Remove ads

Let's Play: Cataphrak's Dragoon Saga

Reader mode
Remove ads
Lords 7.05
  • Threadmarks
    • [X] [REVOLVER] "I want one. No. Saints be damned. I want fifty."

    The range would be short, of course, as it would be for any pistol. You would be able to make no guesses as to accuracy either, especially from the saddle.

    And yet the ability to fire five shots without reloading, in quick succession, seems to you almost miraculous. Armed with two such weapons each, a single troop of cavalry would be able to deliver a weight of fire equivalent to that of an entire battalion of infantry firing in three ranks.

    Saints above. You can only imagine the execution your men could deal, if you could secure a supply of such weapons.

    But alas, one look at Garing's expression is all you need to know that such an eventuality remains a distant and uncertain one.

    "Moving from plans to a prototype is not as simple a matter as it might seem," the engineer explains. "Prototypes require time and resources, which are already stretched thin enough on the current project. Perhaps if the Army Reform Commission decides favourably in regards to adopting a rifle design, and perhaps if their recommendations lead to an order large enough to convince my fellows to allocate the company's time and effort, I shall be able to win free enough of my own resources to embark upon this new project."

    "And then you will have the time to attend to this project?" you ask.

    He nods, but with no real joy. "Yes, but that could be five or ten years hence, and even that is assuming that the Commission does not recommend against it."

    "And if it does?"

    Garing answers with a sad little grin. "Then I shall be in scant position to pursue any personal projects at all."

    So it all comes down to the Army Reform Commission. If the Commission decides to endorse the continued development and manufacture of Garing's new rifles, then you may both yet see the project to a successful conclusion. If not, then it may well doom not only his current project, but all the potential projects which are to follow.

    Indeed, it's entirely possible the whole affair rests upon the opinions of the Commission. Given the current situation, you don't think it entirely unlikely that the fate of Garing's projects, his professional reputation—indeed, the whole of his career may well rest upon the disposition of a single voting member: Castermaine's, Palliser's, Welles', Hawthorne's…

    Perhaps even yours.

    It is a thought that stays with you long after Garing makes his goodbyes and leaves you once again to the solitude of the night. It stays with you into the next day's duties, despite your best attempts to redirect your thoughts towards the more present concerns of your squadron and your regiment.

    It stays with you the morning after, when you step through the doors of Grenadier Square to attend the first meeting of the Army Reform Commission since the death of the King.

    Uncertainty hangs over the commission room, as thick and heavy as a morning fog. Though the meeting itself was scheduled far in advance, and the inertia of royal bureaucracy had mandated its occurrence even despite the circumstances, there's no possibility at all that this session is to be merely business as usual. With the death of the Commission's royal patron and the question of his successor's powers still in doubt, the only question on anyone's mind is that of how the Commission is now to continue.

    Or if it is to continue at all.

    "Members of the Commission, I would think the correct course of action quite clear," the Earl of Castermaine declares. "This body was called to order on the King's request and empowered by his authority. With his most unfortunate passing, any mandate we may have formerly possessed is now lost…" He raises a hand as a wave of opposition rumbles from around him. "It is clear that the right thing—"

    His words are lost under a renewed surge of censorious voices, and it isn't until he all but shouts over them as if they were an unruly company of his regiment that he is heard once again.

    "The right thing to do would be to suspend the operations of this Commission until such a time that the question of the Queen's powers are settled!" he insists, beating his way through the storm of opposing shouts through sheer persistence. "If the Queen is ruled to have the power to resume the work of this Commission, and if she consents to do so, we may resume our work, but until then…"

    It's all a wash, of course. Castermaine's true intention seems obvious enough. Suspending the Commission would be the hard part. From then on, it would be a simple matter of obstruction and rhetoric to keep it from being started again, even if the Queen were to gain the power to do so.

    If the Commission is stopped now, it will die.

    The rest of the Commission sees it too, and they ensure that Castermaine doesn't get much further before shouting him down entirely. Yet it becomes clear that they too are split on how to proceed.

    This time, there's no neat division along schools of thought as there was in the past. Neither Palliser nor Hawthorne are in command of their factions anymore. Both are in agreement that the Commission must continue, but it is the greater question as to the manner of that continuation which finds both Cavalry School and Infantry School proponents divided amongst themselves.

