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[Ardas]

NUKE9.13

Speak to the nobility, using my sword to amplify the effect of my words. Important points:
-Gonna spend money on that thing you like. (Army, cult, economy)
-Gonna take advice from people like you.
-Gonna launch the Great Crusade, and you're going to love it, since it will bring (Glory, piety, wealth)
-Have I mentioned this magic sword? The common folk are going to love this thing.

[9]The warlike crowd takes easily to your words, taking the sword as a good portent for your success. They are happy to follow you as a war leader, your martial bearing giving them some reassurance. There are voices about Nordric itself however and if a fraternal blood being spilled isn't a big worry, but that is generally subsumed in the overall enthusiasm for your stance.
[11] The fervour you apparently bring to the table is enough to convince the more pious that you are a definite choice for a leader, on top of Grandmater's supposed blessings. They will keenly watch you on your promise however, that the holy lands of Ilos be reclaimed and former glories of the empire taken up for the Nordricans themselves.
[8] While lacking in substance, your spiel is taken as a good omen by those of economic and pragmatic inclination. You might not have appearance of an experienced ruler, but they would have it no other way to conduct business their way. Conquest seems of secondary interest to them, but no one will scoff at loot if it is there to be had.

Overall, your speeches brought you forward as a second favourite in the race for the throne, with only Baemund of Westbrook ahead of you. Time grows short and the crowds grow ready to cast their lot, with archmages debating in the chapel as to what will happen.
You are out of time for anything else, but others still might change the outcome of events if they decide to make their move before the finale.

[mcclay]

Hardrick was suddenly faced with a hard decision. On one hand he had a random nobody with no background and a shiny sword, easy to be manipulated by a strong noble and needing competent men to guide him. On the other hand he had some fop who he really disliked. The choice was not hard.

"Ah yes Contessa, the wine here is lovely. I'm glad its not a Westbrook vintage. What? Didn't you hear about what happens over there? Oh my, far too scandalous for the court. Man doesn't know a vineyard from a distillery."

"Twelve mistresses, by my count. Some of them, well, quite unkind to look at. I think he just has them to have them. His humors clearly must be out of balance."

"Yes, yes. With an orc! I know!"

Spread rumors and lies about Baemund. Make him seem like a fop and weirdo

[Shootandrun]

Alric joined in the acclaim for the Lord of Greenbrook, ignoring the surprised glances of the people he had been trying to sell the Swordholder to moments before. When the applause died down, however, he was still clapping - rather loudly. The assembled lords started to look towards him, and he stepped into the center of the hall to further gain their attention.

"An outstanding speech from the most noble, warlike, and pious Lord Baemund." Though it was subtle, the mockery in his word was there for all seasoned courtiers to hear. "And let us not forget humble, too - our good master of Greenbrook lays claim to the title of the sun alone, despite the fact that to hear him he could be the stars and the moon and all the other sources of light in this realm."

"And what light does he bring with him! Tradition and buried old bones, from my eldest cousin. Certainly, he is quite old, and so are his ideas, I will give him that. After all, what does it matter that the ways of our ancestors have lead to a sundered Nordric and to civil wars? What does it matter that they have let the orcs mass at our borders in impunity? That they have brought us to the edge of a chasm at the bottom of which the end of humanity awaits?" He shrugged, rather humorously, as if he saw no problem at all with what he'd just decried. "But who are we to question that? What is true is that our ancestors and our old ways have brought us there, and that the good Lord Baemund will act as they would have, and take a great step forward for us all. That should obviously matter more than the fact that a man walks among us with a sword sent down to him from god, containing an angel within, should it not?"

With that, he bowed. "Truly, the outcome of this vote should be obvious to us all."

Publicly mock Baemund's speech, his way of speaking, and his reasons for claiming the throne.

[Digital Hellhound]

In a moment of quiet, Constantine stood up and marched before the crowd. Even in the midst of such splendor, the Knight Resplendent stood out. His armor shone with an unblemished gleam; his colors were rich and deep, bright where the surrounding northerners were a more drab mix of colors. If all this did not mark him for an Imperial, his accent surely did.

'I am a stranger in your land,' he began. 'I have no voice in your court under the law. I have no vote to cast. Yet I would speak, and ask you to consider my words. I do not utter them lightly.'

He met the eyes of those gathered. 'I am Constantine Logos Valerian, Master of the Knights Resplendent. We are the last true Knights of the Empire. I have brought the might of my Order north in search of a just cause. Our Empire is lost. The Scourge has burned our home. The true meaning of our loss cannot be explained with mere words.'

