To many visitors, the cacophony of noise that is the Fyrd and the Great Council flies in the face of everything they know of the Eridani. Is this not the same Imperium that has stood for thousands of years, and established dominion over countless neighboring powers? Any good Kadrian will point out that this is the Eridani at their finest, for Kadria was never meant to stand alone. While Kadrian power and trade built the Imperium, it is the Eridani that hold it together.
- Solvar Iceborn, Pocket Guide to the Empire: Kadria, Seat of Sundered Kings
The corridor had never felt this long or bright before.
The lanterns that hung every few meters had once been a blessing for the Empress, lighting her way to the Fyrdhall. But now they seemed harsh, their warm glow as hostile as the Void.
Those lights flickered for a moment as Rowan Bladeseer and her entourage passed. The thump of combat boots echoed down the hall as the Empress’s guards delivered her to the Fyrd - and their judgement. Ahead, the debate continued.
“Involving the útlendinga was an unwise decision on Bladeseer’s part - surely Ebonheart and her Lendmenn will concede this point.”
“You forget that if it wasn’t for the Conglomerate, Frostmoon would still be running roughshod over Javiksholm, Jarl Blackrock!”
The Fyrd fell silent for a moment as Rowan entered the room, taking her place upon the floor. The Empress observed several of the jarls, noting a few approving nods - and several hostile glares.
“How kind of you to join us, Bladeseer,” A noble nodded to her, adding a distant smile. “Settle in - it’s going to take a while.”
“I already assumed as much, Lord Ironhand.” Rowan crossed her arms, “But the Fyrd called me here for a reason - I would like to hear it.”
Silence reigned amongst the Fyrd as its members looked at each other, waiting and watching to see who would utter the fatal words. Finally, Jarl Asta Highmoon of Ravenmount stepped forward. “The Fyrd has moved to remove the Bladeseers from the throne, considering their ties and bonds with the Martian Conglomerate - especially Reylan Solveig.”
Several seconds passed as Rowan considered this new development. “...So you mean to say that this entire charade is over my bondmate?” Several of the jarls flinched at that last word. “The man who - in the eyes of the Et’Ada - I chose to give myself to, regardless of whatever else came between us?”
“Blade-“
“No, that answer is enough.” Rowan leaned back, glaring at the Fyrd. “Would you like to add how Kadria was better off under your ancestors, Jarl Asta Frostmoon? How they killed countless good men in the name of Shor?”
That got the rest of the Fyrd to their feet. While most of the Jarls looked between Rowan and Asta incredulously, a few began to watch each other. After all, if one Shorite could sneak into the Fyrd, what was stopping a second? Asta answered that unspoken question with a sneer. “As if that would save you, Bladeseer. You’ve done nothing.”
“Oh, have I?” Rowan narrowed her eyes. “Or are you just waiting for Sjoring to clean up your mess?”
At that second, all eyes darted to the massive figure of the Jarl of Eldengrave, who had arisen from his seat, his eyes dark with anger and passion. “You insult my honor, Bladeseer - do you have any idea who you speak to?!”
Without giving Rowan a chance to speak, Sjoring made his way to the floor. “Exile my mate, destroy my clan, but you will not leave this room alive.” He drew a dark blade that shone with corpselight. “I’m sure my Lord would appreciate your company. I declare holmgang - to the death.”
When he charged forward, Rowan’s reflexes kicked in and she spun to the side, drawing her greatsword. At his next swing, their blades clanged together. Tensions were running high in the hall as the combatants whirled around each other. Asta was watching Sjoring warily, even as the rest of the Jarls placed their bets on how the patriarch of Clan Darkmane would meet his demise. An eon passed before Rowan got the upper hand, knocking her opponent off balance and slapping his blade away. “What was it you said, Darkmane? To the death?”
Sjoring let out a deep laugh at that. “Go ahead, Bladeseer - send me to the Void. I’ll tell Shor you have a date with him.”
Without further hesitation, Rowan ran her sword through Sjoring’s chest, taking the Jarl’s life. As the Kadrian noble slumped over, his blood spreading across the stone floor, the Empress looked up at the Fyrd.
After several moments of silence, Mera Greycloak stepped forward. “As the Jarl of Northfall, I move that Clans Highmoon and Darkmane be stripped of their titles and holdings, and exiled from Kadria at once.”
Asta looked up in shock. “Y-you can’t do this! I am of royal blood!”
“Valenwind seconds this notion.” Njord Blackrock boomed, glaring at Asta as she was escorted out by the guards, who were not swayed by the former Jarl’s protests.
Now, there was only Rowan left to deal with. The Empress in question stepped forward, waiting to hear the new verdict.
There was only the distant sound of wildlife as Mera considered. “You may leave now, daughter of Solitude,” she began. “We have no quarrel with you. It would be wise if you and your house were offworld by the end of this month.”
“In two weeks? This is your final decision, Jarl Greycloak?”
“Yes.” Mera nodded, with a sad smile. “With the exile of Clans Highmoon and Darkmane, it appears we will now have a solid coalition to back the Reixanxi’s proposal.”
“You mean…”
“Yes, Lady Rowena Silvershield.”