    Caution seems to animate half of them, or perhaps simply a greater degree of it than before, when you were all still operating with the explicit and substantive support of the Gryphon Throne. Now, however, with the King gone, they argue that the Commission should wind itself up as quickly as possible. Pick the recommendations least likely to offend the Cortes, the Exchequer, and whoever is going to end up running the realm in the Queen's name, bundle them into a report at soonest convenience, and make no further moves until such a time when the politickal circumstances favour its submission.

    Unsurprisingly, that proves to be Hawthorne's position, one which gains him support not only from some of his own allies, but some of Palliser's as well. It isn't an inspiring argument, but it is a sound one, the position that in times such as these, a small step forward with a greater chance of success is better than a larger one with a proportionally larger chance of failure.

    Yet it does not convince everyone.

    Palliser and Welles seem to have taken a differing view, and many others besides, including almost all of the Crown's staunchest partisans. They argue that if the Commission was called to learn the lessons of the war in Antar and use them to reform the army, then any attempt to curtail the Commission's ability to deliver the most comprehensive set of recommendations possible would be a betrayal of that original purpose. They brook no discussion of politickal expediency or extenuating circumstances. Although they may be made up of members of the Cavalry School and the Infantry School both, on this matter they are in complete agreement: there must be no compromise.

    Given such circumstances, it's no surprise that the Commission quickly breaks down. Any semblance of order disappears as the members around you disperse into half a dozen chaotic arguments, often with their immediate neighbours.

    It will come down to a vote eventually, of that you are sure. It may take hours for enough of your colleagues to agree to it, but you doubt anything will be settled without one. When that happens, you suspect that it will be Castermaine's faction who will find themselves outnumbered the most severely. Yet that still leaves the question of the two remaining factions. Either one might win out, and you rather strongly suspect that a single vote one way or the other might be enough to swing the outcome.

    And then there is you, of course. You have yet to commit to one side or another, though you suspect that your political allies will think poorly of you if you make common cause with Castermaine. With the way things are balanced, it's entirely possible that you may well prove the deciding factor on how the Commission is to proceed—or even if it is to proceed at all.

    The question is, whose side do you mean to take?

    [ ] [COMMISSION] The Commission has lost its mandate. We must suspend it immediately.
    [ ] [COMMISSION] The situation calls for caution. We cannot afford anything else.
    [ ] [COMMISSION] No compromise: this Commission cannot hamstring itself for the sake of political expediency.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Gun Jam said:
    How many times does your age factor in? The only time I can recall is after the Forlon's hope, where youngest possible char will get to have more health.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    We'll have an opportunity to regain some lost stats a little later on, and I think we're just under the cusp where the restoration is more rather than less.

    It's still not as much as you gain for being older in the first place, and there are other things you can use those actions slots instead, though.

    Still, only three of five books have been written. I'm terrified that being old will have a big drawback in a late book that will force me to reconsider my optimized Book 1 character.
     
    Lords 7.06
  • Threadmarks
    • [X] [COMMISSION] No compromise: this Commission cannot hamstring itself for the sake of political expediency.

    You cannot quite credit it yourself.

    How could so many of your fellow Commission members have forgotten the reason for its existence in the first place? The lessons of the Antari war did not come cheap. They were bought in sweat and toil and blood. You know that, and most of those in the room ought to know that, too. Yet to see so so many of them evidently willing to curtail or even suspend the proceedings, to condemn some future generation to relearn the lessons which you and your comrades-in-arms fought so hard to secure, all because of some cynical argument towards political circumstance? You really cannot credit it.

    It's clear that you're not the only one. There are others, too, who remember: Palliser and some of his allies are already railing against the idea of compromise. Countess Welles is also adding her voice to the fray, even if it does seem too often shouted down or simply ignored by her male colleagues. There are others, even those known to be allied with Wulfram, men whom you suspect will not remain in the Duke's good graces after this.

    Yet they are too few, damned too few to your eyes. Surely there must be more. Surely there must be those calling for compromise or suspension who are only doing so out of ignorance, or out of the pressure of their fellows. Surely, at least some of them must think differently in their hearts.