He bowed his head towards the rival claimant. 'Lord Baemund speaks of bloodline and tradition. These are things men should treasure... but we live in times where such things alone do not guarantee victory. I ask you to consider the Empire. Our history, our traditions, our high bloodlines - worthy, ancient, prized... and in the end, insignificant. The Scourge cares not for such things. The Orcs will not be halted by bloodline or history! Forgive me, my lords and ladies, but I cannot sit idle and watch you make the same mistakes so many have done. I have seen the destruction they bring. Only a strong king - a warrior king! - can bring us victory and peace. A king such as Falkstafn Svertharmathur.'

'The Orcs may be weak now, idle, fat, but they will not remain so forever. If we do not take advantage now, as the Swordholder intends, the next Scourge will fall upon the North. I beg you not to allow such a fate upon your lands.'

He bowed to the crowd. 'We came north seeking a worthy cause, a worthy king. Was it chance that led us here, or the light of Ilos? Whichever the case - I believe to have found him.'

Speak for the Swordholder.

[Tack]

Mavi stood silently at attention. His was not a station which allowed him speeches, and the time for meaningless deceits was over... he'd had enough of that for today.
Except... possibly one more. Either Falstnafn or Baemund would win, and the loser would be in a unique position to cause trouble for the kingdom. He would have to intercept them for a casual chat and verify the threat they may pose.. and whether intervention is required.

Pick the brain of the losing claimant.
If they're a threat- end it

[Iituem]

Helga speaks a little more with Hardrick before he leaves to talk to the Swordholder.

"My dear boy, a peasant he might seem, but I regret to say the castle heralders did a little research and there's royal blood in him; only a few drops, by-blow of a Ritassener baronet, but enough to make a claim in these muddied times.  Still, I think we can both agree that dear old Baemund is the bigger threat by far.  I have no doubt that you and I can... take him down a few pegs in the common standing.  As for the 'sword-holder', I came across an interesting little tidbit I have tied up in the dungeons.  You might have heard about that little scuffle earlier - in fact, I hear you've been a naughty boy and making it larger than it was."  She cackles.  "Well, the fellow in question is a would-be assassin aimed directly at Falsktnafn there.  He would have killed him if he could have gotten his hands on him.  But the entertaining aspect is this; he wants a trial by combat over the assault and resisting arrest charges.  Now, with no king on the throne it's questionable who would pronounce such a trial, but the sword-holder certainly seems confident in his position.  If you want him out of the way, you might consider convincing him to accept said combat trial in order to 'defeat the challenger and prove his legitimacy' or some such rot.  And, well, I do have a certain something to throw the fight, if it should come to pass."


Helga spends a little time talking to the low nobility, playing off Hardrick's lead with a little of her own embellishment.

"Why yes, Baldr, my boy, I do remember little Baemund as a lad.  Always such good friends with dear old Hardrick - no, no, I doubt he would have fallen in with Silfverstolpe's ways.  Just because one little boy developed such a... taste for young women is no indicator that his childhood friend would fall along the wayside the same way.  Bad influences, perhaps, but no guarantee.

"Why, I've drunk the Westbrook myself and I can attest that it is a very reasonable vintage.  No southern wine, of course, but then what can you expect when they reserve the best for the baron's own cellar?  Why, of course, it's common practice.  You say you don't keep the best wines in your own vinyard, Teller?  Oh, I didn't realise.  I simply assumed such a quantity was normal to be reserved.

"Now that's simply wrong.  Everybody knows Baemund wouldn't sleep with an orc.  Yes, yes, of course he's spent a lot of time fighting them, and perhaps he's had a little fun with the prisoners, but what warrior hasn't?  I'm sure he was just mutilating the wretched things.  They tell me everyone does that.  Right?  Well, Silfverstolpe's always said it's the way they do things out in the field..."

Assist Hardrick's rumours about Baemund, using Helga's own gossip network to spread it a little further.  Falsify a little proof, with trails deliberately leading back to Hardrick.

Leak the proofs of Falsktnafn's noble heritage as a Ritassener to his supporters among the low nobility, let them use it to justify their stance.

Edit:  Grammar fix.

[Ardas]

Long Live the King....

Spread rumors and lies about Baemund. Make him seem like a fop and weirdo

Publicly mock Baemund's speech, his way of speaking, and his reasons for claiming the throne.

Speak for the Swordholder.

Assist Hardrick's rumours about Baemund, using Helga's own gossip network to spread it a little further.  Falsify a little proof, with trails deliberately leading back to Hardrick.

Leak the proofs of Falsktnafn's noble heritage as a Ritassener to his supporters among the low nobility, let them use it to justify their stance.

