne, the sharp nosed and newly promoted Advisor to the King, the pauldron embellished Jarl, proclaimed Champion to the King and the only man allowed in the king's presence with a weapon present. Merek flanked King Gyre's right side, while Jarl stood on the left. On either side, the assembled Lords and Lady from the various fiefs were in attendance



With the assembly present, Merek Thorne stepped forward and raised a hand, immediately calling the session to order. He pulled from his robes a scroll and unfurled it. "Today marks the First Council of His Highness' Reign. The following agendas are present and will be discussed and agreed upon before you may return to your lordships."

"First to be discussed is the appointment of a Spymaster, responsible for espionage and leadership of the Order of the Wasp. This appointment comes with it a requirement that will force you from your fief and immediately surrender 50% of all it's resources to the Crown. Similarly is the appointment of a Marshal, responsible for leading the Black Army in battle and in training. This appointment comes with it a requirement that will force you from your fief and immediately surrender 50% of all it's resources to the Crown. Any who wish to be appointed may make a spirited request to the King."

"The second issue is Taxation. As it stands, each fief--as ordained under Lord Timault--is responsible for levying 30% of it's iron and goldstuffs to the Royal Treasury for use by the Kingdom, and 80% of all grains." Lord Merek didn't skip a beat.

"The third issue is Parnal Taxation. As ordained by King Timault, all fiefs must pay a taxation to the church measuring 10% of their seasonal income. The Vinossian Cleric present is here to speak on the Church's behalf."

"The fourth and final issue are the Dwarven and Elven emissaries, which will be given entry following the conclusion of the royal appointments and taxation. My lord," Advisor Thorne said, rolling the scroll back up, turning to the King and bowing. "The floor is yours to speak."

---

---

[All Players may now submit their orders: 1 Military and 1 Political.] (Vinossian Church has 2 Political Orders, 0 Military).

Knights strode around a large town, watching the peasantry and inspecting them in case they were preaching ideas that would lead to civil unrest. It was around noon, a small crowd had gathered around one figure who spoke of the times of when Lordea had been a sovereign state, a more powerful state. He was speaking ideas that the peasantry seemed to agree with. While this gathering was peaceful, the knights could not take a chance if this man wished to cause civil disobedience. Three knights strode up on their horses, pushing their way through the crowd, making their way to the central figure, an old man who leaned on a wooden cane.

“Hail Knights! What brings you to my gathering,” the old man asked, a hoarse yet kind voice. His neck craning upwards to look upon the knights, a small smile coming to his face.

“I regret to inform that you cannot preach these ideas. We fear that it may cause civil unrest which we have been informed in gripping the region. If we see that you continue these practices against the name of the newly crowned King Gyre and the lords under him, then we must stop you by force. This is your only warning,” the head knight, Alfric the Vigilant, warned. The knight’s voice filled with confidence and command. The warning went through the crowd, acting as an invisible force which drove the peasantry away to continue with their daily lives.

“As you wish Sir Knight. You will no longer hear such ideas from me again, I am too old to attempt to fight you and your men off,” the old man stated quietly, his smile slowly fading into his wrinkled face.

“He pulled a knife!” Alfric cried falsely, tugging back on his horse’s reins causing to lift its forward body and kick out against the old man. However, before a single hoof could reach the old man, he was skewered by a spear from one of the other knights who rushed forward. Alfric calmed his horse and unsaddled in order to pick up the now dead old man and take him away from the town. There would be no burial for this traitor, instead he would be dumped into the wilderness. “You two,” he began, pointing to the leftmost knights, “Continue the patrol I shall be back with haste.”

---

A letter to the most esteemed Ecclesiast Timone the Second

My dear Ecclesiast, it has come to light that not all within the Duchy of Lordea embrace the true faith and remain heretical, bringing with it disorder and anarchy. I solicit thee to send missionaries so that the Vinossian faith may spread and with it bring a religious unity to the Kingdom. Currently, my knights are dealing with silencing those who may wish to cause unrest within my Duchy, but I fear that may not even quell the heretics that dwell within these lands. This is a matter of utmost importance to me and perhaps should be of great importance to the Church of Vinos to stamp out those which may speak lies to the peasantry, thusly creating a larger monster which may be difficult to destroy later.

