The Council...
Master Filroy gave a small bow and a nodded. “I will do so, your highness. I should be able to raise first reports and taxation in the spring. I do however think we might still be short on some things, and that is backing for the currency. We will issue promise notes in the meantime.”
Flavia looked to Hoffenburg and nodded. “We will prepare plans and make sure men are happy to march.” She looked to Ssyrith, raising her eyebrow. “ I hope you can gather intelligence for us, hatcuri? I can march into hell if need be, but I’m not doing so blind-folded.”
(Orders will be processed with the turn.)
The meetings…
The nobility, or at least their representative, is seen to first. You are not sure if he is aware of it or not, but if his attitude was anything to go by, it seemed to be satisfied.
And by the Cycle, the man was noble, in all possible aspects.
The Viscount wore a sheer white formal cravat, dark coat, and fur-collared overcoat, which he took off as he came in and handed it to one of the servants. The man was tall, handsome and wore his blonde hair slicked back. The breadth of his shoulders and his tall posture gave him both nobility and spoke of great vitality of the man. His smile was a subtle thing, and his blue eyes were captivating in how surely he could look at someone, not shying away from their gaze. As he approached the Princess, he gave her a formal deep bow.
“Your Highness, it is an honour to be graced by your invitation. I am most humbled by it.”
As you took your seats, you could see how he kept his eyes on you - he was matching your gaze and although not intimidating, you could tell he was interested in your person. Or appeared to be.
“Your Highness, if you pardon my boldness, I would like to say how charming you look. Were I a different man, I would be speechless right now.”
The food was served. Adequin was courtly, almost to a painful degree, holding his utensils just so, drinking his wine in a careful manner. The man was made for spectacles like this.
“I must say how impressed I am with the speed of the developments so far, Your Highness. A lesser person would crack under pressure, but you seem to take refuge in forging ahead. It takes experience, learned advice and education to act contrary to basic assumptions and what passes as “common sense” among the people. Or, a great talent.”
He drank some more of his wine.
“I believe you are aware of our proposal for the government, there are a great many people who would be interested in seeing a chamber that includes them and lets them voice their concerns. You possess a council already and it is a great body, but legislative input needs to be formalized and factional interests looked after, if only for national stability. I am of this faction, and share this sentiment, yes, but I am an Elbrethian as well, and whatever choice you make, I shall support it wholeheartedly. After all, it, is rare for a nation to be graced with such an exceptional individual such as yourself.”
Some would take offense at these words, were they spoken by someone else and in a different tone. But the Viscount’s words seemed genuine, despite his proper attitude, his voice carrying just as much conviction and sincerity as the cries you hear on the balcony on the victory day. Or so it seemed.
Colonel Oakely. The name itself already spoke volumes about the man. Dependable, honest, strong. He conformed to that image with his whole being, the man was big (more wide than tall), stout (like a cask of it) and complemented by big bushy mutton chops on his ruddy face.
A father to his men (with quite few bastards among the regiments) but always trusted, seen as the soul of the army, just as Flavia was its heart.
He arrived in a red uniform and took of his hat to salute you, revealing a balding head.
“Your Highness.” He is curt, in his welcome, but you know him well enough, and his voice is a familiar one. He then breaks out a smile.
“It is good to see you too, Erika.” the formalities are dispensed with, at least from his side, enjoying the familiarity of your presence.
You take your seats and the man pours himself a glass of brandy without hesitation.
“When I heard that you are meeting with nobles, I almost thought you forgot about your old faithful hounds.” He takes a swig of the alcohol, clearly enjoying the drink as his moustache and chin moved with him delighting in the taste.
“By Sigurd, I would not bear to see these parasites take of your fathers’ legacy.” He drinks some more. “Tell me, have you decided what are you going to do with us, and the coronation? The chaps get restless when I tell them to wait. There’s only so much snow they can shovel before they get back inside to worry again.”
You always thought that his face could not get any more pink than it was in his default state but you were always proven wrong, just like now as he empties the glass with gusto and pours himself some more. Before he drinks of it again though, he pauses and looks at you, getting somewhat teary-eyed.
“Oh child, what did we put you up to…. your parents would be proud. Uhh…” He wipes his eyes and drinks again.
“I will be the last person to suggest anything, but you know how it was in the olden days. Your ancestors listened to whom they needed, but heeded only their own mind and heart.You are our soul, Erika, don’t let them soil it.”
Stiles was escorted into the conservatory, which despite harsh winter was still usable. It was far from warm, but cool enough to sit inside without discomfort if one wore warm clothes.
He beheld the monarch dressed in a uniform and bowed as per custom.
The man was a seeming opposite of the Viscount. Lean, almost gaunt, with a bush of dark, curly hair on his head with a ponytail. His eyes had similar kind of keenness to them like Julian’s, but these were of intelligent intensity, of purposeful observation and openness that he sought to impart on his audience. He wore a grey overcoat, worn thin from use and a white cravat with a suit, all rough around the edges but overall in clean appearance.
“Your Highness” Stiles was seemingly unfazed by the reception he was given. After all, the man was known to thrive in tough circumstances.
He observed the protocol and only took his seat after you. He poured himself some coffee but did not drink it.
“I trust Mister Norn informed you of my projects and ideas? I know these are quite radical proposals, but do believe me, Your Highness, people on the streets paid their dues in blood and money to liberate this country. Many a man and woman serve under your banner and they are all glad that the freedom of their land was finally restored. There is a lot of speculation as to how will this nation move forward. Will their voice be heeded?”
He paused.
“I know that you are surrounded by people that coach you and encourage you, but this isn’t a play. Lives are at stake, you know it first hand. If we let people like Julian have their hand in the affairs, even you won’t change anything.”
Powerful words indeed. Said directly, with a direct look into your eyes, awaiting an answer.
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Topic: You Are King! - The Steam Age - Chapter I: Liberty [Game Thread] (Read 20329 times)