The nobles stir, listen to many voices, debate among themselves. The situation is slowly heating up, with hushed whispers in the hall now resembling the sound of waves on the sea. The mages look on the  crowds uneasily, debating among themselves as well as to the sudden turn of events. Apparently the unknown man is a noble, how could have they missed that? And the to and fro between highborn only adds to the confusion. High lords are unsure, but the knights and baronets are all too happy to have one of them reach for the crown. Some whisper of more equal privileges, but that is only laughed at among the higher placed men.

As the evening draws near, an archmage appears on the dais, bearing an iron rod topped with a glowing censer. He thumps the rod on the ground three times, and the hall falls quiet. Aromatic smoke rises above him in lazy bluish trails and shrouds the dais, leaving only the mage standing amidst, like a figure of myth.

"By the Will of Ilos and the people of this land, a king is to be chosen. May all nobles of blood gather in their provinces - east go to east, west go to west, north go to north, south go to south, middle go to middle. May you choose a man from among you to speak and bear your will, as to whom you want for your king. Those men will go to the sacred Chapel, where the Faithful will takes their choices and with the wisdom of our Lord, they will deliver the vote to the realm in the morrow."

He thumps the rod three more times, the incensed smoke flowing down from the dais to the crowds, calming the minds and delivering air of the sacred to the profane of the deliberations prior.

It is a long night, with groups talking in hushed voices and only by midnight are vote bearers chosen from among the lords and knights. Each is escorted by staff-bearing novices, each bowing profusely and whispering words of a sacred blessing as they enter the hallowed chamber and speak to the grandmaster, letting him know of the choice they have been chosen to give.

The halls of the castle are quiet in the morning, but few went to sleep. A slow procession of clerics and mages exits the Chapel towards the Great Hall, observed keenly by those who remained overnight and were now rushing back to the Hall ahead of the procession. As the Grandmaster Pyoraxis takes slow, feeble steps to ascend the dais, many are already back in the chamber and with baited breath await the word of their spiritual leader.

"Lords of Harmondale," Grandmaster begins in a strong voice which carries itself to the ends of the chamber, belaying his age or condition. "By the will of our Lord Ilos and the people of this land, you have chosen a king. Your voice has been heard and our Lord in his just wisdom confirmed it to be the one guided by spirit of righteousness. May the man who wields the runeblade and calls himself Swordholder in the ancient Nordan tongue show himself, for he was elected to be the father and ruler of this land."

The hall erupts in cheers. Despite tiredness, fervour overtakes the gathered people and they begin invoking the man they elected to step forth.
"SWORD-HOLDER! SWORD-HOLDER! SWORD-HOLDER!"

Quite few lords begin to leave the chamber as well however, among them the defeated candidate...

In another part of the castle...

Mavi stood silently at attention. His was not a station which allowed him speeches, and the time for meaningless deceits was over... he'd had enough of that for today.
Except... possibly one more. Either Falstnafn or Baemund would win, and the loser would be in a unique position to cause trouble for the kingdom. He would have to intercept them for a casual chat and verify the threat they may pose.. and whether intervention is required.

Pick the brain of the losing claimant.
If they're a threat- end it

Lord Baemund was not angry. There was little that could be described as anger in his countenance. What painted itself clearly on his face was teeth-gnashing, bone-shattering fury, as he strode towards the main gate of the castle. As always he was flanked by his burly retainers, and followed by a band of loyal noblemen, who at first sign of defeat fled in the company of their lord.

Mavi stands in the way of the furious man, but has little to say or ask, as the outcome and everything else following it can be seen plainly.

"What do you want, peon?! Get out of my way, or by Ilos I'll cut you down."

If what you sense or think is right, how do you want to "take care of it?"

[Tack]

Mavi lowers his head deferentially
"The most important news My Lord! An assassin was intercepted attempting to gain access to 'Falsename'."
He looks up, imploringly. "I thought only that you would wish to know first. Forgive this servant his terrible timing, but there's more."

Meanwhile, some frantic alterations were being made to the lord's carriage. Displeased with the state of the Lord's rations for the trip home, he felt that they would be better replaced with flour.
Many, many tight barrels of flour, packed under seats and smuggled amongst luggage. Clothing, stationery, all removed in the interests of packing more flour atop.
Such a large quantity of powder held under pressure... Ilos forbid there be a coachman with a flint, a full purse and a set of suspiciously well-bred horses.

Mavi smiled tersely; let the man think it was fear of exposure in his would-be coup. If all goes as planned, the pious will write it off as an act of faith, whilst the lordlings following him should hear the message.... Resoundingly.

