In the Name of the King (Medieval, IC)

[Hippie Kiwis]

~snip~

Caer Callidyrr

A guardsmen, looked to be folk of Snowdown, interrupted his conversation with Horwick on their way from the feast. “Of course, we always welcome druids among our number! Horwick, continue to your rooms, we shall part here.” The guardsman looked shocked, but he lead him back to the audience chamber anyway. “It is good to see a druid come, but not one of the Isles I see. Now tell me, why have you crossed the sea to come here? It must be a good reason to brave the storms of this season.”

[Kaledoria]

(Image)
Caer Callidyrr

A guardsmen, looked to be folk of Snowdown, interrupted his conversation with Horwick on their way from the feast. “Of course, we always welcome druids among our number! Horwick, continue to your rooms, we shall part here.” The guardsman looked shocked, but he lead him back to the audience chamber anyway. “It is good to see a druid come, but not one of the Isles I see. Now tell me, why have you crossed the sea to come here? It must be a good reason to brave the storms of this season.”

"Milord, I am sent here to improve relations, maybe manage to reopen your harbors for out ships and generally find out, what's going on," Leith said. "It seams the nobles of Magh Meall only know by rumor, what is going on, but there is talk, that there is severe tension between you and the King. In other rumors, the tension is between you and the Church. I guess, this (along with the slight but always present chance that ships vanish at sea between our lands) is also why the Duke has sent me, a follower of the Old Gods, instead of himself or one of his brothers."

Leith was not comfortable speaking on behalf of the Church of the Mother, even if his Circle was getting paid really well for it. He did not plan to lie about the creeping hegemonial influence of that Faith but if there were some not-so-bad aspects to it's followers he could mention them, too.

[Hippie Kiwis]

~snip~

Caer Callidyrr

“So, a minion then. No matter. If you knew the king you would understand.” He sat down in on of the wooden chairs. “Take a seat if you care to. Your lord wants me to reopen my ports then.” He sat there, thinking. The druid began to clearly show signs of discomfort as he waited. “Okay. I shall reopen the ports on the morrow, and send word to Corwell to do the same. Goodnight.” He got up and left the druid bewildered behind him. Perhaps this would lull the mainlanders into thinking the coast was clear (get it?), but oh, how they were wrong.

[Keshokif]

~snip~

~snip~

Callidyrr, Gwynneth, Moonshae
The Harbour

Before the islander Lord could quite leave the company of the druid, Horwick shot him a stern look. Not meant in offence, of course, but more cautionary than anything else. Once they had left the druid, Horwick spoke once more with the Lord.

"That is a dangerous move, both by them and by us. If we open our borders, especially our ports, then that only allows for more mainlander influence in the long run. No matter what long-term gain that gives, they could easily station troops here, set up temples and defile our ways. Surely, thousands of years of cultural traditions are worth sending ships away for."

[Kaledoria]

Caer Callidyrr

Leith was confused. He had expected a discussion but instead he was just send away. He wanted to approach Eorl Horwick next but he, too, was not willing to speak with him, as it seamed.

On the one hand, a main objective of his trip was fulfilled, on the other hand, this behavior showed clearly, that Duke Fergus' worries were justified: This was not how one would deal with a friend, this was, how one would handle a foreign spy.
The second part of Leith's assignment were all the more important: He was supposed to gather information but so far he did not have any. Was this about taxes? Tariffs? Religion? Military aid? Inter-realm marriages? (He did not actually hear any rumors towards the last but besides taxes, trade, religion and military this was the last thing he could think of where the King would meddle with his subject's affairs.) The Druid decided to search for an answer by listening to the people on the street. In a bar at the harbor, he did in fact here sailors complaining about taxes and tariffs. But they were complaining about local trade, weather and the quality of the beer, too. They were just grumpy.

Later he found a local servant of the Seafather, making an offering at the coast. He asked the man, whether he felt threatened by the Faith of the mainland. "Well, they want to force their ways upon us but no, what they want does not scare me, they won't succeed."
"That's the spirit," Leith answered, "Let them pay the local masons with their own money to raise some temples. The economy will benefit from it and nobody needs to visit those temples, right?"
The pious man gave him an evil eye: "You a mason, or of this mother faith?" he asked.
"Neither," Leith answered, "But I'm living with them in coexistence and wonder what makes your interpretation of the old faith so different from mine, that this does not work for you."
The man looked at Leith suspiciously, as if he did not imagine this to be possible, but the Druid robes and personality gave the words credibility. He explained, that this wasn't about his faith, but the faith of the isles in general, their fools and children. Leith could not argue against this, he wondered, whether he would have the same pride, if he had not grown up in a land, where his faith was only a very small minority. He still did not know, whether this was Lord Aavak's reason to be on edge, but it could be a tool for him in uniting his people.

[Argentarino]

The High Keep, Rivercross, Risteys

The weather in Rivercross was pleasant, as it almost always was due to its position on the river, the gentle breezes carried by the river enveloping the whole city. As such, Lord Dovan Seral, his sister Eleria, and his brother Florian sat on the balcony of his private quarters, eating supper. The conversation had been light, fitting for the weather, the siblings exchanging jokes at each other's expense, when a servant dressed in House Seral livery approached Dovan with a bow. "My lord, a raven came bearing a message for you." Dovan sighed, took the letter and waved the servant away. He noticed the seal bore two twins, back to back: the seal of House Jarbary. "This must be from Gared," Dovan said, a hint of excitement in his voice. His two siblings shared a look with each other: Dovan had told them about his intentions earlier on, and so they too could not help but feel excited at the prospects for their family. Dovan read aloud the message:

Dear, Lord Seral

I write you concerning your request. I will allow you to court my daughter as you've known her a length of time now. I also appoint you my regent, so pick a trusted man of your court to be my Justiciar and spymaster.