From Duke John Demotorious of Lordea

The last three days had swept by in a blur of magnificence and splendor even Alaric couldn't quite describe. Alaric was a King by both noble and Divine mandate with the Faith itself having cast a vote in his name. A crown rested upon his head and the Second Osterian Kingdom was his, his to govern, to rule, his responsibility. Would it be wrong to say he had enjoyed the ceremony, the spectacle caused by his ascendancy? Even the throne room around him commanded respect, commanded dignity as the purple banners of House Gyre hung upon each stone wall and flew from standards atop the walls.

His hands clutched the stone arms of his throne as he listened intently to his advisor Thorne whilst his eyes wandered across the assembled nobility. Carved by Dwarves it was said, the Throne was a sight to behold. A great stone seat, it's hard grey surface inlaid with an intricate metal design of an equally fine craft. This seat of power had history, a lineage of Kings and Alaric was to be the latest addition to it's long tale. He would endeavor to make his a worthy one.

"My Lords and Ladies. We welcome you." Alaric spoke as he regarded his Council after a grateful nod to his advisor. "We gather here today, as you know in the first of our councils, to talk of the realm. The fate of which lies upon us to protect, to guide and it requires our guidance now. Let us meet these matters swiftly and surely... I am aware that I had made promises of these positions of which we are to discuss, promises I am wont to disregard lest it be for the betterment of the Realm. I will however offer any among you the chance to speak freely now regarding the noble seats of Marshal and Spymaster upon my Council, now that you have all heard what would be required of you." The King however wouldn't leave an opening before moving onto another, more, sensitive subject.

"Afore you speak however, I wish to entertain the second issue of this evening. This Crown has ordained that the levying of iron, grain and gold under Good Lord Timmault might remain the same until the need for recourse makes itself necessary or until such a time that we face a dire change in the state of our Kingdom." The King declared.

"Now, I would invite any aspirant for those valued positions of Marshal and Spymaster to step forth, and say your piece so that I might make judgement. Following that, I would invite our honored Cleric of the Faith to represent the most hallowed Church of Vinos."

The third knock went unanswered.

A frown creased the craggy and weathered features of Tyrum Blackmore, Lord Chamberlain of House Sforza. With a sigh, gnarled fingers applied pressure to find the door unlocked. The stench of sex and sweat struck the Chamberlain like a slap to the face. A woman lay in the bed, jumping to hide her exposed breasts with an outstretched hand. It did nothing to save her modesty. Blackmore dispassionately recognized her as one of the kitchen wenches that had served the Baron the previous evening at last nights supper.

A snarl of agony from the adjacent chamber drew Blackmore’s attention.

‘’ Out! ‘’ The word was a growl, the girl hastily slipping into her dress and fleeing for the doorway as fast as her feet would allow. He caught her arm, even at sixty years of age, Blackmore was still surprisingly strong.

‘’ If word of this…incident.. becomes common gossip, you will find yourself on the street…and then I will find you, do you understand? ‘’ He said in a soft whisper, his voice not once rising. But Blackmore's grip was so strong that he had left marks in the soft and yielding ivory flesh of her arm to drive home his point. With a nod of understanding and animal fear lingering in those pretty blue eyes, she fled. Tyrum pivoted and marched towards the adjacent chamber, another grunt of pain eeking through the doorway.

Baron Conrad Sforza was an imposing man. He stood well over six feet, his face was scarred by old wounds and the Red Pox that had claimed the lives of his family. However, it was the righteous fury that Blackmore now found himself on the receiving end of that most concerned the Chamberlain. Conrad held a light whip in his hand, his back bearing the self-inflicted wounds of flagellation.

