Hold a competition to become the state sponsored bard
One of our greatest strengths is our reputation, lets cultivate it. Also, summer is the perfect time for such things.
Meanwhile, identify competent diplomatic and economic advisers
I don't think we can do enough by ourselves, we need a few right-hand men.
Finally, while the festivities are going on and we're embedding ourselves in court politics to find an adviser, identify at least 3 eligible ladies.
Our rule becomes much more secure with a family.
This summer can be a time to celebrate our conquest over this land, and it's beasts. In doing so, we'll forge social connections that will help us expand our power.
You order your couriers and town criers to spread word about a grand contest you're going to hold, with the purpose of finding a bard willing to be in your service. All those who consider themselves worthy enough to sing your songs at your court, and possibly even foreign ones, are invited to participate in the grand contest. All those who hold significant lands, and those of their dynasties, are encouraged to participate in the accompanying feasts, and even peasants and others of lower birth are invited to watch the contest and indulge themselves in the festivities, though they will of course not be allowed to mingle with those of higher birth, unless invited to do so.
Word of the grand contest reaches many, and the excellent weather allows many to come to the site of the contest, situated somewhat south of Kildhula, in a grassy valley split into two by a crystal clear brook. As you arrive on the site, the land is already littered with tents, huts and other temporary residences, as well as the stands of countless merchants, contraptions used by traveling acrobats and acting groups, gambling dens, duels and animal fights for shows and even an improvised brothel. Yet all the noise made by these people and their countless customers, are all overshadowed by the many sounds of countless instruments being practiced and songs being sung. You can hear at least twenty different types of flutes, many stringed instruments and even some percussion. And for every different instrument you hear, there's at least ten different styles of songs being sung. From the eerie, high pitched hymns sung for generations by your ancestors, to the cheery, awe-inspiring songs that wouldn't be out of place in a tavern, from songs from the Chamdhi sounds to the rough, scraping noise of Khami throat howling, every style you can imagine, you hear, as well as some completely foreign to you.
As you enter the campsite itself, headed for the area claimed for the nobility on a slightly elevated plateau precisely above the area where the contests themselves will be held, many of the lowborn attendants bow to you. Others raise their newborn children to you, try to touch you, promise you their eternal servitude or even confess their love to you. You lift up one of the children from its mother's hands, kiss it on the forehead, and pronounce it "Child of the tear-feathered Owl", before you hand it back to its ecstatic mother. A title you made up on the spot and means nothing at all, but one that will probably ensure a bright future for the child in it's village. Not many can say they received a unique title from a conqueror as grand as yourself, and the child will most likely become the village's pride and joy. You continue your journey to the noble levels in much the same way, and the further you travel through the encampment, the longer the parade of people following you becomes. When you finally reach the guards protecting the entrance of the nobility, you feel quite relieved. You head into your tent, and call it for a day, since the sun has almost set already and your wounds still need some minor tending, especially after traveling for an entire day.
The next day you get up early, and dine with the other nobles at the central dining table. You find yourself situated between Ilrund av Ilaradh, baron of a small barony in the (de Jure) Lands of Aradh, currently sworn to the Petty Jarl of Vedilage instead of you, and Mihluva Suddeb, a merchantess trading along the Kuredh river and the banks of the Kuredhestra Lake. Baron Ilrund can not stop talking about how much he dislikes his literate liege and begs you to free him from his yoke as a vassal of the Vedilagan Jarl. He also keeps rambling about the relations of his dynasty and the possible effects of this festival on the entire nobility of the northernmost Chamedhi lands into great detail. Yet while the man is incredibly boring and won't stop talking, you can easily follow everything he's saying, and is great at explaining the most intermixed dynastic and diplomatic relations. Miss Suddeb on the other side, is quite quiet, a great listener and a slow talker. She knows much of the trade in the region, and you can feel a hint of wanderlust and need for excitement in her now old and frail body. She must have once been a beautiful sight to behold, yet she has not given birth to any children, and is way past the age of childbearing.
When you've finished your hearty breakfast, you head down to the first rounds of the contest. With your trusted adviser Ludhar, the general adviser that served your father, whose father served your father and your grandfather, and whose son is expected to serve you too when he passes away, you sit down at the front of the rows of lower nobles watching the spectacle soon to take place. You seat yourself in a beautifully carved wooden throne, with soft fur of the black wolf draped over it, whilst your adviser takes place on one of the wooden benches, like most other low nobility. About two meters below you, the peasants all stand around the musical arena, eagerly awaiting the first participant. Soon, the first participant appears, and starts playing his song, as expected, an ode to you and your grand acts of conquering. Many others follow him, some of them very good, some of them outright terrible. Some are voted away, others are granted the privilege to play again in the next rounds. While everything is going on, many nobles try to start a conversation with you. One of them is Ulli Kudhula, who offers you his beautiful daughter, Urhilda Kudhula. Her skin as pale as the moon itself, and her eyes green as the densest pine forests. She holds no titles, and no claims either, but her sisters have all mothered many children, so she is bound to be fertile. At the age of fourteen, she became of age last spring, and she is more than willing to marry you. Another man, going by the Khami name of Ukath Khathimur presents you his daughter Khatara Khathimur, a respectable young lady, with a fifty-fifty chance of becoming the baroness of a small barony bordering your lands to the northeast. It all depends on whether the next pregnancy of her mother will grant the father a son or another daughter. If the latter is the case, her mother will be capitally punished for not granting any sons to Ukath, as is a barbaric Khami custom. Yet this means that Ukath will not be able to beget more children, and will make Khatara the heir apparent to the throne of the barony of Khathimur. At the age of twenty she is still in the bloom of her life, yet quite old to marry. Marrying a foreigner might also cause disdain amongst the people. The contest ends with the Khami throat-howler, whose song sounds eerily enchanting, yet he is carried of the stage by your angry civilians for appearing before your glorious visage. Auditions will continue tomorrow, and the days after that will all be elimination rounds. The first of those will be decided by the populace, the later ones by the nobility, and the grand finale will be decided by yourself.
After the first rounds of the contest, you wander around the encampment for a while, until you come by a tent almost as grand and lavish as yours. You demand to know who's inside, and the guard tells you that countess Brunhilda resides here now for the moment.
After an entire week of feasts, parties and concerts, the finale will be held tomorrow. But for today, you have not made any plans yet. What will you do?
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Topic: [SG] Chamdhi Nivula; the life of Grand Jarl Ulric (Read 5280 times)