    Surely they can be turned to your side…

    It is these individuals you attempt to seek out. Moving from group to group, you probe the convictions of those you might hope to convince, using all of your powers of persuasion to look for those who are not quite as committed to the idea of suspending or curtailing the Commission's processes as you might have initially thought.

    Thankfully, it is a task in which you have able assistance. Unable to have her voice heard in solitude, the Countess Welles seems more than happy to lend her aid to your own efforts, providing her knowledge in both the dispositions of the individual members of the Commission and the workings of the Commission itself, supporting your arguments with evidence drawn from what seems like a bottomless supply of statistics, reports, and studies.

    You cannot say if your efforts do any good. Though the mood of the room seems to be shifting in your favour, you suspect that such a perception may well be nothing more than wishful thinking on your part. You seem to make some headway with a few of your colleagues, but that doesn't mean they intend to vote the way you would desire them to.

    When at last, the vote is called and the results are tallied, you can only hope that enough of them have.

    It seems to take half an eternity for the votes to be tallied at last. Yet when they are, they leave no doubt as to the outcome: the Army Reform Commission is to continue as it has for the past four years, without curtailment or suspension.

    Most of the Crown's supporters seem quite pleased with themselves, having for now secured the future of one of the King's most contentious legacies. You too are bombarded with congratulations, as if you had helped win a famous victory, which you suppose, after a fashion, you have. So long as the Commission is allowed to continue without compromise, it is those who defend the King's legacy who have the initiative, and that is something you all well know.

    Those on the other end of the room know it, too. You have little doubt that the Duke of Wulfram's supporters will not take this defeat as an ending. Already, Castermaine seems to be lost in thought, preparing for his next opportunity.

    When that time comes, you and your fellows will need to be ready.

    -​

    There's neither time nor energy for further debate after the vote, only enough to go through the formalities before the victors depart in triumph, and the defeated in bitterness.

    The Commission has been preserved, and its most ambitious ideas may yet be made reality. Yet you doubt anyone has fooled themselves into thinking that this will be a permanent state of affairs. It may yet be the case that the Commission will be suspended by some outside power. If the Duke of Wulfram's faction grows large and confident enough to dictate terms to the newly enthroned Queen, such a possibility may not be so far off. It may be just as likely that any report the Commission submits will simply be ignored or voted down by the Cortes.

    But if such a thing is to occur, it may well be months or years in the future. For now, the Commission has endured. And it is partially through your efforts that it has done so, something which has won you some gratitude, as a note you receive later in the evening makes clear:

    -​

    My lord Reddingfield,

    I must offer you my most profound thanks for voting to preserve the Commission in its current state. I daresay that without your support, the Commission might have had its mandate drastically curtailed, or else entirely suspended. Its continued existence in its current state owes much to you, and that is a debt which I cannot help but feel personally. You helped save a great part of my life's work, and for that, you have my unending gratitude.

    I remain, your most thankful servant,
    Eleanora, Countess Welles

    -​

    In all honesty, you don't think things could have turned out better.

    Not only have you managed to preserve the mandate of the Army Reform Commission, but you've won the redoubled affection and gratitude of the Countess Welles by doing so. It's as if you won a prize simply for doing something which you had meant to do anyway, a sentiment which cannot help but leave you with a certain degree of satisfaction.

    But you do not allow yourself to dwell upon such a feeling, however pleasant it may be. You still have other matters to attend to, ones which may not prove so easily resolved.

    -​

    Cunaris' instructions for the dinner at Wulfram House are both precise and uncompromising. You are all to appear in uniform, as if you were headed for a review rather than a social event. You are to proceed not in your own coaches, but in those which the Duke himself intends to provide, marked with the Regiment's colours and insignia. You are to behave as officers on duty and follow the precedence of regimental, not court rank.

    It's clear that the Duke means to take every measure to strip any distinguishing marks of political or social affiliation from you this evening, to ensure that you and your fellow officers are seen as precisely that, officers of a Queen's regiment, impartial arbiters of order. Cunaris intends to show that he is not Wulfram's enemy, but also that Wulfram cannot presume upon his familial connections to ask for his support, either.

    Perhaps it may even work.

