The Red Duke Ascendant.

[Noer 577]

 

The Grand Duma of The Duchy of Adria

Twenty Eighth of the Amber Cold, 1681.

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x0FAosDi4XA

 

The Balt was an eerie calm; such not entirely foreign to the keep as of late, the lack of occupied voices busy in their work, however on this day the absence possessed a tension not seen for many years. The men of Adria were no longer a conjoined kin as once followed the seizing of the Vrakai plains from Lotharingian Barons. The warmth, the brotherhood, had long since vacated. Now, it was a scramble between men indulged in their own self interest to their own benefit, to each one’s own profit. Outside, burghers and peasants made their trades, the influx of visitors for the Duma being lucrative in essence for those seeking to acquire wealth selling bobbles, bread and trinkets. The preclusion of a peaceful ascension drew forth, yet the toil of day was near on the horizon.

 

 

Josip Sarkozic lowered himself within his cloth adorned seat, the other Barons seated thrice themselves near. For it was an awkward moment of preeminence, each strategist planning their first move in the diplomatic chess game they were to undertake. The Ivanovich Baron, of whom Josip rightfully granted Vilacz once more to by virtue of sacred claim, was to his left, the newest of the company to emerge within the Duchy. To Josip’s center, on the opposite side of the table, was Septimus Bracchus, the Ilatian. His family had acquired large sums of wealth from international trade, and had made its own fair share of enemies in the process. Josip’s, however, had made far more. To Septimus’ right, Maxim sat, the Eldest Baron, perhaps the last Adrian left of the founders; his motives, to Josip, were unknown. He had seen Maxim like an uncle, perhaps the warmth would be soon be  reciprocated.

 

None were to leave until a Duke was chosen.

 

“I’d like to nominate myself,” Josip stated. A silence permeated after these words were uttered.

 

Septimus stepped forward. “Not yet,” The Ilatian demanded. “We’ve a piece of legislation to pass prior to this.”

“There can be no government without the Duke.” quipped Josip.

“I insist.”
“Josip,” Konyves stated, rising swiftly. “Excuse me for a moment.”

 

Then, Hell broke loose in Adria.

A Stab, a scuffle, a shouting match.

Fleeing outside to the courtyard, Josip found himself, Konyves and Maxim, cornered by a large mob of indigo-turbaned mercenaries, burghers, orcs and mages. Huh, he thought. This is how Adria ends, with a whimper against an Ilatian. How familiar.

 

Then, the side gate to the Balt opened.

 

From it, the cavalry poured forth: Fifteen Renatian Knights, from Donald Dabber to Robert von Denhardt, stood behind Josip. Putting on his helmet, the Boy screamed. “Maxim, Konyves! Who do you vote for?”

 

“You, my Duke!” they bellowed, sternly.

 

“For your Duke, Adrians, yield!” He shouted to the horde. He saw familiar faces in the crowd mixed in with the brigands. One was a Valic child, if only Vladan had been there for him.

 

“You are not my Duke,” Dario said, Septimus turning to Vladan. “Long live Ilatia.”

 

Thusly, the charge commenced, and The Renatian knights, along with the Adrian nobles, pulled back.

 

Into Vilacz, Josip, Maxim and Konyves reposed themselves, outfitting themself with the necessary requisitions for battle. While collected, and with a few straggling brigands picked off by Renatian crossbows, the gates were opened, and the horde poured forth into a Renatian spear wall.

 

Josip cut off the head of an orc with three vicious swoops. Maxim was knocked down by two brigands, though saved by Konyves before likely being soon struck down. Robert, the madman, slayed six men that day - they pushed the rest off the bridge.

All that was left was Septimus.

 

Josip, doused in the red fluid of his befallen challengers, adrenaline coursing through his veins, grabbed the unconscious man by the foot, and dragged his face through the gravel pathway between the kissing keeps. The cuts seeped blood from Septimus’s unhelmed face.

 

He dropped him, the man’s cries of vengeance fueling his rage further.

“You *****,” he’d swear.

 

“Who, who do you vote for? Traitor.” Josip angrily inquired.

“I’ll say nothing, you bastard.”

“Very well, then.”

A dagger raised, Josip sought to bring it down on the man. Konyves stopped his movement with a swift pounce upon his arm.

 

“Leave it to Renatian Law, Josip.”

 

Josip Sarkozic the Boy fell to his knees that day; Adria toiled in battle, his own garments tattered and bloodied - pondering amongst himself, he whispered: “We shall stand ourselves back up once more, for the end is NOT near.”

 

When he rose, the boy rose a man. He arose a Duke.

 

The Red Duke would ascend.

 

 

All he needed now was the Crown.

[Narthok 10416]

(( this is well written, nice post my dude

[JuliusAakerlund 2402]

Robert is glad his cousin was kept in power.

[LithiumSedai 5750]

Renna Talraen, the Lady of Adelburg arisen from death twice, Axios' most terrifying serial murderer, and the true hero of Adria's coup, scoffed upon being referred to as a 'knight'; concluding not enough peasants had fallen to her blade that night to have been recognized.

[Imperium 3495]

Rhys gives a nod of approval 

[Arsenal 28]

Marius clapped his hands together, nodding 

[Sky 0]

Demetrius smiles.

[osumanduas 1442]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.