Yours truly, Lord Gared Jarbary

The three siblings were equally shocked. Dovan admittedly had felt that his request to court the Lady Janice Garbary would have been accepted, but to be named the regent of the Staunchlands in Lord Gared's stead...that he was not expecting. "What will you do, Dovan?" Eleria asked. "He is my Lord, I will have no choice but to accept. That means I must make for Oldforge as soon as possible. But what I don't understand is why his son, Gared, wasn't declared regent. Surely, that would make more sense?" "But who will govern Risteys in your stead?" Florian interjected. Dovan lightly scoffed. "Well, it certainly won't be you, little brother. You are still a squire in training under Sir Lancel, and I will not have you distracted, not until you earn your knighthood. No, Eleria will rule Risteys in my stead. She has already had her education, and our father also trusted her with these matters before he passed. You will continue your training. Don't worry, you will still be Lord should something happen to me, you're just not ready yet." Dovan smiled, finished his last bite, and got up. "Now, if you excuse me, I need to get ready for the trip, and think of a new Judiciar."

Two Days Later

Lord Dovan, entourage in tow, approached the gates of Oldforge Keep. In his company was a former low-ranking priest of the Holy Mother by the name of Brandon Forrester. Brandon had been one of Dovan's tutors (OOC: think of a male equivalent of GoT septa) and had trained him in nearly all things espionage. After all, there was a reason that his father, the late Lord Edmure Seral, had plucked this deacon from the midst of obscurity. And fortunately for Lord Dovan, Brandon Forrester had the benefits of carrying with him a large network of informants throughout the Staunchlands, due to his...talents with what he learned from confessionals. How else could he have been defrocked by the Faith? Brandon Forrester would be the de jure Judiciar, but the de facto spymaster, while Lord Dovan would be both regent and Judiciar in practice.

As they approached the gates, Lord Dovan showed his letter and its accompanying seal to the guard at the gate, vouching for its authenticity, and just like that, the doors of Oldforge Keep opened for the Regent of the Staunchlands. He rode in, entourage and Judiciar in tow, hoping for some direction as to where to go. After all, he did not want to strut around as if he owned the place.

[Laurvier]

Royal Council Chambers/Capital

"It will be done my Lord and yes, I would enjoy that. May I bring my nephew, Sir Alistair?" Sir Abram said to Gared right away as he made the request. After, Abram retired to his estate in Dragonfall. The Calvelys kept several for when they were here. From the capital they ran a large fraction of their banking and trading enterprises. A lot of the Calvely purse was stored in the basement of Abram's estate which was well guarded by Calvely men-at-arms. A 9 foot stone wall surrounded the estate. Three men-at-arms wearing Calvely surcoats over brigandines with chainmail sleeves guarded the entrance. Sir Alistair was in their own personal training yard drilling with some of their men-at-arms. He seemed to be holding his own against two very large men. They went at it with blunted longswords, Alistair wielding a two-handed bearded battleaxe. Abram watched as Alistair masterfully kept the axe bladed in motion creating a threatening space that kept his assailants at bay. Being a knight himself, Abram was not unlearned in martial combat knew that it tended to be an ugly affair. Troubadours sang songs romanticizing the experience with notions of chivalry and knighthood. True fighters knew the truth. That there was nothing elegant or graceful about the way combat looked. Men hacking at each other and dying. Oftentimes savagery was more important than actual technique. Although Alistair had somehow managed to add a bit of flare to his form to be a crowd pleaser at tourneys. He tossed the battleaxe for a hand and a half sword. Every time one of the men-at-arms tried to crowd him the tip his sword would lash out like the head of a snake, flickering at their eyes. His nephew may have been a guileless but he sure was an excellent warrior.

Abram left him to his training. After spending the day doing bookkeeping for both the Crown and Calvely enterprise, he had a servant tell Alistair to get ready. The men met at the gate, each changed into more exquisite attire that consisted of finely woven doublets. "Uncle."

"Alistair." Abram replied.

Alistair was usually more talkative but the two knew each other. His nephew soon found out that he was a bland and quiet man. They proceeded with a troop of men-at-arms towards Gared's estate. "Your brothers will be here tomorrow." Abram said as they walked, making conversation.

"Ah, good. I could use the practice with Anders." Alistair said. Within the family his bastard born brother, Anders, was his only match in feats of arms. Although for far different reasons. Whereas Alistair wanted glory, Anders delighted in violence and cruelty.

They reached Gared's estate. One of their men-at-arms called out to Gared's own for a seneschal to receive them.

[Albertae]

Royal Council Chambers/Capital

"It will be done my Lord and yes, I would enjoy that. May I bring my nephew, Sir Alistair?" Sir Abram said to Gared right away as he made the request. After, Abram retired to his estate in Dragonfall. The Calvelys kept several for when they were here. From the capital they ran a large fraction of their banking and trading enterprises. A lot of the Calvely purse was stored in the basement of Abram's estate which was well guarded by Calvely men-at-arms. A 9 foot stone wall surrounded the estate. Three men-at-arms wearing Calvely surcoats over brigandines with chainmail sleeves guarded the entrance. Sir Alistair was in their own personal training yard drilling with some of their men-at-arms. He seemed to be holding his own against two very large men. They went at it with blunted longswords, Alistair wielding a two-handed bearded battleaxe. Abram watched as Alistair masterfully kept the axe bladed in motion creating a threatening space that kept his assailants at bay. Being a knight himself, Abram was not unlearned in martial combat knew that it tended to be an ugly affair. Troubadours sang songs romanticizing the experience with notions of chivalry and knighthood. True fighters knew the truth. That there was nothing elegant or graceful about the way combat looked. Men hacking at each other and dying. Oftentimes savagery was more important than actual technique. Although Alistair had somehow managed to add a bit of flare to his form to be a crowd pleaser at tourneys. He tossed the battleaxe for a hand and a half sword. Every time one of the men-at-arms tried to crowd him the tip his sword would lash out like the head of a snake, flickering at their eyes. His nephew may have been a guileless but he sure was an excellent warrior.

Abram left him to his training. After spending the day doing bookkeeping for both the Crown and Calvely enterprise, he had a servant tell Alistair to get ready. The men met at the gate, each changed into more exquisite attire that consisted of finely woven doublets. "Uncle."

