The Conclave of Rosalind

As told by Edwin the Just, Royal Archivist of Rosalind -   After the death of King Brenwell the Aged, the great houses of Rosalind gathered in Lys and convened the first ever Conclave of Electors, to choose a monarch to succeed the last scion of the extinguished House of Pollux.   After the opening prayers of the Mater Solinas, the Lord Herald of the Rose Garland called for candidates to stand and declare themselves. Three stood: Duke Odinel Poldern of Canfidelia, Duchess Cordelia Ingran of Zelansciara, and in a surprise move, Duchess Raven Warrender of Bosantichia.   Duchess Ingran spoke of her late husband, who was Prince Brenville, son of the late king. She spoke of her devotion to Raya Invicta and declared that the goddess had moved her to stand as candidate, and that she is divinely destined to rule. Duke Poldern, on the other hand, spoke of his family’s close relationship with House Pollux, serving as advisors and generals throughout the years of the kingdom. He also mentioned his family and in particular his children, subtly pointing out that by choosing him, the nobles would be founding a stable dynasty that will last beyond his life.   Duchess Warrender quietly spoke of her wisdom. She had been ruling her duchy and family since before King Brenwell was crowned king. She spoke of her constancy. Most of all, she declared she would be a fair queen to all.   After these speeches, the nobles began to confer and politick amongst themselves. Some made their positions obvious – Matvey Froude stayed close to Duchess Ingran, clearly favoring her with his likely vote. Duke Dowsett and Duchess Essenkoff were often seen together, taking each other’s counsel as they spoke with Duchess Ingran and Duke Poldern. Duchess Warrender spoke to many, seeking support for her bid. Duke Scammel flitted between the three candidates, his smile growing wider and wider.   As the light of the day began to wane, there was a shift. Duke Froude began speaking more often with Duke Poldern, but looked unhappy, his usual smirk lost in a frown. Duchess Ingran left the main hall to meditate in the palace chapel, returning only when summoned for the vote.   As the last light of day vanished in twilight, the nobles were summoned to the chamber to vote. The Herald, following the traditional script, asked if there were any further candidates to hear. To everyone’s surprise, Duchess Ingran stood and withdrew her name from consideration. Her voice was bitter but resigned. With no other changes to the candidates, the voting began.   Duke Lucherto voted first, casting his ring in the goblet of Duke Poldern. Duke Scammel followed suit, smirking as he did so. Duchess Ingran paused a long time before finally twisting her signet ring from her finger and dropping it in Duke Poldern’s goblet.   Duchess Tepest stalked up to the goblets and raised her ring above her head. Then she deliberately placed it in the goblet of Duchess Warrender, to gasps of astonishment. Warrender herself drew off her ring and dropped it into her goblet, bringing her tally to two votes to Poldern’s three.   Duke Poldern went next, voting for himself. Duke Matvey Froude’s name was called. Instead of rising, he leaned back in his seat and waved away the scene before him.   “I hereby renounce my membership to this pitiful assembly,” he sneered, “having pledged my lands and allegiance to King Cyrion Indigo of Carador. You see before you, Archbaron Froude of Carador, vassal of the Rose no more.”   Many angry shouts rang out at this declaration. Duchess Essenkoff, in particular, turned an angry shade of red. Many looked to Duchess Ingran, to whom Froude had remained so close to during the day, but she stared at the table before her, seemingly defeated. Duke Dowsett and Duchess Essenkoff exchanged a glance, then together walked to the table and placed their rings within Poldern’s goblet, ending the vote.   The Lord Herald, having reviewed the vote tally, was drawing a breath to announce a winner when there rose a commotion from the main gates of the Great Hall. A page entered at a run and whispered in the ear of the Lord Herald, who looked shocked at the news. The page herself was white with fear, nearly crying from sheer terror. However, the voice of the Lord Herald carried clear.   “Into this chamber and conclave comes the self-styled Lord Becchino the Corpsetaker, Lord Alessandro the Boneguard, and Sir Lucan, Knight of the Black Rose. The claim to be emissaries of the Wraith King.”   The one called Lord Becchino stood a little forward of his companions. He body was that of a freshly dead merchant, whose dead eyes glittered with evil malice.   “We stand as emissaries of his Royal Majesty, Banquo Pollux, of the Royal House of Pollux, who was wrongfully denied his throne,” declared Becchino, “He claims it now as the last member of the House of Pollux, and orders us to treat on his behalf. We demand that the vote be taken with my master as candidate for the crown, and that we be permitted to discuss certain matters with these assembled electors.”   The Lord Herald called for a copy of the kingdom’s laws and its finest jurists, while the nobles looked on with anger, seemingly united against this undead threat to the crown. After much discussion, the Lord Herald bowed his head and spoke.   “I can find no prohibition against this in the laws of our land,” he concluded.   Each of the nobles met with these undead emissaries in turn, and each returned shaken from the experience. Duke Dowsett, upon returning from his interview, asked for the attention of the conclave and his fellow nobles.   “My dear friends,” Dowsett began, “I must confess something to you all. These abominations just tried to blackmail me to secure my vote. For I have been living a lie. My cloth factories, that have brought my family much wealth – they are run not by magic or the sweat of honest labor, but by undead labor; skeletons and zombies. Lord Becchino sends them to me. I sorrow to admit it, but I send him money and…other things, as he demands them. I knew this was wrong, but in my greed and in service to my House, I did them anyay. Lord Becchino sought to trade his silence for my vote, but although I may end in a prison cell for what I have done, I will not vote for one such as the Wraith King.”   Throughout this time, Duke Lucherto sat pensively, examining a tapestry that depicted the family tree of the last king, the father of King Brenwell, King Brevant X. He reviewed his notes, note he had been taking all day as he spoke with his fellow nobles.   When the second round of voting was finally ready, it was nearly midnight. A full moon hung in the sky.   The Lord Herald asked for candidates to stand. Duke Poldern, Duchess Warrender, and Lord Alessandro the Boneguard stand and place goblets on the table. The herald turned again to Duke Lucherto, who stood.   “My colleagues, I would request we adjourn this conclave for a period of for 14 days, as permitted by our rules. I have information that requires confirmation, which for me might make all the difference.”   All but Duchess Tepest objected to this plan, and his motion failed. Shrugging his shoulders, Lucherto once again voted for Duke Poldern. Duke Scammel followed suit, along with Dowsett and Poldern himself.   Duchess Ingran stood and looked around uncertainly. She strode over to the table, her ring in hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she dropped her ring into the Wraith King’s goblet. She turned to look hard at Lord Becchino.   “I will want what you have promised me,” she demanded before resuming her seat. She ignored the loud exclamations of her fellow nobles, looking straight ahead, her mouth a firm line. While the other nobles were calling out the treachery of Duchess Ingran, Raven Warrender approached the table and cast her vote for the Wraith King. She spoke to no one as she returned to her chair. Duchess Tepest, of all assembled, stared hard at Warrender her face openly showing her feelings of betrayal. He stormed over to the table.   “Once I voted for a woman who I admired and loved,” she declared, “but I will not follow her ill example. Let my vote go to Poldern.” Essenkoff did not bother to speak or toss her ring but pointed at the Duke and nodded. She then turned to the Boneguard and raised her hammer.   Breathing a deep sigh of relief, the Lord Herald announced, “the voting is over. By a tally of six to three, Duke Odinel Poldern is chosen as our new monarch. Hail unto thee, Odinel, first of thy name! Hail to the new royal House of Poldern! Hail King Odinel!”   The shouts of hail and allegiance filled the Great Hall. When the final echoes faded to silence, Lord Alessandro raised a hand.   “You have chosen folly and further treason against your rightful lord,” he announced, “you shall suffer for it. Enjoy this little victory, as it will soon turn to ashes in your mouth. You will die screaming and begging before the seasons turn once more.” With that pronouncement, the emissaries of the Wraith King turned to leave.   “Wait!” shouted Duchess Ingran, “Take me with you! Give me what was promised me!”   “And me!” called Duchess Warrender.   “Come”, invited Lord Becchino evilly, “if you are coming.”   Both women, human and elf, stood and walked out of the Great Hall, much to the dismay of the others. It was a dark stain upon the victory of the new king’s election.