- Pronouns
- He
[X] [ALLEGIANCE] "The Crown has my support, Your Highness."
It's far too late to back out now.
It's far too late to back out now.
Let's Play: Cataphrak's Dragoon Saga
- Thread starter Rogue Attican
- Start date
Lords 6.05
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] [ALLEGIANCE] "The Crown has my support, Your Highness."
When you agreed to act as the Princess-Royal's agent in the Army Reform Commission, she had demanded that you sign a document attesting to your decision, a document which you suspect she still maintains careful possession of. You certainly have more than enough reason to believe that she might demand something similar from you now.
Instead, she replies with only the faintest hint of a smile across her features. "Good," she simply replies. "Then I believe we are finished here."
The rather curt manner of your dismissal takes you by such surprise that you're still puzzling over it as you're escorted back to your coach. Did the Princess-Royal really accept your declaration of loyalty so easily? You know that she isn't the sort to trust easily, yet her response seemed almost unto the point of naivete. Surely, she knows that you might just as easily go back on your word at will.
Or can you?
The footman now leading you back through the succession of passages to the foyer was the same one who led you to the Princess-Royal in the first place. Indeed, now that you consider it, you suspect that he heard the whole of your conversation with his royal mistress, and although he may not remember every word, he will certainly remember the important parts.
He is the very picture of courtesy as he leads you back out into the cold autumn wet of the Lord's Court, but you cannot help but eye him with suspicion now. Even if he isn't one of Wulfram's spies, he may just as easily speak of your visit to someone who is. In fact, you suspect that the Princess-Royal had not dismissed him during your discussion for that exact reason.
Within a week at the most, the whole city will know that you've made yourself the Princess-Royal's agent. Any attempt on your part to profess neutrality will be met with distrust. Any attempt to approach the Duke of Wulfram's faction would be seen with the greatest suspicion, for they will almost certainly think that your intention is to spy upon them.
No, the Princess-Royal needed no reason to demand some formal guarantee of loyalty. Through your own actions, you have already ensured that you'll have no other corner to turn to.
It is a disreputable and underhanded sort of trick, but even you must admit its cleverness. But now that you've fallen for it so readily, you suspect that you'll have little choice but to play the part you have promised.
The King departs on his tour two days later.
Under normal circumstances, there would be a great deal of fanfare over such an event, an announcement at least several weeks in advance in the Gazette, parades, farewell parties, and other celebrations. You'd heard that when the King's father departed on his royal tours, his flagship had been strung up with bunting, the Grenadier band had played for the gathered crowds, and the shore batteries had fired off a twenty-one gun salute from its heaviest fortress guns.
There's none of that now. One evening, HMS Rendower is in the military harbour, all quiet. The next morning, she's already gone, a blur on the horizon, slipped out of the harbour like a thief in the night.
There's a whiff of cowardice to the whole affair, one which gives the impression that the King was fleeing his people in the capital rather than departing to reassure them elsewhere. You wonder if the King even bothered to inform any outside of the barest minimum necessary to ensure the continued running of his government in his absence.
Of course, you suppose that even despite such a secretive departure, it won't be long before the King's departure and its purpose are known. HMS Rendower is a first-rate ship of the line-of-battle, she must carry eight or nine hundred officers and men. Some of them must have told their families or their friends. No doubt, the intelligence is already spreading throughout the city even now. No doubt, the members of the King's party in the know are already applauding the move, even while those similarly well-informed members of the Duke of Wulfram's faction are finding ways to condemn it.
Yet the reaction to the King's departure isn't a matter which you have much time or effort to devote to.
No, your chiefest priority is to establish connections within the King's faction, now that you have so definitively joined its ranks.
While it is true that you have long since established yourself as one of the King's staunchest supporters, you swiftly learn that being a supporter of the King's party and being a member of it are as great a difference as that which exists between being a prize racehorse and a prize jockey.
Quite suddenly, you find yourself with access to a wealth of intelligence, not only about the positions and intentions of your fellow Royalists, but speculation about the opposition's movements as well. You're invited to political councils which you hadn't even previously known to exist, and every morning, it seems that your valet brings you half a dozen new letters from those who happily greet you formally as ally.
There's a certain sense of urgency to the way in which you reply. The Duke of Wulfram's faction may already be hostile to you, but they'll certainly intensify their antagonism now that you've officially joined the faction of their enemies. They'll be out for blood soon, and when they are, you'll need to be ready.
But thankfully, your fellow Royalists seem just as interested in the protection of your reputation as you are. Before long, you are quite secure within the ranks of the King's party, and—you hope—well out of the reach of any attack by the Duke of Wulfram's.
The Intendancy courier arrives as expected a few weeks later.
You open up the seasonal report from your estate manager with bated breath. After the turbulent events of your past few months in the city, some part of you can only yearn for news of your estate, your village, your tenants, your ancestral home. You can only imagine that things have gone better there, away from the vicious struggle of Cortes politics, away from the sullen anger which seems to have seeped into the city's very stones, away from the smell of smoke and the residue of death and the stubborn, bitter memory of the violence which has visited Aetoria's streets this year.
Surely the news from the estate is better than what you've lived through these past few months. Part of you doesn't think it could possibly be worse.
It isn't. Far from it, in fact. Indeed, your estate manager reports that for once, all is calm and orderly in the Barony of Reddingfield, more so than it has been in years.
In fact, the only real item worth remarking upon comes not from your estate manager, but your sister:
Hello Brother,
Has an angry mob hunted you down and eaten you yet? We've heard the most frightful stories of riots in the Old City. Quite frankly, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. For years, the King sits and does nothing while the poor starve for want of work, and then he decides to sign a treaty which will throw even more of them out of their trades? Some people here are saying that our Duke of Wulfram was responsible, inciting the mobs to violence. Personally, I do not credit it. One would imagine our Duke to be more subtle than that, and besides, I think they hardly needed the encouragement.
At least you've had some excitement this year. The same cannot be said for us here. Mother is the same joyless harridan she has always been. Karl barely speaks to anyone, being as wholly engrossed in his books and treatises as he is. Even the estate as a whole seems duller now. Were it not for the current disquiet in the city, you may be assured that I would be badgering you even now for a season in Aetoria, if only so I might see others of our station whom we're not directly related to.
