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The Connifell


Dragon314

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Spoiler

 

“It's time for the connefell.”  Conroy said quietly.

“Alright.” Essrod said the word as forlornly as he could manage. Just a few more minutes.

The facade was ending. Soon he would be in a position of power like no other Osturlor had ever possessed. The family name would have honor.  

The flame lit walls towered above every living thing. Essrod strode through, barely containing his confident walk. Red banners, some aged by millennia, hung from the ceiling, proclaiming the longevity of every stone in Luix castle. Essrod crossed the hall and ducked into the small inlet, the cabinet.

There, the strongest and most influential lords met. It had taken Essrod years just to get here. The noise of bickering filled the smaller but still grandiose room, a large square table, surrounded by chairs sat, the twenty seven seats made for an unequal number. The wood of the table was worn from many a knife thrown in to make a point. Essrod was particularly proud of the one in the bottom left corner. That had won him seventy farms.

The arguing abruptly was cut off as a man in red walked in flanked by four men in differing colors, yellow, green, blue, and white. “This is the Connifell.” They announced in unison, a rather unneeded comment in Essrod’s most unhumble opinion.

This was common knowledge. Indeed, all but two of them would be running their own lands without this special convention. Here, the crowning of the king would occur, and then he would appoint his advisers, making them the most important people in the world.

Essrod Ostular intended to be one of them.

Not just intended. He had thrown every aspect of his adult life into getting this appointment. He had tried to appear innocent, with no plans whatsoever.

Because advisers took over if the king died.

If there was an heir, they were only interim. But, if the king were to die young… idle speculation, of course. For now.

 The room sat still, silent, hesitating to speak. “We will now coronate the king.” Essrod watched with little interest. The ceremony had much ceremony. “We, the priests of Summreest do bestow on our king the five divine attributes, love, wisdom, power, justice, and holiness. May each patron look on him with grace and….”

Essrod tuned back in toward the end “..and acting King. May your reign be long.” Then came the part that a man such as Essrod disliked, even hated.

“I pledge my troops and my loyalty to King Charles the 3rd.” The first lord uttered.

 “I pledge my troops and my loyalty to King Charles the 3rd.” The next lord repeated.

 “I pledge my troops and my loyalty to King Charles the 3rd.”

And on and on. Then Essrod offered, with great difficulty:  “I pledge my troops and my loyalty to King Charles the 3rd.”

Then it was over.

Charles rose. “I must appoint my advisers. The first is William Gaut.”

This was to be expected. Then, the very earth held her breath.

“And the second is a Prolk Wentox.”

Essrod reeled. Anger flooded through him. How DARE Charles do this? He was obviously the next in line, even an ignoramus could see that.

He had tried playing nice, doing things legally.

But now?

Now he was going to burn Charles’s reign to the ground. And he didn't care who it affected.

*

Charles thanked the last lord, then sat back in his chair. He had done few things more exhausting. This, however, was far and away the most stressful. He hoped he had chosen well with his advisors.

William was a necessity choice. The man’s family had supported Charles’s own since the Connifell had first occurred. But Prolk, well he was an enemy of Charles’s family. But he was a good man, and allies must be formed. This particular ally may be able to help him bring the kingdom closer together.

A servant approached. “My liege, do you wish to return to your rooms?” Charles closed his eyes. No response was required by the traditions of Borilla.

Charles hated the traditions. “Yes, I would like to return.” He announced to the servants that stood behind him. He stood up crossing the room. The servants opened the door, and Charles Strathcott strode through the doors. He went through the brightly lit room, magnificent red banners catching his eyes as always. He strode through an arching doorway into a long hallway.

He turned right and then left, each hallway looking different. A servant walked past him, then opened the door to his room. He walked in, turned, and nodded to the servants. They bowed, closing the door and retreating. Charles turned his attention to running the kingdom.

There were three main political fashions, near as he could tell. The faction for him, led by his own family. There was one firmly against him. Prolk belonged to that paticular faction, but he wasn’t the leader. That was Tuathol Orgaise. The Orgaises had once controlled the throne, but Charles the First had out-maneuvered them and forced them to turn over the kingdom. They still claimed the kingdom was theirs.

Then there was the neutral faction. This was headed by, by his calculation, Essrod Ostular. It was hard to tell, however, due to the nature of the faction. Charles had almost chosen him to be an advisor. He hadn’t-something had held him back.