‘’ I have sinned. ‘’ The Baron explained simply, a scowl sliding over once handsome features turned grotesque. ‘’ I am a slave to the flesh and so the flesh must be punished. ‘’ Sforza said, dropping the bloodied whip at his feet. Blackmore was already fetching a basin of water, after many such incidents, the Chamberlain was adept at cleaning the Baron’s wounds so that they wouldn’t be prone to infection.

Regardless, the Baron wouldn’t be able to wear a shirt for the next week without wincing in pain. There had to be a red tunic here somewhere….

--------------------------------------

Sforza found himself sitting at the King’s Council three hours later, evaluating the now former Duke that he had cast his support behind. The Baron had gambled hard for King Gyre’s promises, a chance for Lussex to achieve true independence from his fellow sovereign Lords. The Baron toyed with his signet ring, his mind coming to focus on the task at hand.

‘’ No doubt there are better and more qualified men who could lead the Black Army. Unfortunately, many of them lay dead on the field alongside our former King. I, Baron of Lussex, Conrad Sforza put my name forth to lead the Osterian Army as Marshal and in King Gyre’s name continue the Crusade against the South. ‘’

Lussex was not a rich territory and the Baron (soon to be Duke) could afford to leave the daily administration to his retainers. Though no doubt many more nobles would seek to burnish their own ambitions.

With a King Gyre chosen, James was excited. He had already been promised Spymaster and the council would be convened soon. When Lord Marek gave word James was rather shocked having to give up your fief however James felt he could persuade the King. As soon as he could James stood up and bowed before the King “King Gyre, I would like to offer myself for Spymaster I will of course grant the kingdom 50% of my Iron and Gold. However, being the Duke of the Summit the sacred city of the Order of Wasps I would like to retain my lands and give orders from there when I am not needed at court.” James bowed before returning to his seat.

---

The warrior from the Southern Reaches had weathered the events of the past few days with an air of quiet grace. In truth, the grandiose nature of the proceedings at the council meeting, and the magnitude of the coronation had left the man in awe of the customs of the High Court. He was not used to such lavish designs, much preferring the darkened chambers of Thunderhall in the south. Jerran Stolt had cast his vote eventually in favor of the young Lord Gyre, the son of a man he had much admired and called friend.

"My King," said Stolt after some length. " I knew your father. He was a great and brave man and I would serve you, as your father served our beloved King Timault. I would seek the candidacy of Marshal, as you proposed at the Council meeting. I would gladly meet your demands for servitude, as all that I have was given to me by his majesty King Timault before you. The Southern Reaches, all 21,000 men-at-arms, 2,000 cavalry and 8,000 knights under my command, are yours sire. I have the knowledge and skill required to command the Black Army, and the experience of decades on the frontier in the Southern Reach."

Lord Stolt paused and then stood tall as he proclaimed, "Further, I pledge an oath here on this day, in the Spring of the year of our lord, one-thousand-ninety-one, that I shall deliver to you, personally, the head of that most foul stain upon the land, the leader of the Blackmouth Tribe, Gorguth, whose son I have already slain in vengeance. I would do this thing for you my Lord and King, and for the honor of the memory of King Timault." Lord Jerran Gades Stolt bowed deeply and resumed his place in the hall of the king.

Suran Keto, Duchess of Jauneau

Duchess Suran Keto felt the weight of her new rank too well, sitting straight in her oaken chair. Her clothes were new, for her new rank, and well-fitted belying her muscular physique. The Council had only just begun and already the mules were braying their ambitions to the King.

‘The King whose duchy I’ve been given’ she thought to herself, the luck that had given her a duchy of such magnitude was unimaginable but she would not complain against it, only serve.

Suran thought it unwise to so recklessly pursue another war against the orcs after the death of the last king and so much of the nobility but there was something to be said for not letting the orcs regain their lost strength, they would need to conduct the war more carefully though.

She almost spoke up to offer herself as marshal before thinking better of it, her duty was to her new fiefdom and the crown, if the King wished for her to be marshal then he would offer the post to her and she would accept, until then her duty was to govern her new fief.
Instead she considered the two presented options already offered. Two men of noble birth, each of a military mind but only one of them in her mind had what it took to perform the duties of marshal adequately.
Stepping forward she bowed before the new King.