Perhaps that ought to be your motive, then: see the disturbances in the capital settled, so that you may then show your lovely sister to all the wealthy and timid gentlemen you have no doubt met by now. You shall engage them head-on, while I for once play the part of the cavalry and snatch them from the flanks. We shall win victories the likes of which would be fit to make Saint Stanislaus cower.
Until then, stay safe, Brother, and always go about the city with a shorter companion. That way, if you're caught in the sights of an angry mob, you may outrun the other, and leave the slower man to his fate. In the meanwhile, I remain,
Your radiant and all-knowing sister
Some part of you can only be relieved to know that the news from the capital hasn't dampened your sister's rather eccentric sense of humour, but another part of you cannot help but worry. The news of the riots are spreading now, and you can only wonder what such news will do when it spreads to the other regions of the Unified Kingdom, ones where the Crown's authority isn't quite as sure as it is in Aetoria.
But you do not allow yourself to dwell. There's little you can do to affect that. Besides, there are other matters which you must attend to. After all, just because your estate is not in crisis doesn't mean it doesn't have to be managed…
Your estate manager, Karol of Loch, reports that 11 new rent-paying households moved into your fief in the past few months. He also reports that 2 households have been driven away from your fief by their dissatisfaction with the way things are being run, and 2 households have left your fief in search of better opportunities elsewhere.
Your estate manager also reports that your fief's relatively low rents allow your tenants some measure of surplus coin, which invariably offers some small increase to prosperity and contentment. He also reports that he has ordered a series of extensive repairs made to the cottages of your tenants, to stem the tide of complaints about leaking roofs and rotting beams which he has lately been receiving.
With the latest reports taken into account, your current financial situation is as follows:
Bi-Annual Revenues
Rents: 606 Crown
Personal Income: 180 Crown
Bi-Annual Expenditures
Estate Wages: 175 Crown
Food and Necessities: 75 Crown
Luxuries and Allowances: 150 Crown
Groundskeeping and Maintenance: 50 Crown
Townhouse Rent: 135 Crown
Townhouse Wages: 60 Crown
Interest Payments: 169 Crown
Special Expenses: 0 Crown
Total Net Income (Next Six Months): -28 Crown
New Loans: 0 Crown
Current Wealth: 4,366 Crown
Projected Wealth Next Half-Year: 4,338
What do you wish to do?
[ ] [REPAY] I wish to pay off some of my family's debts. (Write in)
[ ] [REPAY] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.
[ ] [LOAN] I must try to renegotiate the interest on my loans.
[ ] [LOAN] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.
[ ] [LOAN] I mean to ask for a modest loan; 1000 crown, perhaps?
[ ] [LOAN] I am in need of a sizeable loan, 2500 crown or so.
[ ] [LOAN] I shall require a great deal of money; 5000 crown, at least.
[ ] [LOAN] I'll draw upon my connections to arrange a new loan on more favourable terms.
-[ ] I will see what friends in the capital are willing to assist me.
-[ ] Perhaps the Shipowners can offer me some assistance here.
Were you physically present at your estate, you would be able to order the construction of new additions and improvements directly. However, as you're in Aetoria, you shall have to rely upon the judgement and good offices of your estate manager to order what construction he sees fit.
Of course, your estate manager cannot order any construction at all unless he has the money to afford it, and as your manager has no substantial independent wealth of his own, the burden of payment falls upon you, as lord of the estate. Should you wish your estate improved in any way, you shall have to send him enough money to pay for it.
At the moment, you have 4,366 crown available to send to your estate manager. So far, you've sent a total of 2,500 crown to your estate in total. Judging by his current reports, your manager should have something like 0 crown currently available to him.
According to his report, your estate manager is currently planning on repairing your estate's stables and outbuildings. To do this, he'll require an additional 1,000 crown.
How much will you send?
[ ] [LOCH] I'll send Loch the thousand crown needed to repair the stables and outbuildings.
[ ] [LOCH] Loch can make do without extra cash this turn.
[ ] [LOCH] Let me write in a different amount.
You currently have 0 crown in investments.
You can afford to invest 4,366 crown. Do not forget that larger investments may boost overall confidence in the Exchange as a whole—and improve the opinion of other Shipowners' Club members.
How much do you intend to invest?
[ ] [INVEST] I would like to invest 1,000 crown.
[ ] [INVEST] I mean to invest 2,500 crown.
[ ] [INVEST] I am investing 5,000 crown. (Requires loan)
[ ] [INVEST] I must think upon the matter more.
When you agreed to act as the Princess-Royal's agent in the Army Reform Commission, she had demanded that you sign a document attesting to your decision, a document which you suspect she still maintains careful possession of. You certainly have more than enough reason to believe that she might demand something similar from you now.
Instead, she replies with only the faintest hint of a smile across her features. "Good," she simply replies. "Then I believe we are finished here."
The rather curt manner of your dismissal takes you by such surprise that you're still puzzling over it as you're escorted back to your coach. Did the Princess-Royal really accept your declaration of loyalty so easily? You know that she isn't the sort to trust easily, yet her response seemed almost unto the point of naivete. Surely, she knows that you might just as easily go back on your word at will.
Or can you?
The footman now leading you back through the succession of passages to the foyer was the same one who led you to the Princess-Royal in the first place. Indeed, now that you consider it, you suspect that he heard the whole of your conversation with his royal mistress, and although he may not remember every word, he will certainly remember the important parts.
He is the very picture of courtesy as he leads you back out into the cold autumn wet of the Lord's Court, but you cannot help but eye him with suspicion now. Even if he isn't one of Wulfram's spies, he may just as easily speak of your visit to someone who is. In fact, you suspect that the Princess-Royal had not dismissed him during your discussion for that exact reason.
Within a week at the most, the whole city will know that you've made yourself the Princess-Royal's agent. Any attempt on your part to profess neutrality will be met with distrust. Any attempt to approach the Duke of Wulfram's faction would be seen with the greatest suspicion, for they will almost certainly think that your intention is to spy upon them.
No, the Princess-Royal needed no reason to demand some formal guarantee of loyalty. Through your own actions, you have already ensured that you'll have no other corner to turn to.