All together, there were twenty-seven lords, each having two to three lords below them. That wasn’t including alliances that well respected and influential merchants, priests, and magicians.

 His father had grown lax. The lords thought they were bigger than they were, and the merchants were smuggling like there was no tomorrow. It was going to be hard to keep this kingdom unified.

He sat down and began to try to put it back together.

The Summrests were pushing him to execute magicians. He couldn’t do that now. There were at least five hundred of them in the kingdom, each proclaiming themselves to be the most powerful. The Summrests, however, claimed that they worshipped a plant, which was downright ridiculous. However, as the official church, they held sway, and there was nothing Charles could do about it. He wrote down a rough plan to reduce the ability of magicians to use magic in public.

Charles glanced at the large pile of letters to be returned. He could have his advisors handle them, but that’s what his father had done. And without the watchful eye of a Strathcott, the kingdom had grown into a worse position. He wouldn’t let that happen, especially when one of his advisors was an enemy to the throne.

 

My liege,

Lord Cordoroy has made advancements on my fief. He threatens all that we as a kingdom do not tolerate. I have made it clear that there is to be peace in the kingdom, and he shows that he disagrees by attacking my lands.

You must stop him.

                       Sincerely, Lord Buxtembourg

 

Charles leaned back on his chair. This was common enough that he couldn’t make a scene, or even address Lord Cordoroy. Most likely he had simply sent troops into the area for this very reason. To pass the time. To play political games.

He made a note to talk about respecting each other’s territory, generally speaking, at the next gathering of the lords.

Another letter opened. This was a scouting report from a land across the sea, written by Kolworn Dock. It mentioned a warlike nomadic people that he had steered clear of, with vague descriptions of armor and appearance. They had discovered new seedlings, named by a local hermit as The Osage Polkweed, the Creeping Poopy, and the deciduous raven.

King Charles the 3rd fell asleep in the next page of the report.

 He abruptly gained consciousness as a servant gently woke him up. “Sir, it is time for you to meet with the council.

Charles Strathcott the Third, king of Borilla, sat before his counsellors for the first time. The representative from the Summrests, Lord Wentox, Lord Guat, General Griffen, and Gideon Porti. General Griffen, a grizzled man in his mid forties, controlled the armies. Charles was unsure of what General Griffen thought of him, and so had treated him as ambiguously as possible since his father had died. He looked fantastic, though, in the non combat military garb. It was red, for the patron God of power, one of the five divine aspects of Summreest.

“My liege, if we could begin?” He asked, impatient.

“Of course” Said Charles, a little embarrassed. It was his duty to call the meeting to attention, but he had just sat there, like he was still a spectator, brought along by Charles the Second to see how the big men did things.

“Are there any issues that must be brought before the crown?” Charles asked expectantly. He had practiced this line in front of the mirror for hours to get the right inflection. He glanced around, a little nervous. He had to focus to keep those nerves out of his appearance. One must appear strong as a king.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Said General Griffen. “We need to attack Ubresh.”

Charles did as best he could to keep the annoyance off his face. General Griffen and the entire army, really, had been advocating war with their southward neighbor since around the time Charles was born. He obviously let some through, however because General Griffen rushed to explain more.

“Ubresh has burned Tusseto to the ground. About three hundred borillans were dislodged and there is about four hundred flomudors in damage.”

“Four hundred flomudors? What did they do, burn the town down to the ground?” Four hundred flomudors was a great deal of money. The royal treasury, the largest collection of money on the planet, had just upwards of fifteen thousand flomudors.

This was going to be a problem. A big problem. Charles couldn’t avoid this. He was going to have to make Ubresh pay in one way or another. “Lord Wentox, what should I do?” He said expectantly.

“My liege, you should send a delegation to Ubresh to demand appeasement for damages incurred. I would be willing to lead the delegation.”

Lord Wentox’s idea was a good one, but he wasn’t about to send someone who was likely still his enemy to a foreign country, representing him and Borilla. “Thank you for the offer, but, as my first advisor, I believe Lord Guat should lead the delegation. Lord Guat?”

“As you command, my liege.” Lord William said. Charles thought he saw a hint of annoyance on his features, but was unable to deal with it right now.

“Now that that is settled, are there any other issues to be brought before the Council?”

Silence.

Here we go. Charles thought. It was time for him to take the biggest gamble of his young monarchy.