    Wulfram House is an impressive edifice on the outside, even from a distance. Though it lacks the ornate decorations of many of the houses around it, the Aetorian residence of the Duke of Wulfram manages to tower over them all the same, the solidity of its monumental stone façade accentuated by the carefully arranged geometric gardens to each side. She is a stern, austere dowager surrounded by fresh débutantes. If it may seem grey and drab, then it is the grey of polished steel, and for all that its younger companions may flutter and show off around her, there's no question as to who is to have the final word.

    Two men in the silver-grey coats of the Wolf's Head Cuirassiers stand at the front doors, pistols and a straight-bladed heavy cavalry sword belted to their hips. You hadn't known Wulfram to have brought his Houseguard to the capital. Perhaps he too is taking precautions.

    The inside of Wulfram House is not so different from the exterior: solid furnishings made of expensive materials placed with the greatest attention to detail, in the sort of manner only close inspection might uncover. Wulfram evidently spent a great deal of money to make himself look poorer than he is.

    The man himself awaits you and your fellow officers in the entrance hall, dressed in a sober suit of black with a thin, white band of mourning tied around his sleeve. The Duchess is standing next to him, dark-haired and dressed much the same, a quiet, knowing smile on a face that seems to have inherited all of her father's finer features, but none of its heaviness.

    There is a third figure, too. He stands to the Duke's other side, stone-faced and dressed in the same fashion as the men outside. Yet it's clear from a glance that he is no mere bodyguard: his resemblance to the Duke is close enough as to be remarkable, his collars show the silver crossed swords of a Lieutenant Colonel…

    And on his breast glimmers the golden medallion of the Gryphon of Rendower.

    "Welcome to Wulfram House, Your Grace," the younger of the two Dukes begins, careful not to lower his gaze as Lord Renard brings his father's wheelchair to a stop before him. "I wish your return to the capital had been under better circumstances."

    "I would not have returned to the capital under better circumstances," Cunaris replies with a little smile that is both sour and dry at the same time. "Better you came to Fernandescourt. The air is cleaner, and the men at least make some endeavour to be honest most days."

    He shifts slightly in his chair, enough to bring himself upright in its seat. "Allow me to present my officers…" He raises his hand to indicate you in turn. "Lieutenant-colonel the Lord Reddingfield, who I am sure you have already met; Captain Hawkins, Captain Garret, Captain Blaylock, Captain Sandoral, and—"

    "Renard." For a moment, the Duchess of Wulfram's mask of courtesy twists into a sly little grin. "You look old."

    "Ought t'say the same, sister," Cunaris' eldest son replies, that same look upon his own features. "I daresay your children are wearing you down, eh wot?"

    The Duchess' grin widens. "I could say the same for you, brother. Only you've a hundred and sixty of them."

    You're beginning to get the sense that this is more of a family reunion than an introduction, but courtesy still demands that Wulfram name his own party in turn. "Your Grace, my lord, gentlemen," he begins, nodding to Cunaris, yourself, and the other officers in turn, "I have my honour to present Her Grace, the Duchess of Wulfram…" He gestures to his wife with one hand before at last waving towards the third figure with the other. "…and my cousin, the Viscount Brockenburg, the commander of my Houseguard."

    The man in question steps forward with the precise grace of a parade ground. "Sirs," he says, his voice almost a rasp.

    But Cunaris' eyes are already narrow with suspicion and turned towards his fellow Duke. "Your Houseguard? Pray do not tell me you have brought your troops into the city. We shall be hard-pressed to keep order if Lords of the Cortes begin bringing bodies of soldiery onto the streets."

    "It is only a precaution," Wulfram replies soothingly. "Just enough men to protect the house and the children."

    Brockenburg frowns, as startling a motion as if it had come from the face of a statue. "You have not even allowed me that," he replies, as calmly as if observing the state of the setting sun. "If worst comes to worst, a dozen men could not even hold the great hall, let alone the wings and the gardens."

    "We shall ensure the worst does not occur, cousin," Wulfram replies. "You may count on it."

    The Viscount's frown deepens. "I fear that when circumstances are unsettled, one cannot count on much of anything." His eyes drift to you and your fellow Dragoon officers. "Would you not agree?"

    [ ] [BROCKENBURG] "To expect the worst is often to encourage it."
    [ ] [BROCKENBURG] "You speak as if we were at war."
    [ ] [BROCKENBURG] "One must always be prepared for the worst."
     