It is a disreputable and underhanded sort of trick, but even you must admit its cleverness. But now that you've fallen for it so readily, you suspect that you'll have little choice but to play the part you have promised.
-
The King departs on his tour two days later.
Under normal circumstances, there would be a great deal of fanfare over such an event, an announcement at least several weeks in advance in the Gazette, parades, farewell parties, and other celebrations. You'd heard that when the King's father departed on his royal tours, his flagship had been strung up with bunting, the Grenadier band had played for the gathered crowds, and the shore batteries had fired off a twenty-one gun salute from its heaviest fortress guns.
There's none of that now. One evening, HMS Rendower is in the military harbour, all quiet. The next morning, she's already gone, a blur on the horizon, slipped out of the harbour like a thief in the night.
There's a whiff of cowardice to the whole affair, one which gives the impression that the King was fleeing his people in the capital rather than departing to reassure them elsewhere. You wonder if the King even bothered to inform any outside of the barest minimum necessary to ensure the continued running of his government in his absence.
Of course, you suppose that even despite such a secretive departure, it won't be long before the King's departure and its purpose are known. HMS Rendower is a first-rate ship of the line-of-battle, she must carry eight or nine hundred officers and men. Some of them must have told their families or their friends. No doubt, the intelligence is already spreading throughout the city even now. No doubt, the members of the King's party in the know are already applauding the move, even while those similarly well-informed members of the Duke of Wulfram's faction are finding ways to condemn it.
Yet the reaction to the King's departure isn't a matter which you have much time or effort to devote to.
No, your chiefest priority is to establish connections within the King's faction, now that you have so definitively joined its ranks.
While it is true that you have long since established yourself as one of the King's staunchest supporters, you swiftly learn that being a supporter of the King's party and being a member of it are as great a difference as that which exists between being a prize racehorse and a prize jockey.
Quite suddenly, you find yourself with access to a wealth of intelligence, not only about the positions and intentions of your fellow Royalists, but speculation about the opposition's movements as well. You're invited to political councils which you hadn't even previously known to exist, and every morning, it seems that your valet brings you half a dozen new letters from those who happily greet you formally as ally.
There's a certain sense of urgency to the way in which you reply. The Duke of Wulfram's faction may already be hostile to you, but they'll certainly intensify their antagonism now that you've officially joined the faction of their enemies. They'll be out for blood soon, and when they are, you'll need to be ready.
But thankfully, your fellow Royalists seem just as interested in the protection of your reputation as you are. Before long, you are quite secure within the ranks of the King's party, and—you hope—well out of the reach of any attack by the Duke of Wulfram's.
The Intendancy courier arrives as expected a few weeks later.
You open up the seasonal report from your estate manager with bated breath. After the turbulent events of your past few months in the city, some part of you can only yearn for news of your estate, your village, your tenants, your ancestral home. You can only imagine that things have gone better there, away from the vicious struggle of Cortes politics, away from the sullen anger which seems to have seeped into the city's very stones, away from the smell of smoke and the residue of death and the stubborn, bitter memory of the violence which has visited Aetoria's streets this year.
Surely the news from the estate is better than what you've lived through these past few months. Part of you doesn't think it could possibly be worse.
It isn't. Far from it, in fact. Indeed, your estate manager reports that for once, all is calm and orderly in the Barony of Reddingfield, more so than it has been in years.
In fact, the only real item worth remarking upon comes not from your estate manager, but your sister:
-
Hello Brother,
Has an angry mob hunted you down and eaten you yet? We've heard the most frightful stories of riots in the Old City. Quite frankly, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. For years, the King sits and does nothing while the poor starve for want of work, and then he decides to sign a treaty which will throw even more of them out of their trades? Some people here are saying that our Duke of Wulfram was responsible, inciting the mobs to violence. Personally, I do not credit it. One would imagine our Duke to be more subtle than that, and besides, I think they hardly needed the encouragement.
At least you've had some excitement this year. The same cannot be said for us here. Mother is the same joyless harridan she has always been. Karl barely speaks to anyone, being as wholly engrossed in his books and treatises as he is. Even the estate as a whole seems duller now. Were it not for the current disquiet in the city, you may be assured that I would be badgering you even now for a season in Aetoria, if only so I might see others of our station whom we're not directly related to.
Perhaps that ought to be your motive, then: see the disturbances in the capital settled, so that you may then show your lovely sister to all the wealthy and timid gentlemen you have no doubt met by now. You shall engage them head-on, while I for once play the part of the cavalry and snatch them from the flanks. We shall win victories the likes of which would be fit to make Saint Stanislaus cower.
Until then, stay safe, Brother, and always go about the city with a shorter companion. That way, if you're caught in the sights of an angry mob, you may outrun the other, and leave the slower man to his fate. In the meanwhile, I remain,
Your radiant and all-knowing sister
-
Some part of you can only be relieved to know that the news from the capital hasn't dampened your sister's rather eccentric sense of humour, but another part of you cannot help but worry. The news of the riots are spreading now, and you can only wonder what such news will do when it spreads to the other regions of the Unified Kingdom, ones where the Crown's authority isn't quite as sure as it is in Aetoria.
But you do not allow yourself to dwell. There's little you can do to affect that. Besides, there are other matters which you must attend to. After all, just because your estate is not in crisis doesn't mean it doesn't have to be managed…
Your estate manager, Karol of Loch, reports that 11 new rent-paying households moved into your fief in the past few months. He also reports that 2 households have been driven away from your fief by their dissatisfaction with the way things are being run, and 2 households have left your fief in search of better opportunities elsewhere.
Your estate manager also reports that your fief's relatively low rents allow your tenants some measure of surplus coin, which invariably offers some small increase to prosperity and contentment. He also reports that he has ordered a series of extensive repairs made to the cottages of your tenants, to stem the tide of complaints about leaking roofs and rotting beams which he has lately been receiving.
With the latest reports taken into account, your current financial situation is as follows:
Bi-Annual Revenues
Rents: 606 Crown
Personal Income: 180 Crown
Bi-Annual Expenditures
Estate Wages: 175 Crown
Food and Necessities: 75 Crown
Luxuries and Allowances: 150 Crown
Groundskeeping and Maintenance: 50 Crown
Townhouse Rent: 135 Crown
Townhouse Wages: 60 Crown
Interest Payments: 169 Crown
Special Expenses: 0 Crown
Total Net Income (Next Six Months): -28 Crown
New Loans: 0 Crown
Current Wealth: 4,366 Crown
Projected Wealth Next Half-Year: 4,338
What do you wish to do?