“I have thought long and hard on how to keep the people of Borilla in the front of our minds. I have decided that it is time to add another member to this council- an ordinary person. Seeing the looks of skepticism, Charles quickly barreled forward. A King designed and implemented this council, so I find that I can change it as well. So, we will vote. All in favor, say aye.

“Aye” Said Wentox.

“Nay” Said Guat.

damnation it. Thought Charles. He had known that Guat had a strong sense of propriety, but not this strong.

Gideon Porti, garbed in fine silk derived from who knows where, had been silent up till this point, but he rose and said “Nay.”

General Griffen opposed Charles with a resonant, “Nay”

The priest, who only voted or spoke on matters considered religious, rose and said “Aye.” to the shock of everyone. How was this a religious vote?

They were still behind a vote and needed a majority to win. Charles had hoped it wouldn’t come to him having to use his power, but he stood and said, “I Charles, king of Borilla, use all three of my votes to ‘Aye’. A common person will be part of this cabinet when we next meet. Council dismissed.”

He then strode out of the council room confidently, leaving five very shocked members behind.

*

A woman in a brown robe walked through the manor of Lord Essrod slowly. She had a purpose. One may mistake her for a servant. However, she was on of the most trusted agents of Lord Essrod’s. But most importantly, she was Gifted. The woman in brown’s name, at least her real name, many did not know. Everyone called her Memento, since she had7 the Gift of remembrance. At least, that’s what he called it. He could touch an object, any object, and know almost its entire history in the blink of an eye. This made him an excellent spy.

There, lying on the table, was his an assignment. It was a letter. After their first meeting, this was the onky way he and Lord Essrod had communicated. Letters addressed to his pseudonym. The seal on this particular letter had been broken, but he didn’t think it mattered much.

-Memento, lady Codoroy has some nice words, don’t you think?

That was all. This meant, to Memento, that Essrod wanted to know what the Codoroy’s had been saying, writing, and doing lately.

A faint grin graced the man’s face. He touched his heart, where the tattoo of a seedling lay.

This’ll be fun.

*

Memento strode through the crowd with a purpose. She was going to collect a few choice materials from The Dark Bear, a highly used and highly illegal shop.  She walked in and got the distinct feeling she wasn’t safe. However, Memento knew that was the owner of the shop’s Gift. Apparently before he got the Gift he had been an assassin, but because of the Gift, which the owner couldn’t turn off, he could no longer perform that function. So now he used his knowledge of the underworld to sell equipment.

Today Memento was looking for getting close to Lady Cordoroy- dress clothes, some fake certificates, that sort of thing. Momento shivered, the fear still creeping her out. She bought what she needed as quickly as possible so she could leave that ...feeling… behind. She walked into the crowd and disappeared. Memento was going to find a wagon or something likewise untraceable to get to Vilzen, the town where Lord Cordoroy’s lands lay. He- Memento quickly became aware of someone following her. Just the footsteps sounded different, even in this hubbub of people.

He quickly headed down an alley, drawing the knife she always carried with her. Hers was a dangerous profession. Memento was reasonably confident she could deal with one man. She had done it before.

A man, shorter than Memento, walked into the alley. He had a large sword.

Memento blanched.

The man was garbed in all grey clothing, and looked, very, very, capable.

He walked slowly, the sword simmering in the heat. But that wasn’t right. Memento cocked her head. It was spring. Why would the blade be-Her thoughts were cut off as the large blade traveled just inches from his face.

Memento held her knife at the ready, prepared to stab her opponent after the next swing. The swing had been large, if she had been ready, she could have darted in as soon as the blade passed by her.

The man abruptly took his hand, which took Memento off guard. Then heat traveled up his arm. She felt everything warming. She struggled as best she could, but the man had an iron grip. The thought that his gift was heating things by touch passed through his mind, but was overtaken by a sudden fever. The fever grew worse, and Memento stopped struggling. Then, she passed out.

*

“And that, my good man, is why Charles is not fit to rule Borilla.” Essrod said.

The merchant nodded, swayed. “But he is supported by the Summrests.”

“He is supported by a bunch of crazies? Don’t tell me you believe in such nonsense.” Essrod  contended. “Don’t you think that we should believe in what is best for our families. Children will starve if Charles passes the acts he is slated to announce, and it will hamper your business as well.”

The merchant blanched. “I will do what you have asked.”

Essrod nodded. “Thank you.” The man left.