"Alistair." Abram replied.

Alistair was usually more talkative but the two knew each other. His nephew soon found out that he was a bland and quiet man. They proceeded with a troop of men-at-arms towards Gared's estate. "Your brothers will be here tomorrow." Abram said as they walked, making conversation.

"Ah, good. I could use the practice with Anders." Alistair said. Within the family his bastard born brother, Anders, was his only match in feats of arms. Although for far different reasons. Whereas Alistair wanted glory, Anders delighted in violence and cruelty.

They reached Gared's estate. One of their men-at-arms called out to Gared's own for a seneschal to receive them.

A servant comes to greet them,"My lord, the King himself invited Lord Gared to go for dinner. Lord Gared asks that you come to the king's personal dining room."

[Hippie Kiwis]

~snip~

Caer Callidyrr

"Do not think that the ports will be open long. The mainland will soon be preoccupied with their own problems. Then there will be no need to close the ports, as we will sink their ships before they ever get here. Goodnight, friend, our time will be soon." He left Horwick in the hall, and took leave to his apartments.

[Keshokif]

~snip~

~snip~

Callidyrr, Gwynneth, Moonshae

"Indeed, Lord. Goodnight."

Horwick began to feel an urge for food. He had eaten at the feast, of course, but he felt a yearning for more common food. He would take a stroll down to the markets; likely they would have something to sate his hunger. He had an urge for fish, especially herring, like they had up in the Reyek Isles. It made no difference that he had eaten fish yesterday, as well as for a week before that. When it is a staple, one must do one's best to enjoy, and Horwick did enjoy fish. Herring, with vinegar and onion - that was what he craved. Or perhaps with a freshly-baked loaf of bread... That was one advantage about the Moonshaes in comparison with the Reyeks - while Reyek had better fish, as well as yaks which were more bred for their furs than anything else, the Moonshaes had the land to sustain both animals and crops of various kinds.

Yes, Horwick was glad that he was here for now. As a Reyekman, he would be glad to eat in the markets for once. The salty sea air reminded him once more of home, but the streets, the sounds, the buildings... They were almost foreign to him. Aavak had told him that the mainlanders were making advances in their diplomatic relations with the islands. Horwick shuddered, and it definitely wasn't the cool night air that made him do so. What would happen if the Reyeks and the Moonshaes came under direct attack? They wouldn't last long. They could harry the ships from the mainland, but once they landed an army, it was all over.

The thoughts going through his head made him completely miss the fact that he had walked past that man who had been pestering Lord Aavak only moments prior. If he had noticed him, he would probably have given it little notice anyway. His mind drifted from food to strategy, Moonshaes to Reyek, with the mainland looming in the distance... If they were to make an attack, they'd need allies on the mainland. But who would assist some upstart islanders?

---

Vyk, the Reyek Isles, Moonshae
Outside House Reaklan's Longhouse

"You're doing it wrong, Brutton."

Brutton and Brichenna Reaklan were practicing swordplay in the court outside House Reaklan's longhouse. The world moved slowly by beside them, and people carrying sacks of onions or nets of fish might stop to watch the two young lordlings fighting. The weather was pleasant, not too cold and clear skies all around, and there was a biyr, a fairly good wind, allowing the banners to flap and the boats fishing off the coast to move swiftly by - when they weren't stable and fishing, that was.

"I know what I'm doing!" Brutton replied to his sister. He managed to parry a few of Brichetta's attacks, but soon, she overpowered him. He fell to the ground. Brichetta pointed her sword at Brutton.

"My fight, I think." Brichetta stood from her position crouching over her brother, and walked a few paces back to where they started the fight. Brutton got up, dusted himself off and lunged towards his sister. She casually swung her wooden sword behind her and, moving to the side, evaded her brother's attack before attacking herself, sending her brother careening head over heels. Eskar laughed behind them, sitting on a stool, sharpeining his steel sword to keep it from rusting.

"Well you fight her then if you think you're so good!" Brutton stood once again, and threw his wooden sword down. Though Brutton was nearly a year older than Eskar, short by only one month, Eskar looked far more manly, with the black hair of his father and a stubbly beard. Brutton was brown-haired, freckly, and only had a few hairs poking through his otherwise clean face. Eskar looked up at his sister, and the back at his sword.

"Brutton, I've been fighting with sister-dear for years, even before you could even hold a sword without dropping it, and I've won every time. So I think it would be unfair to try again."

"Come on, brother," Brichetta jeered, her short black hair dancing in the wind as she moved towards him, "Are you scared of a few beatings with a wooden sword?"

Eskar looked up at his sister, then to Brutton, before looking at the wooden sword which Brutton dropped. He rose from his stool, plunging his sword into the ground, "Go on then. Let's see if you've learnt anything."

He picked up the sword, juggling it between his left and his right hand. Looking at his sister holding the sword in her left hand, he switched to also the left side. Their eyes met. Since they were both infants, they had been inseparable. They developed their own little code which they used often, to the bemusement of their brother.

"Aren't you right handed, Eskar?" Brutton asked, genuinely wondering why his brother would switch hands.

"Aye, I am," Eskar replied. The two began the fight.

At first, Eskar was having trouble keeping a grip on the sword. His left hand was not his dominant one, and he would have preferred using his right. All he could do for the time being was parry his twin sister's attacks. Dodging a rightward thrust, he brought his sword up to her arm. She wheeled it around, parrying before he could hit home. She twisted the sword around, knocking Eskar off balance for a bit, but he used the lack of balance to thrust to her side - she stopped the sword. Regaining his composure, he swept upwards, being parried by her defence. The two remained at this level for a while, the attacks going backwards and forwards for a while and neither truly gaining the upper hand. Eskar darted forward, Brichetta danced back; Brichetta swung sideways, Eskar mirrored well and kept a sword between himself and her sword. Suddenly, Eskar broke through her defences, levering the sword out of her hand from the crossbeams. Symbolically stabbing her in the heart, Brutton clapped.