-
[ ] [REPAY] I wish to pay off some of my family's debts. (Write in)
[ ] [REPAY] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.
[ ] [LOAN] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.
[ ] [LOAN] I mean to ask for a modest loan; 1000 crown, perhaps?
[ ] [LOAN] I am in need of a sizeable loan, 2500 crown or so.
[ ] [LOAN] I shall require a great deal of money; 5000 crown, at least.
[ ] [LOAN] I'll draw upon my connections to arrange a new loan on more favourable terms.
-[ ] I will see what friends in the capital are willing to assist me.
-[ ] Perhaps the Shipowners can offer me some assistance here.
-
Were you physically present at your estate, you would be able to order the construction of new additions and improvements directly. However, as you're in Aetoria, you shall have to rely upon the judgement and good offices of your estate manager to order what construction he sees fit.
Of course, your estate manager cannot order any construction at all unless he has the money to afford it, and as your manager has no substantial independent wealth of his own, the burden of payment falls upon you, as lord of the estate. Should you wish your estate improved in any way, you shall have to send him enough money to pay for it.
At the moment, you have 4,366 crown available to send to your estate manager. So far, you've sent a total of 2,500 crown to your estate in total. Judging by his current reports, your manager should have something like 0 crown currently available to him.
According to his report, your estate manager is currently planning on repairing your estate's stables and outbuildings. To do this, he'll require an additional 1,000 crown.
How much will you send?
[ ] [LOCH] I'll send Loch the thousand crown needed to repair the stables and outbuildings.
[ ] [LOCH] Loch can make do without extra cash this turn.
[ ] [LOCH] Let me write in a different amount.
-
You currently have 0 crown in investments.
You can afford to invest 4,366 crown. Do not forget that larger investments may boost overall confidence in the Exchange as a whole—and improve the opinion of other Shipowners' Club members.
How much do you intend to invest?
[ ] [INVEST] I would like to invest 1,000 crown.
[ ] [INVEST] I mean to invest 2,500 crown.
[ ] [INVEST] I am investing 5,000 crown. (Requires loan)
[ ] [INVEST] I must think upon the matter more.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] [LOCH] I'll send Loch the thousand crown needed to repair the stables and outbuildings.
I think it might be valuable to just bite the bullet and do the Stablemasters stuff, now that we have money. We're even almost close to breaking even...
But I don't think we want to spend too much, and as tempting as it is it is better to have ready money than to work on paying off the debts just yet.
I'd be willing to change it to a lesser number if there's a 'better' Fief Action that could be done if less was sent, or whatnot, but as it is I kind of want to see if we can clear this out.
I think it might be valuable to just bite the bullet and do the Stablemasters stuff, now that we have money. We're even almost close to breaking even...
But I don't think we want to spend too much, and as tempting as it is it is better to have ready money than to work on paying off the debts just yet.
I'd be willing to change it to a lesser number if there's a 'better' Fief Action that could be done if less was sent, or whatnot, but as it is I kind of want to see if we can clear this out.
IamtooSleepy
I came here to be an ant
Ah, that dreadful feeling when you know for certain shit about to go down and everything we have plan so far might as well become irrelevent.
She is so sassy, I love our sister.
By the Saints, we have positive in flow of tenants now. We almost have a positive balance sheet. It's so beautiful
So bad it's all about to go up in flame when the civil war start.
[X] [LOCH] I'll send Loch the thousand crown needed to repair the stables and outbuildings.
[X] [REPAY] I wish to pay off some of my family's debts. (875 crowns)
[X] [LOCH] I'll send Loch the thousand crown needed to repair the stables and outbuildings.
That should get our debt back to the original 16k, making sure we don't leave it worse than we found it. Send Loch the 1k to fix the last thing that's actually broken, and keep the remaining 2.5k as a rainy day fund.
[X] [LOCH] I'll send Loch the thousand crown needed to repair the stables and outbuildings.
That should get our debt back to the original 16k, making sure we don't leave it worse than we found it. Send Loch the 1k to fix the last thing that's actually broken, and keep the remaining 2.5k as a rainy day fund.
Lords 6.06
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The approach of winter comes differently to Aetoria this year. Though there's a steady stream of noble households and their servants headed back out to their estates as the weeks pass, the vast exodus which usually all but empties the city after the onset of autumn is nowhere to be seen. With the Cortes still theoretically in session and the survival of the year's budget still resting upon news of the Kian treaty, many of those who would have retreated to their seats for the winter now remain in their townhouses, and their families and servants remain with them.
And so, even as the first snows begin to fall, the city's roads remain crowded with not only Aetoria's permanent residents, but the rare sight of the coaches and palanquins of those who have chosen to remain. Despite the colder nights and shorter days, the capital remains as crowded as ever.
Soon, that proves to be a problem.
Aetoria as a whole has rarely had problems feeding itself through the winter, but this winter there are twice as many people within the city as there were last time. It only takes a few weeks before you begin to note the rise in food expenditures in your townhouse accounts. You suspect you're not the only one. More than once, your valet is forced to inform you, with a rather apologetic look, that your cook can no longer find certain ingredients necessary for whatever you had chosen to eat that evening, and thus must be compelled to beg your forgiveness and request that you choose something else for dinner.
And if things are bad for you, then for the baneless poor, they are far, far worse.
Even in the best of times, the poor of the Old City are hard-pressed to afford food and shelter. The destruction of the anti-treaty riots and the food shortage caused by the continued presence of much of the Cortes nobility have only made things worse. Already, the Seekers of the Order of Saint Octavia are telling stories of the most desperate deprivation among the city's poor to any who will listen, of families starved to nothing in their homes, of men hunting rats for dinner and women sinking to the most shameful acts for crusts of bread.
Of course, the Orders-Succourant are not standing idle. More than once, they come to your door to ask for donations to help establish soup kitchens and dispensaries in the worst-afflicted parts of the Old City.