“Your Grace, I hold no desire for the position of marshal, instead if with your permission, I would give Lord Stolt my support in seeking the position of marshal. With the orc threat on our borders he is the most knowledgeable on the matter.”

Well all things considered this had proven to be one of the most amicable competitions for a throne the world had ever seen. The next few days were somehow simultaneously a whirlwind and a ponderous bore. The capital was sent into overdrive and no doubt the other territories were already feeling the emotional ripple of Alaric's rise to the throne but between sending countless letters home and planning to see Enea's affairs Anfel was left to stand around for unseemly amounts of time as old men in clerical robes that were far too big for their withered frames rambled on in a list of countless oaths while choirs of young boys sang on in dead languages. The presentation was superb though, Anfel couldn't deny them that.

So after that handful of days, and the mutliple outfits that were needed for each new occasion they offered, it was time to hold dear King Gyre's first royal council. These were usually a simple matter of routine in times past, talking over tax rates that would never be allowed to change or mustering forces to send south, into the seemingly endless meat grinder of the desert.

This time would be a very different affair though. with new council members being selected, envoys of foreign lands were waiting to greet the newly crowned monarch. Of course before it all started everyone had to make the rounds, saying their good mornings and commenting on how lovely everyone looked, making sure there were still no hard feelings all that transpired over the voting.

Anfel was almost excited about the sudden rise of the new duchess Suran Keto. Finally, another half elf to join her in these meetings of the nobility! And another red head, why people might mistake them for sisters. Anfel had almost talked her ears off when greeting the stoic woman into the meeting, such was her excitement. Indeed, if nothing else she would have to make her greatest mission of the day to make sure Lady Keto agreed to visit her in Stag's Hearth for a week. Perhaps she'd throw a tourney, from what little she'd heard of the woman she was quite militarily inclined. 'What exciting times we live in.' She pondered. It was certainly a great step for fellow mixed raced folk like themselves. Osteria was stepping into the future it seemed.

That would have to wait though. Already everyone was clamoring to make their voices heard as ritual and tradition flipped their new king's early promises on their head. Handy really, if things worked out properly then Alaric could go back on the plans outlined in the choosing. The position of marshal was open and being vied for as those with more knowledge of martial affairs. Anfel wasn't about to interfere with such matters that were so publicly far from her area of expertise. There was something she did care to weigh in on though.

"Excuse me, Your Grace, if I may be so bold." Anfel said once the latest speaker was done saying their peace. She rose from her seat, smoothing out her long flowing skirt and raised her hand as if waving to a fellow lady across the parlor. "But I Should also like to put my name forward for consideration for the position of royal spymaster." She said it almost conversationally. "Of course assuming I am accepted then I shall be happy to take up rooms in the capital and to give half my chartered resources to the crown. I'm more than happy to give a more impassioned speech if that is the expected thing. But to rant about how one would go about managing a colourful bunch like The Wasps in public for all to hear seems to fly in the face of the position I petition for, wouldn't you all say? So if I am to ask my own favour from his majesty then it is to give such reasoning in private, perhaps even after the councils business is concluded. Unless we are all in such a rush you would have me whisper it in your ear here and now but such a thing hardly seems proper." Not for his first day on the throne at least, Anfel thought, taking her seat with a mischievous smirk.

Merek Thorne, Appointed Advisor to King Alaric Gyre of House Gyre, Ruler of the Second Kingdom of Osteria

While the fiefs dallied and discussed taxation, a door suddenly slid open and a cloaked messenger emerged. His robes indicated the Order of the Wasp, a rather rapturous group of assassins, sworn to secrecy forever. Hanging from a worn leather belt in loose fitting scabbards were dangerously curved blades and anyone worth their salt could only imagine the amount of bloodshed they'd made manifest in the decades of King Timault's rule. The assassin pulled free from his robe a worn parchment and handed it to Merek Thorne up on the dais, turned and was gone through the door a moment later. If one were to look, the door blended in so well with the carved stone that only if you stood close enough for a long enough time could one see the thin slits of the door. Such was but a single weapon in the arsenal of the Order of the Wasps.