"Well done, well done!" He shouted, clapping as he did so.

"How in hell did you win?" Brichetta asked panting.

Eskar tutted, retrieving her sword and offering it to her, hilt-first. He had never lost to her, and he hoped never to.

[Kaledoria]

(Image)
Callidyrr, Gwynneth, Moonshae

The thoughts going through his head made him completely miss the fact that he had walked past that man who had been pestering Lord Aavak only moments prior. If he had noticed him, he would probably have given it little notice anyway. His mind drifted from food to strategy, Moonshaes to Reyek, with the mainland looming in the distance... If they were to make an attack, they'd need allies on the mainland. But who would assist some upstart islanders?[/blocktext]

Leith saw Eorl Horwick and saw his chance. Maybe he just did not want to speak in front of his liege. "Hello, Milord, Earl Horwick, it's Leith. We met in the Cear. I did not intent to exclude you, when I addressed the Great Lord Aavak. Duke Fergus is offering the hand in friendship, whoever is willing to speak about peace. The Daoine Meall are a humble people with great respect for the law of the land. We would have nothing to gain from a war within the Kingdom. But we do own the closest ports to the Moonshae Isles, so such a war would obviously be fought upon our backs. Mylord wants to prevent this. It seams, that Aavak and Draako will not find common ground by themselves but if I had a better understanding into the issues, maybe my Lord could act as a mediator." Leith said.

Or at least he could construct a good reason, why our realm is allowed to stay out of the conflict he added in thought only.

Tarnist Conan Cimbáeth
Dragonfall

Baron Conan had been sent to the east to find out the nature of the problems. He had stopped at Bridgetown in the Staunchlands and had inquired the location of the King's Man and was told to look in the Crownlands' capital.

There was no need to inquire the King himself over the issue, that was what he had subordinates for and Great Lord Gared was the first among them. He found his way to Gared's estate, where he approached the Guard and requested an audience: "Hello good man, I'm here in the name of Lord Fergus of Magh Meall and would like to speak to your liege, Lord Gared."
The guard waved to a servant, who informed Conan, that Gared was not in the house but would return later. "Fine," he said, "I'll wait here."

[Keshokif]

~snip~

Callidyrr, Gwynneth, Moonshae

Oh gosh, Eorl Horwick thought to himself, here he comes... He knew of those from Magh Meall - his father had taken him to Magh Meall when he was younger. That was before he got his own ship to travel with. He disliked the smell - too flowery, grassy, rivery... He disliked the rolling plains and just the look of the place. Call it an aesthetic or a natural thing, but Horwick preferred the stark land and sea in the Moonshaes, even better was the rocky ground of the Reyeks. But alas, here was a Daoine Meall to talk to him. Years ago, his ancestors may have been slaughtering these people. But now they marched upon the Moonshaes like they owned them. What have these days come to, Horwick sighed.

"Eorl Horwick," the Eorl corrected him, his accent strong and more noticeable now than ever, with every harsh tone and strange vowel, yet it ran true with a deadpan tonality. He continued to walk, he wouldn't stop for this little mainlander. If he wanted a conversation, he'd have to tag along, "Well, let's get this over with - what do you want exactly?"

[United Socialist Republics of Lupina]

The Wolf's Den
Dragonfall, the Capital
The Crownlands

Courage, Fidelity, Victory

King Draako II
The Private Royal Dinning Chambers

The King greeted Lord Jarbary as he entered, receiving his Man in a formal, proper manner. "Ah, good evening, Lord Jarbary, how fares my council? The kingdom still stands I trust." he chuckled, motioning for the man to sit, a servant filling the cup nearby Lord Jarbary with wine. "So old friend, what shall we discuss this night?" Before the Lord could answer, Count Erron Esham entered; wearing fine clothes with a design clearly made from across the Warm Channel, he also wore a fair amount of jewelry, including some of which had been his own gifts.

"Your Highness." his close-friend bowed his head respectfully.

"Ah, Erron" he approached the Count, giving the man the quick embrace afforded for a private dinner, "It is good to see you have decided to wear the ring I had commissioned for you. It looks like very fine work." he held the man's hand as he inspected the signet ring with the fox head upon it. "Come, sit, I was just speaking with Lord Jarbary."

"You are too kind and generous, Your Highness." Erron smiled, his smile souring a little at the sight of Lord Jarbary. He took his seat as a servant filled his cup with wine as well.

"Ah, now is the time to feast." the King moved to sit at his place opposite Lord Jarbary and to the left of Count Esham. "So tell me, what news have you heard? I was told that just after my evening prayers that a lord had died, is this so?"

---

As the conversation drew on, the wine poured more freely and the food had been eaten up, Count Erron grinned happily as he produced a small letter from within his wardrobe. "Your Highness, as your Master of Shadows, I was informed before I arrived that a letter had arrived for you from the north, Jarl Laughis to be specific, I've heard whispers that there are troubles amongst the commoners. I do not doubt he wishes to ask for assistance in quelling any rebellions."

The King sighed, "My father conquered the Northern Wastes, and still they will not be satisfied with our rule. Let me see the letter." Count Erron handed the King the letter, the seal apparently unbroken.

To:King Draako Errond II
From:Jarl Naddoðr Laughis
My King, The Men of the Wastes have been apart of the kingdom since the rule of your Father and the amount of hostility towards us has been outstanding. The Northern Wastes have been treated as a foreign land in all but name for the entire time it has been apart of this realm. I am requesting from you, My Lord, that you declare under Royal Authority, that The Territory of The Northern Wastes be considered an Integrated part of the realm. It would be renamed to its old name, De Høy-Riket av Agartha (The High-Kingdom of Agartha). I would be granted the title of Høy-Konge (High-King), which would have the same level of authority of one of the Great Lords. Thank you for your time, Jarl Naddoðr Laughis of the Territory of The Northern Wastes

As the King read, his face began to clearly become more angry. "What is it, Your Highness?" Count Erron asked, noticeably in a formal manner.