  • Threadmarks
    • [X] [BROCKENBURG] "One must always be prepared for the worst."

    It's cynical... but I feel as if we've put our "war face" on and decided that we were going to commit to being the person who had to deal with all the fucked up shit that comes with this... even if we're trying to keep the peace.
     
    [X] [BROCKENBURG] "You speak as if we were at war."

    Remember - don't commit to any position. Say things that sound like statements but aren't. Take a page from the Kian ambassador.
     
    Lords 7.07
  • Threadmarks
    • [X] [BROCKENBURG] "You speak as if we were at war."
    I'll break the tie by selecting the option that doesn't shift our position on the Ruthlessness/Mercy axis.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    "I am of the opinion that one ought to be prepared for uncertainty, that is all," Brockenburg replies mildly—or at least, as mildly as one might given his evidently naturally foreboding demeanour. "One must prepare for a harsh winter, even if the weather is currently mild. One must prepare for a bad harvest, even if the larders are full. One must prepare for war, even if one is currently at peace."

    His cousin the Duke evidently disagrees. "Yet one prepares for winter when one knows it is coming, whereas I think it quite likely that the situation in the capital is bound to improve, especially—" He nods at Cunaris. "—with the Dragoons keeping order."

    The Cuirassier officer frowns. "Likelihood is not certainty, cousin, and belief in it is all too often sited upon a false or incomplete understanding of the situation at hand. Any man may declare a mineshaft to be firm if he cannot see the rot in the beams. Yet those beams may collapse all the same. My experiences have encouraged me to prepare for the worst," he says, his eyes turning to you. "I suspect yours have done the same, my lord."

    Your eyebrow raises. "And what would you know of my experiences, sir?"

    Brockenburg's features shift ever so slightly, throwing the faintest cast of amusement onto an expression that is not quite a smile. "You are the Lord Reddingfield, who served under Wolfswood in the year three. You won your first Gryphon helping him bag an Antari supply train that winter. You were at Blogia and won your knighthood holding a ruined fortress against a good portion of Prince Khorobirit's light horse. You won your second Gryphon by being first in through the breach at Kharangia, where they found you knee deep in the dead and soaked in blood up to your elbows. Oh yes…" This time, he really does smile, though it is a bare, austere thing. "I am aware of your experiences, sir."

    [ ] "I will admit, it is rather gratifying to be recognised."
    [X] "I did what duty required of me, no more than that."
    [ ] "And what about you, sir? What were your experiences?"

    Brockenburg seems little affected by your modesty. "I have often found that duty in itself is a concept with very few requirements or limits. A man's duty is very often what he believes it is, and in fulfilling it, he performs what he believes is required of him, even if that requirement should fall short of or exceed the expectations of other men." He gives you a curious look, a different shade of colour from that mask of stone. "If your actions have been solely what you believe duty has required of you, then the standards you carry yourself to must be rather high, indeed."

    That's a compliment, you think, albeit one couched in what you must assume is philosophy. You have half a mind to ask him about it.

    Yet before you do, Garret steps in with a question of his own.

    "It is rather curious, my lord," he begins in a tone that carries with it the slightest hint of suspicion. "You speak a great deal about what your experiences have taught you, but you have spoken very little on what those experiences are. How is it that you would know so much about our time at war, when we should know so little of yours?"

    The question is something of an uncouth one. Had it been from someone who had never worn a uniform, you suspect it might have even been offensive. However, Captain Garret has seen his fair share of battle, if not quite as much as you have, and Brockenburg, on his part, seems to take little offence. "I suspect it was because I was on the other end of the field. I was with the Cuirassiers at Blogia," he states, as if that were answer enough.

    To you, it is.

    Whilst the Dragoons had been positioned on the left flank of the Tierran army at Blogia, the Wolf's Head Cuirassiers had been on the right, brigaded with the rest of the Tierran cavalry. The plan had been for the three brigades of infantry in the centre to pin the bulk of the Antari army, whilst the old Duke of Wulfram led his own cavalry to outflank and destroy them.

    Things did not work out as planned.