While Lords and Ladies talked, Thorne's thin fingers unrolled the scroll and cast his eyes upon the words there. Not a second later he turned, approached the King and leaned down to whisper. "My liege, there appears to be an intrusion on the castle grounds, the guards have.." but anything else Thorne said was drowned out by the dialogue between the assembled council members. Jarl, the personal champion of the King, took a half step closer to the throne. Thorne descended the steps of the throne, pushed past several members of the crown and took--rather delicately--the wrist of Timone II into his hand, leading him to another door through the side.

Whether or not anyone besides the King noticed was an issue that Thorne cared little about.

The King leant back in his throne as he silently reflected. Several nobles - The venerable Baron Sforza, the solicitous Duke Conrad, the accomplished Lord Stolt, the beguiling Duchess Allard and the stalwart Duchess Keto who he'd left a Duchy. All had stepped forth and spoken and he'd listened to them all with an attentiveness. A few long seconds passed as Alaric mulled their words and his own thoughts over within his head. With some concern the young King watched the receding backs of both his advisor and his Holiness the Ecclesiast, unwilling to create a scene however he would trust in Thorne to do what was right as they left the throne room. Not however without a nod to the Knight of Silk and Iron who stood besides the door they were leaving through, to which the Knight would fall in lockstep behind the pair as they left. It simply would not do to leave both his own personal advisor and his holiness unprotected and unguarded. To the keenest amongst the council and for those who were looking, eleven knights, all of the Silk and Iron, remained within the King's throne room.

"You all honour me, truly. I believe I have made up my mind." Alaric spoke. "Lord Jerran Gades Stolt, I would name you my Marshal. Your words honour the memory of my father who spoke well and often of you, and you hold the support of those within the council. I would have no other man command the Black Army... I know you will forgive me my Lord Sforza, I know you to be a fine and capable leader of men, and it is for this reason I would have you continue your lordship over the lands of Lussex in defense of the realm." The King spoke with a nod to both men.

"In regards to the position of Spymaster..." The King lingered for a second. His thoughts turning to how quickly and easily an assassin of the Order of the Wasp had only moments ago approached both him and his advisor. He doubted even Jarl would have got to the man had he harbored ill intent before it would have been too late. Whom he chose now would wield such power, he had to trust them implicitly. In truth he knew little about either of the two Dukes though he found himself in favor of the Lady Allard. James Conrad whilst undoubtedly competent was a man surrounded in the vilest of rumors and had been removed from the past King's own council, assuredly for good reason. The Duchess on the other hand he knew even less off, though he couldn't deny her charisma nor the seeming competence displayed in her first few words on the post.

"Duchess Anfel Allard, I would name you my Spymaster. To shield this realm from vile intrigues and deceit shall be your charge."

With his council now chosen. Alaric turned his mind to that of the Faith and the Vinossian Cleric whom represented them alongside his Holiness himself. "Honoured Cleric, would thou have any words for us on behalf of the Faith?"

The Cleric bowed to the newly royal King, his silence and patience over the course of the prior proceedings finally rewarded. He was a young man, perhaps no older than King Alaric himself, and was new to courtly life—one reason for his hesitance to involve himself in earlier affairs. Standing tall and straight, the pastor was garbed in the traditional white robes of the Vanossian clergy, a thick book resting at his side. Around his neck he wore a silver pendant in the shape of a star, representing his post.

"Your Majesty, I am Pastor Anguis. I have been appointed by His Eminence Ecclesiast Timone II to serve as your court cleric, your official adviser on all theological matters and all political affairs deemed to be of relevance to the Church. I apologize for His Eminence's absence; he desired to speak to you personally, but pressing affairs required his full attention. However, I assure you that I have his trust to relay his concerns regarding the matters you have placed on this day's agenda."