"He requests me to return the land it's old name, and I name him High-King, as if my father had not destroyed the old title for good." He slammed his hand onto the table, "He dares to request me to raise him. I am the King! I name men to titles as I wish, why should I make a kingdom of heathens just to satisfy this foolish man? Why recreate what my father destroyed and break this kingdom in two when Lord Laughis feels his title is more closer to my own?" he tossed the letter aside, onto the floor.

"Indeed, Your Highness. Best to keep them from gaining a better position to subvert your authority." Count Erron agreed, the corners of his mouth turning slightly into a smile for a brief moment.

[Albertae]

The Wolf's Den
Dragonfall, the Capital
The Crownlands

(Image)
Courage, Fidelity, Victory

King Draako II
The Private Royal Dinning Chambers

The King greeted Lord Jarbary as he entered, receiving his Man in a formal, proper manner. "Ah, good evening, Lord Jarbary, how fares my council? The kingdom still stands I trust." he chuckled, motioning for the man to sit, a servant filling the cup nearby Lord Jarbary with wine. "So old friend, what shall we discuss this night?" Before the Lord could answer, Count Erron Esham entered; wearing fine clothes with a design clearly made from across the Warm Channel, he also wore a fair amount of jewelry, including some of which had been his own gifts.

"Your Highness." his close-friend bowed his head respectfully.

"Ah, Erron" he approached the Count, giving the man the quick embrace afforded for a private dinner, "It is good to see you have decided to wear the ring I had commissioned for you. It looks like very fine work." he held the man's hand as he inspected the signet ring with the fox head upon it. "Come, sit, I was just speaking with Lord Jarbary."

"You are too kind and generous, Your Highness." Erron smiled, his smile souring a little at the sight of Lord Jarbary. He took his seat as a servant filled his cup with wine as well.

"Ah, now is the time to feast." the King moved to sit at his place opposite Lord Jarbary and to the left of Count Esham. "So tell me, what news have you heard? I was told that just after my evening prayers that a lord had died, is this so?"

---

As the conversation drew on, the wine poured more freely and the food had been eaten up, Count Erron grinned happily as he produced a small letter from within his wardrobe. "Your Highness, as your Master of Shadows, I was informed before I arrived that a letter had arrived for you from the north, Jarl Laughis to be specific, I've heard whispers that there are troubles amongst the commoners. I do not doubt he wishes to ask for assistance in quelling any rebellions."

The King sighed, "My father conquered the Northern Wastes, and still they will not be satisfied with our rule. Let me see the letter." Count Erron handed the King the letter, the seal apparently unbroken.

To:King Draako Errond II
From:Jarl Naddoðr Laughis
My King, The Men of the Wastes have been apart of the kingdom since the rule of your Father and the amount of hostility towards us has been outstanding. The Northern Wastes have been treated as a foreign land in all but name for the entire time it has been apart of this realm. I am requesting from you, My Lord, that you declare under Royal Authority, that The Territory of The Northern Wastes be considered an Integrated part of the realm. It would be renamed to its old name, De Høy-Riket av Agartha (The High-Kingdom of Agartha). I would be granted the title of Høy-Konge (High-King), which would have the same level of authority of one of the Great Lords. Thank you for your time, Jarl Naddoðr Laughis of the Territory of The Northern Wastes

As the King read, his face began to clearly become more angry. "What is it, Your Highness?" Count Erron asked, noticeably in a formal manner.

"He requests me to return the land it's old name, and I name him High-King, as if my father had not destroyed the old title for good." He slammed his hand onto the table, "He dares to request me to raise him. I am the King! I name men to titles as I wish, why should I make a kingdom of heathens just to satisfy this foolish man? Why recreate what my father destroyed and break this kingdom in two when Lord Laughis feels his title is more closer to my own?" he tossed the letter aside, onto the floor.

"Indeed, Your Highness. Best to keep them from gaining a better position to subvert your authority." Count Erron agreed, the corners of his mouth turning slightly into a smile for a brief moment.

Gared shook his head,"Many things fill my head, Drakko. A prominent lord who is also my steward of coin has died, leaving his treacherous son to power. Another prominent lord in my land wishes to court my beloved daughter and my Commander of the Army another prominent lord to the north of my lands deals with cultural dissention. We will have to do something about the northern territories."

"These northerners are trouble, but we have greater problems within the council my liege. Your Admiral of the Royal Fleet is a rather royal pain in my arse. He speaks of treacherous things in your council while you are gone. I advise you to be rid of this man, subtly." He said this word as if signaling to the Esham.

Gared said,"Drakko my old friend, have you ever dreamed of a world so boring, yet so perfect free from worries and problems? It is a world I sometimes escape to in my thoughts. These Moonshae Isles Lords are the least of our concerns. Our real problem is within, Leithianor for example and that barbaric Laughis."

[United Socialist Republics of Lupina]

The Wolf's Den
Dragonfall, the Capital
The Crownlands

Courage, Fidelity, Victory

King Draako II
The Private Royal Dinning Chambers

The King nodded, "Aye, losing good men from long-living families is a terrible shame for all." he recalled the loss of his Lord Payne to those rebellious lords, it had removed such a loyal friend; one that could almost never be replaced and had removed a pillar upon which he had relied upon to keep the kingdom in line.

---

Though angered, he heard his Man's complaints, "Lord Leithianor? What has he done?" he listened to Lord Jarbary as he spoke, he turned to Erron, knowing he could count on him to know what needed to be done. "You are implying I murder him? Treason demands a sentence of death aye, but he and his have no quarrel with my rule or my house. They have been loyal vassals for centuries."

"Aye, Your Highness. Perhaps the Lord Leithianor has merely succumbed to his age, and no longer thinks with proper faculties. Perhaps naming a new Admiral would be best, or perhaps have the Lord's son named Admiral in his father's place?" The King pondered on that thought, "Aye, it would cover any slight the Finwë might perceive."