You suppose it's your duty to contribute, especially when it is the actions of your own class which have visited such miseries upon those less fortunate. It would certainly do your reputation no ill to be seen as a charitable friend to the commons, and if it helps alleviate some of the suffering in the poorest parts of the city, it would seem only the right thing to do.
If you can afford it.
[X] What would be an appropriate donation? I should make some inquiries.
You take the chance to pose a few questions to the Seekers which have come to your door. You do so discreetly, of course—you do not give the impression that you're doing anything as uncouth as trying to trade coin directly for reputation. Thankfully, it doesn't take much time or effort to get answers.
From what you understand, it would normally not be considered so very ill for a baron of your position and estate to donate very little, or even nothing at all. However, given the rapid succession of crises which appear to be afflicting the city, you suspect that expectations have changed rather dramatically for the current season. From what you can gather, anything less than a donation of fifty crown would likely do your reputation some harm.
You could always donate more, of course. In fact, the Seekers you question practically beg it of you. It seems that the situation in the Old City has left Orders-Succourant quite hard-pressed, and if they are to be believed, their current level of regular donations and endowments are nowhere near what is needed. They're even so forward as to assure you that a greater donation—perhaps of a few hundred crown—would go so far as to be given pride of place in the donor rolls put up in front of their Order's chapterhouses.
An even greater donation, you suspect, would lead to some even more grandiose recognition, perhaps enough to make you truly recognised as an exemplar among your fellow Lords of the Cortes. It is certainly worth considering, if you can afford it.
[ ] [DONATE] Yes, I think I will make a donation.
-[ ] 2,000 crown
-[ ] 1,000 crown
-[ ] 400 crown
-[ ] 150 crown
-[ ] 50 crown
[ ] [DONATE] I can do no charitable giving this season.
[X] [DONATE] Yes, I think I will make a donation.
-[X] 150 crown
Same as last time.
-[X] 150 crown
Same as last time.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] [DONATE] Yes, I think I will make a donation.
-[X] 400 crown
We can afford it. I would have rather we not wasted 875 Crowns paying off some of the debt when we're still significantly cashflow negative, but we still do have money... so we kinda should spend it.
-[X] 400 crown
We can afford it. I would have rather we not wasted 875 Crowns paying off some of the debt when we're still significantly cashflow negative, but we still do have money... so we kinda should spend it.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
"Significantly cashflow negative"? What makes you say that? After paying off some of the debt, we only lose nineteen crown a month, and we still have over two thousand crown in ready cash.
- Pronouns
- He
[X] [DONATE] Yes, I think I will make a donation.
-[X] 400 crown
-[X] 400 crown
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Because I don't think we're going to stop spending on things to improve our Fief in order to try to get to some reasonable positive.
Personally, I won't be voting for more improvements. We're almost breaking even, and our net tenant gain means our income will increase every turn.
Lords 6.07
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] [DONATE] Yes, I think I will make a donation.
You have no intention of simply allowing the poorest of the city's inhabitants to starve this winter, not when you comparatively have so much and they so little. So, you make up your mind to give. The only question that remains is how much.
After a cursory examination of your accounts, you come to the conclusion that you have 2,491 in ready funds at the moment.
How much of that will you donate to the starving poor?
[X] 400 crown
You've not done things by half-measures, at least if the expression on the next Seeker to arrive at your door is any indication. Indeed, his face seems to all but light up as he reads the amount you've written on your bank draught. He leaves with a stream of profuse thanks, along with a promise that your generous contribution will be recognised.
And so it is. Within days, your name is given pride of place amongst the list of donors posted before the Order of Saint Octavia's main chapterhouse, printed amongst those of some of the wealthiest lords in the Unified Kingdom.
Needless to say, the presence of your own name amidst such company does your reputation no small amount of good, but more important than any of the praise you've received is the knowledge that your donation will be going to those in direst need. That, to you, is recompense enough.
As the weeks pass, and as rain gives way to sleet and then snow, life in Aetoria seems to settle into something like a routine. You pass the days writing letters, administering the staff of your townhouse, and considering the possibility of bringing your sister to the capital for the next year's season, with an eye to finding her a suitor.
You cannot say it is anything approaching what might be considered normalcy. The streets are still crowded with people, even if they are covered over with ice and snow. The poor are still starving, the King is still absent, and on clear days, you can look out from your window to the Old City, to see the gaps where buildings once stood before they were burned down in the riots, or during their violent suppression.
It is in the faces of the people, too. There's a tension in the faces of your staff which had not been there before, even during the height of the autumn's unrest. You're no great student of human sensibility, but even you can see it, like a case of nerves in slow but inexorable motion.
You feel it too, but not in the way which your servants do. For you, the sensation is almost a comforting one, a feeling which seems to focus your mind rather than irritate it.
It's the sort of thing you felt when you were at war: that awful, low-burning terror of knowing that the enemy is all around you and could strike at any moment. That awful realisation of an ominous future, creeping towards you with an inevitability that nothing under creation can keep at bay.
Yes, you remember that feeling well, and perhaps you can understand why it has returned to you.
For the enemy is all around you, and they no longer have any compunctions about making themselves known.
By all legal definition, the Cortes is still in session. Every morning, the doors are still opened, the Lords still sit, and the floor is still opened, and those in attendance are still invited to debate the matters of the day.
But nobody does: there's no point in doing so. No vote can be held without the King present to give consent or issue a veto to the result. Only when he returns can the great questions of the past year be answered. Only when he returns can the governance of the realm resume, for better or for worse.
Until then, the factions in the chamber engage in a wild jockeying for position, each party trying their best to secure an advantageous position for themselves before the King finishes his tour. Wulframite and Royalist grapple for power on the chamber floor, sometimes literally, animated in the knowledge that whoever gains the upper hand now may have great influence over the King's policy upon his return.
It is a fight which you quickly find yourself dragged into. The Duke of Wulfram's faction knows you as an enemy now, and it quickly becomes clear that they have no qualms in launching attacks against your reputation and integrity, not just in the chamber but also the newspapers and pamphleteers under their control. While their attacks remain relatively mild compared to those brought to bear upon more powerful members of your party, you suspect that it will only be a matter of time before they come down upon you with full force. How long before every misstep or foible is brought to bear against you in the arena of public opinion?