This is too slow. Essrod thought. He needed an actual slip-up from Charles. It wouldn’t take long, he knew. That was part of why he wanted to control the crown. Charles was inexperienced, and if like his father at all, lazy. And Borilla needed not only someone willing and capable, but someone great.

Essrod’s many spies had been silent for a while, now. He had sent instructions to three of his special spies, all gunning for the same target. He was sure he could use Lord Cordoroy against the king, anyone could see he was doing illegal things. Except the monarch, of course. And Essrod intended to use that to the fullest extent he could.

Essrod’s manor was three days away from the crown in a carriage, one of the closest fiefs to Keep Borilla, the king’s hold.  His own manor wasn’t especially belligerent, but he had a separate keep that was relatively unknown. He had used a magician to move the earth, creating a relatively small and hard to reach hold.

Essrod reclined in his chair, hands folded, considering his next move to save Borilla. He considered using his best magician to directly assassinate the king, but it wouldn’t work. For now, he was too protected, and his magician’s methods were noticeable.  

There was a knock at the door. “Come in.” Essrod voiced.

The door opened and a man began to talk quietly to Essrod. As he did, Essrod’s face broke into a wide smile.

This was a mistake. Denying one lord was bad enough, but brazenly shutting down the entire council? Charles had given him a pinhole, and all Essrod had to do was stick a wedge in it.

*

 Titus decided that Borilla was magnificent. She had left Lentill, a supremely boring country north of this beautiful country. At least, she thought it was beautiful.

The Diconhandras, or the Dicon as they were called, had tested her. She was Gifted. Titus still had little control over her Gift, and she often noticed little sparks shooting out of her hands at inopportune times.

The Dicon had sent her here, to Borilla, to be trained and then deployed. Nobody really knew what the Dicon actually did, but Titus had been assured that it was noble.

She would be trained by a master, but she was told you had to figure it out yourself, since having the same talent was rare.

The harbor for Borilla’s coastal city Rostca was huge, far bigger than the one she had come from.

The ship docked slowly. Titus bounded across the gap as soon as she could, excited to explore this new land. A hand grabbed her, however. Her escort. Galena. Galena was tall, stately, and apparently very high on the ladder of the Dicon. She had been sent specifically to accompany Titus to the secret headquartears of the Gifted.

Galena strutted ahead, clearly intending Titus to follow, correctly as it turned out. Titus was accustomed to doing as her father expected her, and Galena, it seemed, had replaced her father.

She was by no means bored. Rostca was an explosion of color, with drapes of all shades hung out windows. The city was a confused jumble, in the way that Titus thought that someone who had lived there their entire lives didn’t even know every nook and alley. The city seemed like it had been built to exude friendship, which perhaps it had. It was far enough in a bay and in Corilla that almost no threat towards it Existed. Trade deals were the purpose of this establishment.

However, the people, unlike the city, seemed subdued. The few children that were in the street weren't playing, they were homeless. Old men and women looked distrustfully out their windows.

“What happened here?” Titus asked quietly.

“Quiet.” Galena replied.

That woman is not helpful. Titus thought angrily.

Well, if she wasn’t going to tell Titus, then she would figure it out herself.

 She looked around. The shop windows bragged incessantly, but from the much of the food and cloth she could see, which was a plethora, trade had not been awesome recently. However, that did not explain why curtains were drawn in nearly all the private dwellings. It did not explain why the merchants looked haggard, though their shops were fully stocked. And it did not explain why everyone in the city of Rostca looked like their favorite pet had died.

No, the diminished trade was a symptom, not a cause. The cause was something deeper than that. Something loomed over the city of Rostca, and perhaps all of Borilla. Titus frowned a frown of concentration even as she followed Galena through the apparent splendor, albeit tainted splendor, that surrounded every corner, every alley, every shop, every home, and every street.

Despite the overcast gloom of many of the residents, Titus was excited. Beyond excited, actually. She felt that every turn held a new surprise that denied and belittled her childhood back home. And she loved it.

Galena and Titus passed through a low gate, where a Galena hailed a ride from a farmer and his mules pulling a small cart.

“You there! I’ll give you a flumodor for a ride northward.”

The farmer gave a grin as wide as his beard and agreed. As Titus understood it, Galena had just offered the farmer more than he would make in his life.

And so it was that Titus and Galena began the long journey northward, with Titus’s mind a flurry of thoughts and emotions.

I LOVE Borilla she decided exuberantly.

 

Where I'm at currently with the connifell

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