He turned to Lord Jarbary, "The barbarians can be dealt with easily enough. My father crushed them before, I'm sure if they dare to rise against the crown, they will be justly defeated. But if there is trouble in the Moonshae Isles, should you not try to negotiate a peace with them first? I would not want unjust blood to be spilled."

Count Erron nodded, "A very fine sentiment, Your Highness. Indeed, the Queen commanded Lord Jarbary and my father to go negotiate with Lord Aavak in person."

The King nodded, "A very wise move on her part, it's good she sees sense and knows that my councilors are to be relied upon."

[Albertae]

The Wolf's Den
Dragonfall, the Capital
The Crownlands

(Image)
Courage, Fidelity, Victory

King Draako II
The Private Royal Dinning Chambers

The King nodded, "Aye, losing good men from long-living families is a terrible shame for all." he recalled the loss of his Lord Payne to those rebellious lords, it had removed such a loyal friend; one that could almost never be replaced and had removed a pillar upon which he had relied upon to keep the kingdom in line.

---

Though angered, he heard his Man's complaints, "Lord Leithianor? What has he done?" he listened to Lord Jarbary as he spoke, he turned to Erron, knowing he could count on him to know what needed to be done. "You are implying I murder him? Treason demands a sentence of death aye, but he and his have no quarrel with my rule or my house. They have been loyal vassals for centuries."

"Aye, Your Highness. Perhaps the Lord Leithianor has merely succumbed to his age, and no longer thinks with proper faculties. Perhaps naming a new Admiral would be best, or perhaps have the Lord's son named Admiral in his father's place?" The King pondered on that thought, "Aye, it would cover any slight the Finwë might perceive."

He turned to Lord Jarbary, "The barbarians can be dealt with easily enough. My father crushed them before, I'm sure if they dare to rise against the crown, they will be justly defeated. But if there is trouble in the Moonshae Isles, should you not try to negotiate a peace with them first? I would not want unjust blood to be spilled."

Count Erron nodded, "A very fine sentiment, Your Highness. Indeed, the Queen commanded Lord Jarbary and my father to go negotiate with Lord Aavak in person."

The King nodded, "A very wise move on her part, it's good she sees sense and knows that my councilors are to be relied upon."

Gared sighed empathetically,"My lord, I've just had so much on my mind I totally forgot of the option of negotiations. I will send for negotiations as soon as possible. As for these barbarians, they will be much stronger this time for they have support from dissenting peasantry in the northern bloc. I do have all of my faith in you my lord and we will deal with them. That brings up the subject of selecting a King's Sword though, Drakkon. Have you anyone in mind, my lord?"

He turned to Erron,"If we go Erron, you'll need to stay in the background mostly, so they don't pull anything on us. Thowe islanders can be barbaric as they want on their isles, but when we come bearing the King's law. Lord Aavak will have to sit for negotiations. There is no need for bloodshed."

[Laurvier]

The Private Royal Dinning Chambers

Sir Abram Calvely had arrived late not learning of the dinner until having reached Lord Jarbary's estate first. He proceeded to the castle and then to the dinning room. By this time Sir Abram knew the way. He entered and asked to be excused for his untimely arrival before taking a seat. At this point Abram had dismissed his nephew. Alistair may have been a famous knight but he was just that albeit from a wealthy house. He was after all, only the second true born son and of Count Alden. It would be unseemly to bring the man along with such esteemed company especially if matters of state were to be discussed as it tended to be with men of great power. Abram took his seat and allowed a servant to fill his goblet with wine, sipping on it carefully. Being a bland man, Abram was not prone to charisma. The golden chain Abram wore around his neck was meant more to signify his position on the Council rather than personality. In fact, he found opulence such as that displayed by Count Erron to be distasteful yet wore attire just fine enough to signify he was a man of rank in society. Abram did enjoy respect like any other noble. Since he was not gregarious, Abram sat quietly until there was a topic brought he felt he could speak on intelligently or was addressed directly.

He wrinkled his nose at his fellow Councilor Count Erron, wondering how many spies his brother controlled. Information could be more valuable than gold in many cases and Count Alden was certainly clever enough to realize that. Spies could be bought with money and his brother had plenty. But that was not a facet of House Calvely that his brother chose to divulge. Not that Abram cared. The younger brother bows before the elder and it was his duty to serve. For now, that meant serving as Steward of the Coin as Alden had told him to do.

[Albertae]

The Private Royal Dinning Chambers

Sir Abram Calvely had arrived late not learning of the dinner until having reached Lord Jarbary's estate first. He proceeded to the castle and then to the dinning room. By this time Sir Abram knew the way. He entered and asked to be excused for his untimely arrival before taking a seat. At this point Abram had dismissed his nephew. Alistair may have been a famous knight but he was just that albeit from a wealthy house. He was after all, only the second true born son and of Count Alden. It would be unseemly to bring the man along with such esteemed company especially if matters of state were to be discussed as it tended to be with men of great power. Abram took his seat and allowed a servant to fill his goblet with wine, sipping on it carefully. Being a bland man, Abram was not prone to charisma. The golden chain Abram wore around his neck was meant more to signify his position on the Council rather than personality. In fact, he found opulence such as that displayed by Count Erron to be distasteful yet wore attire just fine enough to signify he was a man of rank in society. Abram did enjoy respect like any other noble. Since he was not gregarious, Abram sat quietly until there was a topic brought he felt he could speak on intelligently or was addressed directly.

He wrinkled his nose at his fellow Councilor Count Erron, wondering how many spies his brother controlled. Information could be more valuable than gold in many cases and Count Alden was certainly clever enough to realize that. Spies could be bought with money and his brother had plenty. But that was not a facet of House Calvely that his brother chose to divulge. Not that Abram cared. The younger brother bows before the elder and it was his duty to serve. For now, that meant serving as Steward of the Coin as Alden had told him to do.

WIP
Gared said to bring Abram in,"Drakkon, I invited Abram if you didn't mind. I suggest we invite this knight I've looked into for Kings Sword. His name is Sir Wilfred Sappen. He's a lord of a few acres in Golden Fields, but he's seen many a battle and would make the perfect King's Sword."