    Instead of charging into the enemy's exposed flank, the Tierran cavalry had themselves charged headlong into the teeth of Prince Khorobirit's Church Hussars. Dismounted and lying in wait on the other side of the battlefield, you did not witness the course of the resulting engagement, but you know enough of it to understand just how desperate and bloody the fighting must have been. The Cuirassiers brought seven hundred men to the battlefield, and they left with a hundred and fifty. If Brockenburg was one of those lucky few to survive, then you certainly cannot question his credentials.

    Of course, that doesn't mean your fellow officers don't have questions of another sort. The Regiment had been at Blogia, of course, but on the other side of the field from the terrifying charge of Prince Khorobirit's massed Church Hussars. Having one of the survivors of that most terrible engagement of that terrible day before them, your juniors don't hesitate to allow their curiosity free rein.

    Soon, they are all asking about that day, and Brockenburg seems all too eager to answer, his expression still as cold and unmoving as before, but his answers at the ready all the same.

    So it continues for some time, with the single conversation in the foyer breaking up bit by bit. Lord Renard breaks off to one side with his sister, the Duchess; speaking evidently of the events they have missed in each other's lives since their last meeting. Wulfram, having little desire to hear a recollection of the events and circumstances of his father's death—or perhaps simply assured that your conversation with Brockenburg won't veer into sensitive topics of a political nature—heads off to speak with Cunaris in private.

    Which leaves you and your fellow officers in the middle, with your juniors chattering eagerly at the commander of Wulfram's Houseguard, and the Cuirassier answering as he can, with that strange blend of brusqueness and forethought which seems to come so often to those who have a great deal of time to think for themselves but little chance to share such thoughts with company.

    It is altogether the perfect image of a social gathering. Any anxieties that the evening would become yet another political balancing act seem to have been overstated.

    That is, at least, until dinner begins.

    It starts innocuously enough, an off-handed comment as the soup is being brought out.

    "I am sorry we were not able to call upon you sooner," Cunaris says. "The regiment had to come first, and seeing as it may well be possible that we shall be in the city for months or even the year, I thought it best to ensure that the men were settled into suitable quarters and provisions before I saw to fulfilling my own obligations."

    The Duchess of Wulfram shakes her head, a sad smile on her face. "I daresay you have wasted the effort, Father," she replies. "I daresay this matter will be settled soon enough. You and the men will be back on the way home before you have eaten through the hard tack and ration beef you brought from Fernandescourt."

    It is Garret who speaks next, surprisingly enough, given that he had evidently passed the first stages of dinner more interested in the soup than the conversation around it.

    "Forgive me," he begins, "but I was of the understanding that the situation in the city is quite unstable, and is likely to remain so for the foreseeable future. Am I now to understand that matters are, in fact, already settled?"

    "They are," Wulfram replies. "The Queen is set to call the Cortes within the next fortnight. There, we shall be able to present the budget we have been attempting to pass these past few years, and pass it. Once the Queen gives her assent to it, then the greatest cause of the past period of disquiet will at last be removed. The war taxes will end, we shall settle accounts with the Kian, and things shall be as they ought to have been for all of this time."

    [ ] [RESPONSE] "I hope that you are right, Your Grace."
    [ ] [RESPONSE] "You seem very sure of this, Your Grace."
    [ ] [RESPONSE] "This is all assuming that the Queen agrees."
     
  • Threadmarks
    • [x] [RESPONSE] "You seem very sure of this, Your Grace."

    "Hope you are right" is too pro-Wulfam, "assuming that the queen agree" is too challenging to Wulfam, so asking if he is sure it is.
     
    Lords 7.08
  • Threadmarks
    • [X] [RESPONSE] "You seem very sure of this, Your Grace."

    "I am," Wulfram replies. "The faction which had in the past supported the King's policy was held together primarily thanks to his own reputation and efforts. Now that he is gone, his successor will be unable to maintain such a fragile coalition. Already, there are those previously aligned with the King's faction who have now pledged themselves to us."

    He fixes you with a confident look. "Our budget will pass the Cortes, and it will be made law, my lord. That you may count on."

    "The Queen might disagree," Garret observes. "She may try to use the veto."

    "Things are not quite so simple as that," Wulfram replies. "Her Majesty is Queen, that is certainly not in dispute, but there are no laws to determine the precise powers of a reigning Queen. Indeed, were we to follow the letter of inheritance law, the Queen would have no power at all, and her powers would be held in trust by her overlord within the peerage, much as the Earldom of Welles or the Viscounty of Wolfswood is."