Take care of it.

[NUKE9.13]

The hall erupts in cheers. Despite tiredness, fervour overtakes the gathered people and they begin invoking the man they elected to step forth.
"SWORD-HOLDER! SWORD-HOLDER! SWORD-HOLDER!"

And the angel confirmed: "You Shall Be King"

The man in question steps forth, raising his hands for silence.

"It was the immutable will of god that this should come to pass, yet it was through mortal hands that god chose to act. On this day, you have proven yourselves to be servants of the divine, reaffirming your rights to your lands and titles."

"This is but the begining, my friends. In a hundred years, people shall look back on this day, and know that it heralded the start of a great change in the world. The journey will not always be easy. Sacrifices will have to be made. But the rewards shall be great, for god loves us all, and will treat us generously for our service."

"Now, the business of the day is concluded. We should all, friend and foe alike, join together in celebration- not of the election results, but of the opening of a new chapter in the history of this great nation. Let the ale flow freely, and may the bounties of the earth fill our tables well. For Harmondale!"


The Swordholder had some arrangements to make after the election. Firstly, a tailor was contacted, to create garments more suitable for a king. Nothing especially extravagant- although the blue cloth used costed a fair amount- they consisted of humble pieces, many with a military air, such as a ceremonial gambeson, navy blue, trimmed with silver thread.
He consulted next with the royal archivist and master of arms. His suggestion that he take the regnal name 'Osvik I af Harmondale' was considered acceptable. His lack of a coat of arms was remedied, although the master of arms suggested that it be considered temporary, for proper heraldry takes time to create. The tentative design was rather simple; a sword argent upon a field azure, the sword emblazoned with what would also serve as his bumerke, the 'keystone rune' of his sword, supposedly meaning 'Truth'.

Spoiler: Which I'm going to say looks something like this (click to show/hide)

Finally, he requested the use of a small, disused room in the castle as his personal chapel, having the cobwebs removed and a small altar moved in. In this he secluded himself for hours on end, with the instruction that he not be disturbed.

[Ghazkull]

Meanwhile in another part of the castle

"Oh stop it, Domnall, what if somebody comes in?"

The Northman grinned at the naked servant woman on his lap . "Then they will become green with envy and shame not to be able to partake in such enjoyment."

Suddenly he hoisted her over his shoulders and carried her off to a conveniently placed bed in the corner of the cell...If nothing else the mercenary would at least abuse his "hosts" hospitality. Already he had drunk through several of the wines and meads left with him, and eaten a prodigious amount of the food left. He wondered how far he could drive this...but that thought was interruped by more immediate matters...

[Iituem]

Later, in the celebrations of the following day...

When Helga can reach the new King Osvik af Harmondale, she does so, leaning heavily on her walking cane to curtsey slightly rather than fully kneeling and presenting him with a pearl-set silver chalice as a coronation present.

"Congratulations, your majesty," crooned the old crone.  "A victory and station befitting your blood and ardour.  If I might trouble you with the first of the dull details, there is a prisoner awaiting trial for assault.  As a northerner like myself, he has begged the right of trial by combat to determine his guilt.  He has the audacity to request your own royal personage as his combatant, but however you might choose, sire, as to the trial or its 'adjudicator', I might request that his sentencing should he be found guilty might place him in bondage to myself.  After all, I am expected to look after my fellow Northmen no matter how foolish they have been."

[NUKE9.13]

Osvik looks at her quizzically.

"I was not aware that the defendant had the right to choose his opponent in trial by combat. Nor that assault was a crime that allowed for one. Tell me the details of the case, before I make any decision."

[Iituem]

"Right?  None, the defendant makes a request rather than a demand.  He could be pit against a shepherd if you desired it.  As to the details of the case, the defendant allegedly gained entry into the castle initially peacefully during the kingsmoot, expressed ill intent against your own personage prior to your ascension and was quietly arrested by the castle guard in order to prevent an incident during the deliberations.  He resisted arrest, allegedly assaulting guards but without leaving any lasting injuries or committing murder, before being brought down and interred in the cells.  It is... unusual to request a trial by combat outside of a capital case or a feud between two parties, but there isn't a legal prohibition to it."

[NUKE9.13]

"If I were to have everyone who ever spoke ill against me arrested... well, we wouldn't have that many prisoners, but we'd still have more than we should. Have the man brought before me, let him air his grievance. Under guard, of course."

[Iituem]

"Of course, sire."

Later, after the festivities, Helga does just that, bringing Domnall to the King under heavy guard in a private chamber.