From where you stand, it seems as if your opponents no longer see any merit in attempting to convert you to their side. They seek only to destroy you, perhaps to make an example for those they consider more tractable. If you mean to avoid such abuse, then you can only make yourself less tempting of a target, withdraw from the chamber until things calm down,
Or, you could pay back your tormentors with coin of the same stamp, go after them with the same ferocity they've gone after you, and see how they like it.
[ ] [NEXT] They will not drive me out of the Cortes!
[ ] [NEXT] Sod all this. I'll go to the club instead.
[ ] [NEXT] Perhaps some public acts of charity would improve my reputation?
You have no intention of simply allowing the poorest of the city's inhabitants to starve this winter, not when you comparatively have so much and they so little. So, you make up your mind to give. The only question that remains is how much.
After a cursory examination of your accounts, you come to the conclusion that you have 2,491 in ready funds at the moment.
How much of that will you donate to the starving poor?
[X] 400 crown
You've not done things by half-measures, at least if the expression on the next Seeker to arrive at your door is any indication. Indeed, his face seems to all but light up as he reads the amount you've written on your bank draught. He leaves with a stream of profuse thanks, along with a promise that your generous contribution will be recognised.
And so it is. Within days, your name is given pride of place amongst the list of donors posted before the Order of Saint Octavia's main chapterhouse, printed amongst those of some of the wealthiest lords in the Unified Kingdom.
Needless to say, the presence of your own name amidst such company does your reputation no small amount of good, but more important than any of the praise you've received is the knowledge that your donation will be going to those in direst need. That, to you, is recompense enough.
-
As the weeks pass, and as rain gives way to sleet and then snow, life in Aetoria seems to settle into something like a routine. You pass the days writing letters, administering the staff of your townhouse, and considering the possibility of bringing your sister to the capital for the next year's season, with an eye to finding her a suitor.
You cannot say it is anything approaching what might be considered normalcy. The streets are still crowded with people, even if they are covered over with ice and snow. The poor are still starving, the King is still absent, and on clear days, you can look out from your window to the Old City, to see the gaps where buildings once stood before they were burned down in the riots, or during their violent suppression.
It is in the faces of the people, too. There's a tension in the faces of your staff which had not been there before, even during the height of the autumn's unrest. You're no great student of human sensibility, but even you can see it, like a case of nerves in slow but inexorable motion.
You feel it too, but not in the way which your servants do. For you, the sensation is almost a comforting one, a feeling which seems to focus your mind rather than irritate it.
It's the sort of thing you felt when you were at war: that awful, low-burning terror of knowing that the enemy is all around you and could strike at any moment. That awful realisation of an ominous future, creeping towards you with an inevitability that nothing under creation can keep at bay.
Yes, you remember that feeling well, and perhaps you can understand why it has returned to you.
For the enemy is all around you, and they no longer have any compunctions about making themselves known.
-
By all legal definition, the Cortes is still in session. Every morning, the doors are still opened, the Lords still sit, and the floor is still opened, and those in attendance are still invited to debate the matters of the day.
But nobody does: there's no point in doing so. No vote can be held without the King present to give consent or issue a veto to the result. Only when he returns can the great questions of the past year be answered. Only when he returns can the governance of the realm resume, for better or for worse.
Until then, the factions in the chamber engage in a wild jockeying for position, each party trying their best to secure an advantageous position for themselves before the King finishes his tour. Wulframite and Royalist grapple for power on the chamber floor, sometimes literally, animated in the knowledge that whoever gains the upper hand now may have great influence over the King's policy upon his return.
It is a fight which you quickly find yourself dragged into. The Duke of Wulfram's faction knows you as an enemy now, and it quickly becomes clear that they have no qualms in launching attacks against your reputation and integrity, not just in the chamber but also the newspapers and pamphleteers under their control. While their attacks remain relatively mild compared to those brought to bear upon more powerful members of your party, you suspect that it will only be a matter of time before they come down upon you with full force. How long before every misstep or foible is brought to bear against you in the arena of public opinion?
From where you stand, it seems as if your opponents no longer see any merit in attempting to convert you to their side. They seek only to destroy you, perhaps to make an example for those they consider more tractable. If you mean to avoid such abuse, then you can only make yourself less tempting of a target, withdraw from the chamber until things calm down,
Or, you could pay back your tormentors with coin of the same stamp, go after them with the same ferocity they've gone after you, and see how they like it.
[ ] [NEXT] They will not drive me out of the Cortes!
[ ] [NEXT] Sod all this. I'll go to the club instead.
[ ] [NEXT] Perhaps some public acts of charity would improve my reputation?
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Hmm, we already just did some public acts of charity. Or is this of the, "administrator of charity" thing we did last winter, @Rogue Attican
(I don't know if we can monetarily afford to splash more Crowns around, or at least not that many more.)
(I don't know if we can monetarily afford to splash more Crowns around, or at least not that many more.)
- Pronouns
- He/Him
You'll be doing public acts of charity this time, which means either volunteering with the Order of Saint Octavia or going on a diet of bread and water as an act of solidarity with the poor.
- Pronouns
- He
[X] [NEXT] Perhaps some public acts of charity would improve my reputation?
[X] [NEXT] They will not drive me out of the Cortes!
We've officially tied ourselves to the Royalist cause, so we should be seen to support it.
We've officially tied ourselves to the Royalist cause, so we should be seen to support it.
[X] [NEXT] They will not drive me out of the Cortes!
Might as well do some of our job.
Might as well do some of our job.
Lords 6.08
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] [NEXT] They will not drive me out of the Cortes!
Are your rivals really so foolish as to think that their attacks will be enough to drive you to silence or withdrawal? Frankly, the very thought is insulting. You may no longer be a soldier, but you still maintain something of a Dragoon officer's resilience. Saints be damned! It will take more than a few insulting caricatures or a set of calumnies on a broadsheet to shift you. If they mean to force you out, then they'd better start mounting a serious challenge. Until they do, you stay.
The question is, will you ignore your attackers, or go after them?
A full-throated attack on your foes would certainly serve the purpose of putting them on the back foot, and it may serve the double-purpose of advancing the Princess-Royal's plan, as well; it will be hard for Wulfram to recruit more lords to his faction, if they know they'll look forward to an unrestrained verbal beating at your hands.