    "Well, that sounds monstrously unfair," Garret observes, a surprising amount of heat in his voice. "Besides, the Queen has no overlords within the peerage, she is at the top of it."

    "Precisely," Wulfram continues. "By the laws of royal succession, the Queen is possessed of all the powers of a King of Tierra. By the laws of noble inheritance, she is possessed of none of them."

    Garret's lips twist as he takes on an expression of perfect confusion. "So which law holds sway?"

    "Whichever one the Cortes agrees upon," Wulfram replies. "Ultimately, the Crown possesses its powers over the Cortes because those who sit the Cortes agree to them. That is the fundamental agreement which the Unified Kingdom is based upon, from the Oath at Montjoy onwards. If the Queen wishes to retain the powers of the Crown, then the Cortes must accept that she has the right to do so. We are willing to offer her that acceptance, if she is willing to prove that she will use those same powers to advance the good of the realm."

    "For all of her faults, Isobel is possessed of a most remarkable intelligence," the Duchess adds firmly. "She knows how precarious her situation is, and she knows that if all she needs to secure her position and her powers is to prove that she will use those powers responsibly by allowing a few necessary concessions which ought to have been accepted years ago, then she will do the sensible thing. I am sure of it."

    Pick two of the following questions to ask. This set of choices exists purely to provide information, so don't worry about seeming partisan.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    [ ] [QUESTION] "What if the Queen decides otherwise? What if she refuses your offer?"
    [ ] [QUESTION] "Those who still support the previous policy may object."
    [ ] [QUESTION] "Is the Queen's position really so weak that she must negotiate with the Cortes for her powers?"
    [ ] [QUESTION] "What guarantee do we have that the Cortes will do as you bid it?"
     
  • Threadmarks
    • [X] [QUESTION] "Those who still support the previous policy may object."
    [X] [QUESTION] "Is the Queen's position really so weak that she must negotiate with the Cortes for her powers?"

    These don't take any kind of position, not even implicitly.
     
    Lords 7.09
  • Threadmarks
    • [X] [QUESTION] "What if the Queen decides otherwise? What if she refuses your offer?"

    "She will not," the Duchess insists. "I have known Isobel for many years, since she was a child. I am quite familiar with her sentiments and ways of thinking." She shakes her head. "Most who become acquainted with her see only her coldness, high-handedness, her joylessness—but what they forget is that all of these things are founded upon the fact that she is a creature of reason above anything else."

    She fixes you with a look of absolute confidence. "She understands her situation, she understands what is at stake. She has already measured the advantages against the disadvantages in that precise way of hers, and she has already decided that it is better to secure her reign for the decades to come than to deny concessions which simple reality will require her to accept in two or three or five years' time regardless. That, you may depend on."

    The Duke gives you a brief flash of a colourless little smile. "We mustn't forget that those whom the vagaries of politicks have made our opponents are not our enemies for the sake of antagonism. They are also animated by reason, and if they act contrary to their own interests, it is only because their judgement is clouded by pride, or they are ignorant of some vital intelligence. The Queen is neither over-proud nor over-foolish. I am most assured that when the moment of decision comes, she will choose the course of reason."

    [X] [QUESTION] "What guarantee do we have that the Cortes will do as you bid it?"

    "It will," Wulfram insists. "I cannot speak for every lord in the chamber, but a majority will answer to me, and if I should bid them act, then they shall."

    Brockenburg's eyes narrow ever so slightly, just enough to be seen. "I did not know the Cortes to be so willing to take orders," he observes. "It was certainly not when I last sat the chamber."

    The Duke replies with a faint smile. "A great deal has changed since you last sat the chamber, cousin. The current state of affairs within the realm has required that the traditional alliances within the Cortes be made more…organised, to better advocate the causes which we commonly believe to be in the interests of the realm."

    "So to advance your policy, you have rallied a mob and drilled it into an army." A grim slash of a smile crosses the Viscount's features. "You know, despite all of your denials, I think there is some stuff of the soldier in you, after all."