[Kaledoria]

(Image)
Callidyrr, Gwynneth, Moonshae

Oh gosh, Eorl Horwick thought to himself, here he comes... He knew of those from Magh Meall - his father had taken him to Magh Meall when he was younger. That was before he got his own ship to travel with. He disliked the smell - too flowery, grassy, rivery... He disliked the rolling plains and just the look of the place. Call it an aesthetic or a natural thing, but Horwick preferred the stark land and sea in the Moonshaes, even better was the rocky ground of the Reyeks. But alas, here was a Daoine Meall to talk to him. Years ago, his ancestors may have been slaughtering these people. But now they marched upon the Moonshaes like they owned them. What have these days come to, Horwick sighed.

"Eorl Horwick," the Eorl corrected him, his accent strong and more noticeable now than ever, with every harsh tone and strange vowel, yet it ran true with a deadpan tonality. He continued to walk, he wouldn't stop for this little mainlander. If he wanted a conversation, he'd have to tag along, "Well, let's get this over with - what do you want exactly?"

"I'm just trying to understand, what you want." Leith said, walking along. "I gather from the common people, that they do have a sense of ... nationalism. I guess this is kind of like the pride of our clans but then, it would not explain, what problem Lord Aavak has with the King. The King never forced anyone to abandon his ways he just ... ah, forget it, I'm sorry, I really can't advocate this person any longer. I don't even like the King.

Just grand me this piece of information, please: Will the Isles rebel by themselves or will they wait for the King to make a move? In case of the later, what reasons will the King use to call my Lord to arms and what legal leverage could Fergus present to stay out of this mess." Leith did not know, whether this direct approach was wise but in the end, his intentions were in the interests of the Islanders, so there was no reason to hide behind evasive words.

[Keshokif]

~snip~

Callidyrr, Gwynneth, Moonshae

Horwick looked towards the person in front of him. He did not seem to be aiming to deceive; at least, not here. Horwick had to be careful - he was in his friend's lands, but that did not mean that there weren't spies, hired eyes, ears in the walls and the like. He stopped, turning to face the man in front of him.

"What you're talking about is treason," Horwick said. He led the man into an alleyway, far from the prying eyes of the street, "Fine, yes. You are right. We do dislike the King," Horwick pointed, almost threateningly, towards Leith, "Your mainlander King has sent emissary after emissary trying to convert us to his stinking mainlander gods, and in all but Reyek, the Common tongue had replaced the Old tongue. Your Kings have oppressed us since we first swore fealty to them, and we cannot take it,"

He sighed deeply, realising only then that he was making a fist in his anger. He released his grip, and continued, "I cannot tell you my plans, but I can tell you that your lord would be better off joining us than continuing to live under a King's iron fist."

[Kaledoria]

(Image)
Callidyrr, Gwynneth, Moonshae

Horwick looked towards the person in front of him. He did not seem to be aiming to deceive; at least, not here. Horwick had to be careful - he was in his friend's lands, but that did not mean that there weren't spies, hired eyes, ears in the walls and the like. He stopped, turning to face the man in front of him.

"What you're talking about is treason," Horwick said. He led the man into an alleyway, far from the prying eyes of the street, "Fine, yes. You are right. We do dislike the King," Horwick pointed, almost threateningly, towards Leith, "Your mainlander King has sent emissary after emissary trying to convert us to his stinking mainlander gods, and in all but Reyek, the Common tongue had replaced the Old tongue. Your Kings have oppressed us since we first swore fealty to them, and we cannot take it,"

He sighed deeply, realising only then that he was making a fist in his anger. He released his grip, and continued, "I cannot tell you my plans, but I can tell you that your lord would be better off joining us than continuing to live under a King's iron fist."

Leith nodded: "I understand you. I will speak on your behalf to my Lord but you are putting the other Lords in a difficult position. Maybe the common people will understand: While only a few follow our faith, many of the others differ from the main branch of the mother faith and might be convinced, that if you no longer have the attention of the King's righteous zeal, their practices will be next."

The Moonshae Isles seamed to have quite a negative influence on Leith. Only after saying these words, he realized, that his plan could be understood as a declaration, that he would eventually act against the wishes of his supposed liege. Moreover, there was the Druid code, to stay neutral in wars. He wondered, whether this also counted in this case, as Druids lived here, too, and their way of life was under attack.

[United Socialist Republics of Lupina]

The Wolf's Den
Dragonfall, the Capital
The Crownlands

Courage, Fidelity, Victory

King Draako II
The Private Royal Dinning Chambers

The King felt a terrible rage within him, being asked by a heathen savage to be named a Great-Lord, it was bad enough that there were plenty enough who did not worship the Mother, it made things all the worse when tempers rose, making the prospect of fighting all the more likely to occur. But to dare to assume such things could simply be asked and made to occur just to appease some heathen clan in the north, that was hardly acceptable.

He was about to speak when the figure of Sir Abram Calvely appeared, "I do not recall inviting you." Draakon said a little harshly. He accepted Lord Jarbary's insistence that he was asked by him, nodding for the man to sit down, doing so and apparently being very quiet about it.

The King rubbed at his temples, the mere mention of the King's Sword giving him a headache; he'd hardly had a need for one since the last campaign had left the previous title holder a mere corpse on the battlefield, "Always you are hounding me on the affairs of the realm. If I wished to do so, I'd sit on my council. Which is why I leave the running of the realm to it and it alone." He sighed, the pain in his head beginning to pound. "I do not know, who do you recommend?"

[Albertae]

The Wolf's Den
Dragonfall, the Capital
The Crownlands

(Image)
Courage, Fidelity, Victory

King Draako II
The Private Royal Dinning Chambers

The King felt a terrible rage within him, being asked by a heathen savage to be named a Great-Lord, it was bad enough that there were plenty enough who did not worship the Mother, it made things all the worse when tempers rose, making the prospect of fighting all the more likely to occur. But to dare to assume such things could simply be asked and made to occur just to appease some heathen clan in the north, that was hardly acceptable.