Then again, the more violently you attack the opposition, the greater an enemy you will make of them, and you suspect that things will not go well for you if the opposing faction decides to focus all of its ire upon you. In that regard, perhaps it might be best not to be too outspoken…
[ ] [CORTES] No, I will go after the opposition with all the powers at my disposal.
[ ] [CORTES] I cannot allow myself to be insulted with impunity.
[ ] [CORTES] I must restrain myself and avoid making myself too obvious a target.
Are your rivals really so foolish as to think that their attacks will be enough to drive you to silence or withdrawal? Frankly, the very thought is insulting. You may no longer be a soldier, but you still maintain something of a Dragoon officer's resilience. Saints be damned! It will take more than a few insulting caricatures or a set of calumnies on a broadsheet to shift you. If they mean to force you out, then they'd better start mounting a serious challenge. Until they do, you stay.
The question is, will you ignore your attackers, or go after them?
A full-throated attack on your foes would certainly serve the purpose of putting them on the back foot, and it may serve the double-purpose of advancing the Princess-Royal's plan, as well; it will be hard for Wulfram to recruit more lords to his faction, if they know they'll look forward to an unrestrained verbal beating at your hands.
Then again, the more violently you attack the opposition, the greater an enemy you will make of them, and you suspect that things will not go well for you if the opposing faction decides to focus all of its ire upon you. In that regard, perhaps it might be best not to be too outspoken…
[ ] [CORTES] No, I will go after the opposition with all the powers at my disposal.
[ ] [CORTES] I cannot allow myself to be insulted with impunity.
[ ] [CORTES] I must restrain myself and avoid making myself too obvious a target.
[X] [CORTES] I must restrain myself and avoid making myself too obvious a target.
Our charisma is too low to make the other options worth it imo, and Alaric doesn't seem like the type to indiscriminately hurl insults, anyway.
Our charisma is too low to make the other options worth it imo, and Alaric doesn't seem like the type to indiscriminately hurl insults, anyway.
- Pronouns
- He
[X] [CORTES] I must restrain myself and avoid making myself too obvious a target.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] [CORTES] I must restrain myself and avoid making myself too obvious a target.
Lords 6.09
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] [CORTES] I must restrain myself and avoid making myself too obvious a target.
While you have every intention of remaining within the Cortes through this winter, you have none at all of making the job harder than it would be otherwise, and you have absolutely no doubt at all that antagonising members of the opposing faction quite easily qualifies as the latter.
True, your title and your seat ostensibly make you the equal of any other man in the chamber, but you're not so foolish as to think such equality is more than merely nominal. If you were to make a particular enemy of one of the major powers in the chamber—one possessed of a greater fortune, firmer alliances, and no doubt a stable of printers and pamphleteers to help pursue his vendettas—then you suspect you'll very rapidly find out just how equal you really are.
So, you make sure to keep your head down and avoid any fight you can. When you're insulted indirectly, you pretend that you do not understand. When you're insulted directly, you pretend that you do not hear. Even in your support for the King's policy, you do all you can to avoid taking initiative, lending your voice to your allies' arguments only when you're sure that it will not allow the opposition to consider you a target. Though you do not like the idea of letting insults to your honour go unanswered, it does work: you find yourself the target of no coordinated attacks, no harassment in the broadsheets, no pamphlets bearing crude caricatures of your face.
You suppose that is a victory of a sort, though as the weeks wear on, you cannot help but wonder if this is to be the new status quo, if the only way to remain free of being dogged by your opponents is to effectively hide within your own party for the rest of your political career.
If that's the case, then perhaps it may well be better just to go home to your estates.
As winter yields to spring, it becomes increasingly clear that the situation in the Cortes is slowly shifting in the Duke of Wulfram's favour. His attempts to strengthen his position within the chamber are at last showing an effect, despite the efforts of you and your fellow Royalists.
Yet you cannot say that Wulfram and his party have had an easy time of it. Despite the King's absence, and despite the lack of clear leadership, you and your allies ensure that the gains your opposition makes are marginal and hard-fought. Though the Wulframites now have the initiative, there remains much hope amongst your Royalist allies that the damage may yet be contained—or at least delayed—long enough to find an effective means of pushing back.
Ultimately though, you suppose that any conception of the relative power of the two factions is really only based upon promises and guesswork. A man may claim to follow whatever side he will, but he doesn't prove his true convictions until he must commit those beliefs to action. Only when the results of a formal Cortes vote are announced will the true loyalties of your fellow lords be revealed. Only then will it be known for sure who is Wulframite and who is Royalist in deed as well as word.
And there will be no means of calling a vote until the King returns from his tour.
It is the King's return which will settle everything. His return will mean your faction will be able to see just how effective it has been in keeping the Duke of Wulfram and his supporters at bay these past few months.
They say his ship has already departed Weathern, and that the King is only a week's sail away from Aetoria. For some, the appointed day of his return seems to hang over their necks like the blade of a headsman's axe. For others, it carries the promise of resurgence, victory, perhaps even a real resolution to the current crisis.
But in fear or in joy, all await in anticipation as the appointed day approaches…
And arrives…
And passes…
The next few days seem to pass as if half-asleep. The business of the Cortes, the club, and all the other organs of society go on, clockwork motions running on silent, derelict inertia. Everyone seems to have half their mind turned towards the sea, waiting for the first sight of a ship that they know to be out there, that must be out there, surely.
And the ships do come, but the excitement of their approach only lasts for a moment, just long enough for someone to realise that it's approaching from the wrong direction, lacks the right sail plan, or is far too small to be the royal flagship.
Then, one morning, a week later, a fast sloop comes from the east, its masts straining every scrap of canvas it can hold.
The news it carries spreads as soon as it touches the quay, like some killing plague. By noon, the whole city knows.
The HMS Rendower has been wrecked off the coast of Weathern.
There were no survivors.
The King is dead.
While you have every intention of remaining within the Cortes through this winter, you have none at all of making the job harder than it would be otherwise, and you have absolutely no doubt at all that antagonising members of the opposing faction quite easily qualifies as the latter.
True, your title and your seat ostensibly make you the equal of any other man in the chamber, but you're not so foolish as to think such equality is more than merely nominal. If you were to make a particular enemy of one of the major powers in the chamber—one possessed of a greater fortune, firmer alliances, and no doubt a stable of printers and pamphleteers to help pursue his vendettas—then you suspect you'll very rapidly find out just how equal you really are.