    If that is meant as a compliment, Wulfram certainly doesn't see it as one. "I wish you would not attempt to needle me so," he replies with a slight look of annoyance. "It is not an army. It is a collection of allies who have been required by the exigencies of the political situation to act as a party in the chamber. They are certainly not drilled and paraded and beaten if they speak out of turn. The only requirement is that they act together when a vote is called."

    "So it is still an army—just not a well-drilled one," Brockenburg replies, the low rasp of his voice somehow coloured with a thin, sardonic note. "And your adversaries? Surely if you have taken such measures, they have done the same in response."

    "They had, though it is of little consequence now," Wulfram replies with a low note of satisfaction. "Yet their unifying force was not to policy or common ideals, but to the person of the King, and now that he is gone, nothing holds them together. Most of their number will soon part ways, and what remains will be too few to mount any effective opposition."

    "Part ways?" Garret asks. "For what reason? Surely those who supported the King out of loyalty might be of the same mind with his sister?"

    "Because she is a woman," the Duchess of Wulfram replies, with the sort of genteel disgust of one compelled to admit an ill-mannered truth. "Because of that, they do not see her will and intellect, they only see her the same way they might see any other woman—too weak to follow in her brother's path. They will write her off, and in doing so, they will rob her of any meaningful support and turn their expectations into reality."

    "That need not be the case," you reply. "Wulfram has had ruling Queens before. Amalia, for one."

    The Duchess frowns. "A Queen-Regent for her son, not a sovereign in her own right—and only of Wulfram, a place I have found to be far more forward-thinking than the rest of the kingdom, certainly more so than my own home." She shakes her head with a magisterial certainty. "No, under other circumstances, Wulfram may accept a woman ruling them with all the powers of a king, but Cunaris and Aetoria and Castermaine and Kentaur? I fear they will not."

    Her husband nods, grimly but firmly. "It is a wretched thing to gain advantage through the effects of such prejudices, but that does not make the matter any less true." Wulfram's gaze sweeps across the room, but his eyes settle upon you. His statement was a general one, but it's clear that it has a second meaning, one which he expects you to heed. "The Royalist faction is a spent force. Its day is over."

    Cunaris has remained silent so far. It's almost a shock when he finally speaks.

    "You seem very sure that things will go your way, Wulfram," he observes, his voice almost a whisper. "Certainly you are more sure than I would be under the circumstances."

    "That is because that is how things will go," the younger Duke replies, his words set with a cold, steely conviction. "When the Queen agrees to our concessions, we will have taken the first steps to retrieving our country from the crisis it has so unwittingly slipped into these past few years. Once word spreads to the streets that men need no longer fear the exactions of the war taxes or the prospect of being made subject to a Kian trading house, then the common folk will regain confidence that the realm is being governed in their interests."

    He pauses for a moment, perhaps to arrange what he is about to say next in his head. When he does speak again, his voice is low and earnest. He's no longer answering Cunaris, but addressing all of you at once.

    "There will be a time of some danger then, betwixt the time when the first steps are taken and news of them is made understood by the general public. There will be those who will see profit in spreading malicious rumours, or who—either out of some misguided sense of right, or mere faction—will attempt to turn the commons against the steps needed to restore the country. There will be a great deal of uncertainty in the city, and uncertainty may lead to unpleasantness if it is not controlled. If the people of the city are kept from violence or upset, we shall have this entire situation settled within a month, six weeks at most."

    His eyes settle upon you in particular, whether it's because you're the most senior-ranking officer aside from Cunaris and Brockenburg present, or because he knows you to be aligned against him in the Cortes, you cannot say. Yet he looks to you nonetheless.

    "If I might depend upon you, then you may depend upon me to bring this all to an end in six weeks. Might I depend on you?"

    [ ] [REPLY] "I am a Queen's officer, Your Grace. If she commands it, I shall obey."
    [ ] [REPLY] "I mean to keep the peace, Your Grace, regardless of the circumstances."
    [ ] [REPLY] "You may depend upon me, Your Grace. Wholly and completely."
     
  • Threadmarks
    • [X] [REPLY] "I mean to keep the peace, Your Grace, regardless of the circumstances."

    We're his enemies, but I don't know what use there'd be in making this clear at the moment when we need to at least play at neutrality for now.
     
    Reader mode
    You must login or register to reply here.
    Remove ads
    Back
    Top