Anguis paused momentarily, taking his tome in hand and turning to a marked page. Before he bored the King with the minutiae of the issue, he decided to first offer him a summarization of the importance of the issue. "Your Majesty, your most holy kingdom is united together against all odds by two forces. The first are the armies which lie in wait to fend off the threats that rest outside of our godly realm. The Orcs and other external hazards. The people fear them, and rightfully, for as we have seen so many times, they are a savage and untrustworthy people. Our own Ecclesiast was once driven from his home by the green-skinned monstrosities of the south, and the esteemed Lord Stolt knows the threat that they pose all too well. As did your great father, Your Majesty."

Clearing his throat and taking his tome back to his side, the royal cleric continued. "The second force for unity in this Kingdom of Osteria, Your Majesty, is the Church of Vinos. All decent men and women of your kingdom bless Vinos in their prayers, and dream that the creator's champion will one day soon return again to our world, to unite all peoples under one banner and bring a lasting peace and prosperity to the realm of men. A peace in which even those most lowly may prosper, and live as kings. The teachings of Vinos offer the people of the countryside their only chance at salvation, Your Majesty. Were they not so blessedly devout, they would risk giving into vice. The vices of pride and of envy, for instance, which could compel even once god-fearing men to take up arms against all those who dwell in castles, dining off their labour. The divine consequence of heresy is damnation, Your Majesty, but the worldly consequence is unrest and most despicable rebellion."

Withdrawing his time once again, Anguis made a point of inspecting the figures written therein, before handing the book to one of the assembled knights of the Silk and Iron, who relayed the tome to the King. Speaking in a respectfully servile tone, the cleric went on. "As you can see, Your Majesty, one of the forces binding Osteria together is in need of your intervention as King. The glorious Parna, and the other cathedrals of the kingdom's duchies and baronies, are an expense as significant to the kingdom's coffers as they are necessary to its integrity. The devout of the countryside can upkeep their local minor temples with local and very minor donations to the church, but it is an unfortunate reality that the brightest lights shining upon Vinos Our Champion also require the most... fuel. The parnal tax traditionally levied upon Your Majesty's vassals is insufficient to maintain the kingdom's existing places of worship."

Stopping to let the King assure himself of the truth of the figures, the pastor then continued. "Worse still, Your Majesty, are the expenses to come. The Templars, that most holy order of knights established by your devout predecessor, shall surely be needed in the impending retribution against the Blackmouth. They crave the blood of the Orcish barbarians more than any other men alive, Your Majesty, having devoted their entire lives to vanquishing the enemies of Vinos. And like you, Your Majesty, they have all lost family members against the enemy—sworn brothers-in-arms, as well as brothers and sisters in faith, for they are kin to all those who bathe in The Champion's light. When the time is right, they will deliver Orcish blood to you in rivers: but only if they can be afforded to be maintained and expanded. For through the Templars, the Church of Vinos in fact plays a part in the first force keeping Osteria together too, and the sun gleaming off the spired towers of Osteria's cathedrals can only be kept shining if there stand the Templars to defend these altars of The Champion."

"Being as the Vinossian church plays a hand in both of the two forces keeping the realm in tact, Your Majesty," the cleric cleared his throat and was returned his tome by another guardsman, "the Ecclesiast and all those pastors praising the word of our God and his Champion ask humbly that both of these dual functions be aided in their endeavors by the throne. To that end, we ask that the Parna receive two tithes. One shall fund the Templars, growing their number and preparing for the cost of their impending march against the Blackmouth. The other shall fund the Church's maintenance, such as the cost of our realm's glorious cathedrals, and therein the cost of keeping the countryside peaceful."

As soon as the king called out duchess Anfel for the new spymaster James eyes narrowed much like that of a snake. After not only being promised spymaster and voting for the new king but also acquiring Lord Stolts vote as well Alaric had the nerve to give it to the halfling he will see the fatal mistake in that soon. James immediately stood up and bowed “What an interesting choice your majesty but do note I hold no ill will against you or the lady, though if our council picks are over I do believe we are through here and should return to our own fiefs and prepared for the winter.” With that James gave a slyish smile and turned his eyes toward the lady giving a nod of approval for besting him before beginning to exit the throne room.