So, you make sure to keep your head down and avoid any fight you can. When you're insulted indirectly, you pretend that you do not understand. When you're insulted directly, you pretend that you do not hear. Even in your support for the King's policy, you do all you can to avoid taking initiative, lending your voice to your allies' arguments only when you're sure that it will not allow the opposition to consider you a target. Though you do not like the idea of letting insults to your honour go unanswered, it does work: you find yourself the target of no coordinated attacks, no harassment in the broadsheets, no pamphlets bearing crude caricatures of your face.
You suppose that is a victory of a sort, though as the weeks wear on, you cannot help but wonder if this is to be the new status quo, if the only way to remain free of being dogged by your opponents is to effectively hide within your own party for the rest of your political career.
If that's the case, then perhaps it may well be better just to go home to your estates.
-
As winter yields to spring, it becomes increasingly clear that the situation in the Cortes is slowly shifting in the Duke of Wulfram's favour. His attempts to strengthen his position within the chamber are at last showing an effect, despite the efforts of you and your fellow Royalists.
Yet you cannot say that Wulfram and his party have had an easy time of it. Despite the King's absence, and despite the lack of clear leadership, you and your allies ensure that the gains your opposition makes are marginal and hard-fought. Though the Wulframites now have the initiative, there remains much hope amongst your Royalist allies that the damage may yet be contained—or at least delayed—long enough to find an effective means of pushing back.
Ultimately though, you suppose that any conception of the relative power of the two factions is really only based upon promises and guesswork. A man may claim to follow whatever side he will, but he doesn't prove his true convictions until he must commit those beliefs to action. Only when the results of a formal Cortes vote are announced will the true loyalties of your fellow lords be revealed. Only then will it be known for sure who is Wulframite and who is Royalist in deed as well as word.
And there will be no means of calling a vote until the King returns from his tour.
It is the King's return which will settle everything. His return will mean your faction will be able to see just how effective it has been in keeping the Duke of Wulfram and his supporters at bay these past few months.
They say his ship has already departed Weathern, and that the King is only a week's sail away from Aetoria. For some, the appointed day of his return seems to hang over their necks like the blade of a headsman's axe. For others, it carries the promise of resurgence, victory, perhaps even a real resolution to the current crisis.
But in fear or in joy, all await in anticipation as the appointed day approaches…
And arrives…
And passes…
The next few days seem to pass as if half-asleep. The business of the Cortes, the club, and all the other organs of society go on, clockwork motions running on silent, derelict inertia. Everyone seems to have half their mind turned towards the sea, waiting for the first sight of a ship that they know to be out there, that must be out there, surely.
And the ships do come, but the excitement of their approach only lasts for a moment, just long enough for someone to realise that it's approaching from the wrong direction, lacks the right sail plan, or is far too small to be the royal flagship.
Then, one morning, a week later, a fast sloop comes from the east, its masts straining every scrap of canvas it can hold.
The news it carries spreads as soon as it touches the quay, like some killing plague. By noon, the whole city knows.
The HMS Rendower has been wrecked off the coast of Weathern.
There were no survivors.
The King is dead.
Lords 7.01
- Pronouns
- He/Him
CHAPTER VII
Wherein the LORD OF THE CORTES is restored to his FORMER condition as an OFFICER of the ROYAL DRAGOONS.
Wherein the LORD OF THE CORTES is restored to his FORMER condition as an OFFICER of the ROYAL DRAGOONS.
…it is thus the pleasure of the Office of the Councilor-Militant, that the commission of Alaric, Baron Reddingfield as an officer of the Crown be restored to full active status, with the rank of Lieutenant-colonel in the Royal Dragoon Regiment, and with all honours, incomes, powers, and obligations pertaining to that office restored.
Henceforth, he is ordered to present himself at soonest convenience in a state fit for active service at the Southern Keep, Aetoria. Having done so, he is to place himself at the immediate disposal of His Grace, the Duke of Cunaris, Officer Commanding, the Royal Dragoons until such a time as he is once again made surplus to the Crown's requirements…
-
The first time you laid eyes upon the Duke of Cunaris was over fifteen years ago, in the entry hall of the Old Fortress of Fernandescourt, when you first reported for duty as a King's Dragoon.
It wasn't a living likeness but a portrait, massive and imposing over the hall as aides and servants scurried to and fro beneath its painted gaze. It had been carefully done, idealised in the way paintings of the powerful so often are, yet even then you suspected that the strength in those broad shoulders and the will in those eyes were less the invention of a painter than a talented imitation of life. Even there, in that great hall in Fernandescourt, you had thought as much.
But the Southern Keep is not Fernandescourt.
Where the Old Fortress stank of horses and raw leather, the Southern Keep smells of dust and rotting wood. It has been half a century since the smaller of Aetoria's two citadels had been used as a real military establishment of any kind. Despite the best efforts of the three recently arrived squadrons of your old regiment, the courtyard is still littered with refuse and debris, the bastions are vacant, and the stone ramparts are draped with white banners.
White banners of mourning, for the death of a king.
The Duke of Cunaris isn't the same, either. The familiar grey-green of his uniform coat seems to hang on his frame as he sits behind his great, dark oaken desk. In truth, you don't think you've ever seen him so grey, so…frail. Even after an Antari lance took from him the use of his legs at Blogia, he had remained a proud tower of strength in the dark days after.
Now, that tower is a burnt-out shell. You cannot answer as to how, only to the fact that it is so.
True, there is some hint of the strength which had once bound those shoulders, some hint of the determination in his gaze, but they are hints only, dull embers glowing beneath the ash of a bone-deep exhaustion. Even Lord Renard, standing behind him with the new insignia of a major on his collar, seems greyer, thinner, colder—the eldest son following the father even now.
"Lord Reddingfield," Cunaris rumbles, his voice at last filling with some semblance of warmth. "I see you have found Aetoria more to your liking than I have. I am pleased to see you well."
[ ] [CUNARIS] "I am well, sir—and very pleased to be under your command once more."
[ ] [CUNARIS] "I am well enough, sir."
[ ] [CUNARIS] "I am ready to receive your orders, sir."