He was about to speak when the figure of Sir Abram Calvely appeared, "I do not recall inviting you." Draakon said a little harshly. He accepted Lord Jarbary's insistence that he was asked by him, nodding for the man to sit down, doing so and apparently being very quiet about it.

The King rubbed at his temples, the mere mention of the King's Sword giving him a headache; he'd hardly had a need for one since the last campaign had left the previous title holder a mere corpse on the battlefield, "Always you are hounding me on the affairs of the realm. If I wished to do so, I'd sit on my council. Which is why I leave the running of the realm to it and it alone." He sighed, the pain in his head beginning to pound. "I do not know, who do you recommend?"

Gared said,"Drakkon, I invited Abram for he is of few friends we can trust. Also, he will have to run costs for the army expedition into the Northern Territories and subjugation of the Moonshae Isles." Gared sighed,"Sometimes I must Draakon, for if I don't who will. You are a righteous king, a very pious man faithful to the Mother, you need to know of these things. I suggest Sir Wilfred of Golden Fields adjacent. He's a intelligent and clever man on the battlefield as well as the strategy map. I'll send for him to come if you consent."

Gared smiled to lighten the mood,"Now Drakko, even during such grave times there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. Will you be coming to my daughter's wedding? I know it will be happening soon. This Lord Seral has befriended my daughter at a younger age and have been friends ever since, I'm not even certain how long he's been courting my daughter for I've been gone so long."

[United Human Planets]

Lord Tyrus Willun

Lord Tyrus Willun stood on the wall of his castle, and looked out over the mountains. It was a cold day, colder than usual, and he wished that there was something other for him to do then attending court. But, such was the life of a lord, and he knew that even though he wasnt happy about it, it was what needed to be done. He just hoped that there were no other nobles that day, they always had to go on with long, needed introductions and stuffy, useless airs of importance.

He turned, and a long, supple leather cloak twirled around him, the fur on its collar tickling his neck and jaw. His hair was short, and he had been growing a beard, though not to long. He hated to have to manage his hair, and kept it at barely more than stubble. A sword, which was mostly ceremonial but that could be used if he needed to swung at his hip, and bounced lightly on his leg as he walked. His true sword hung above the mantle in his room. It was named Bloodtaker, and was wide and long, made of the finest folded steel. He strode down the stairs of the wall, and out passed the two guards who were standing at the entrance. As he walked, the sounds of the yard filled his ears, the steady banging of a blacksmith, and the noises of the cows and pigs. Someone would need to clean their pens soon, the smell from the animals was starting to make the whole castle fill up with a rancid odor. He walked, by himself, to the doors inside. He took a final look out at the courtyard before he entered the building, and marveled to himself at how his castle had really begun to spring up into a small city, and achievement that was in no part his own. The Willuns had been the stewards of Northburough for generations, and had all made many improvements to the holdings. They now ad a booming logging industry, as well as many mines that dredged up large sums of iron. Their home may have been harsh, sitting high in the mountains, but it was rich.

Tyrus entered the castle, and walked down a long hallway that would lead him to his throne room, where the commoners and other royals would meet him, to discuss the goings on in his land. He pushed open the two large wooden doors into the great hall, waving off a guard who tried to do it for him, and strode down the center to his throne with long, graceful steps. The conversations in the room all quieted as he entered, he had a way of demanding respect without even saying a word. He took the 6 steps to his throne 2 at a time, and sat down in his throne with a quiet, though disgruntled ease. His eldest son, Jethry could be seen along the edge of all the others in the room, wearing a simple plate armor. He had recently been knighted, and couldnt be more obvious about it. Tyrus didnt care. Many others would have berated him for his rather foolish presentation of himself, but Tyrus had never spoiled his son, and so he knew that Jethry would realize he seemed like an idiot in his own time.

Tyrus lifted his head, and spoke with a quiet assurance, "What news do you all have for me today? Something that will have a legitimate effect on the lives of my people, I hope?"

[United Socialist Republics of Lupina]

The Wolf's Den
Dragonfall, the Capital
The Crownlands

Honor and Victory

Count Erron
The Royal Council Chambers

Count Erron had remained surprisingly quiet for the majority of the feasting, making light conversation with the King when he was spoken to. This was all part of his ploy to hopefully find the right moment to produce the letter from Lord Laughis; having surmised what its contents would likely entail through his spies, to get the King in a rage enough that he could make mention of the Queen's "poor" decisions and hopefully keep her off the Council for good.

The King was indeed burning with rage by the letter and Erron was fanning the flames, but before he could get to the point of his shadowy scheme, the King's Man was suddenly speaking about having the King's Sword taken up by one of his candidates. The King was not a warrior, nor did he find much love for it, that was why the position had been vacant for so many years. Indeed, it had been the old Count Morrigan that had last held the position, he had been a man of business, reliable to support the Eshams in all things, at least when he had sat on the Council those few times before his death.

Erron was quick to interject, "Appointing a King's Sword would be rash, Your Highness." Feeling suddenly the dread of another councilor sitting on the Council, this one who might bring an army with him to press any grievance against him or his father. "It would mean that peace is behind us, and war beyond. It would be better to leave the seat vacant until we know for certain the North cannot be...persuaded and soothed through other means."

The King waved his hand dismissively, "Your council is prudent, but false, my friend." the King said, his face still red with his rage, "This letter shows a populace ready to challenge me, with a Lord to lead them. This attack upon our royal authority cannot be taken simply or quietly."

He turned to Lord Jarbary, "You are to head north to confer with Lord Naddoðr. Tell him that he is to quell and crush all these notions of reviving the old kingdom in the north. If he will not, then arrest him for treason." the King commanded.

"But Your Highness," Erron began aghast, "Your King's Man is to be negotiating the issues of the Moonshae's with my father. My father is not well liked on the Moonshaes. Without the King's Man, there can be no progress as to resolving the issues." Nor indeed could his safely be certain.

"No!" The King slammed a fist on the table, "These affronts to my authority must be crushed both at once."