Kaedreni Throne Room

[Esterlen 4499]

 

 

In the formidable mountain citadel of Ard Kerrack, the de jure capital of the Kingdom of Kaedrin, the King in the West, Peter Chivay, is holding court.

 

Sat upon his chiseled marble throne, the King of Kaedrin sighs wearily as the time reserved for the audiences and other public affairs of state begins. From petitioners, to vassals, to statesmen, to dignitaries, the court was the center of the realm and the nerve center of its government.

 

To the king's right his younger brother, Prince Thomas the Lord Steward is seated and in the chair to his left is the Lord Chancellor, Hadrien de Sarkozy. Every now and again the Lord Chancellor would lean over to the king, whispering in his ear.

 

 

A herald bangs his long staff on the tiled floor thrice, calling the lords present at the court to silence. As the rabble dies down, he begins to speak.

 

"All rise for the anthem of the Kingdom of Kaedrin, the Guard on the Yaruga!"

 

The lords, burghers and common men stand and begin to sing as is customary before court begins.

 

 

Once the singing ceases, the herald taps his staff on the ground yet again.

 

"Let this session of court begin! Petitioners arrange in an orderly fashion!"

 

((This is similar to the Imperial throne room thread - it's an ongoing forum RP in which petitioners and others seeking an audience with the king can post. Feel free to jump in if your character desires to speak with the king and the courtiers, but please adhere to some constraints. If you're a dark elf, elf, orc or are particularly 'edgy and dark', chances are you won't be let in the keep in RP. Thanks!))

[3andD 1722]

Gwenael sheathes his blade, now glad the grand janitorial has been delt with. He returns to the throne room, clearing his throat. "M'looooord." He singes, clearly he had been practicing with the Gregorian monks.

[Samoblivion 532]

A non-descript human petitioner in Salvian finery steps forward. He bows deeply and keeps his gaze averted as he draws a small scroll.

 

"Most beneficent King, I come before you a hired petitioner of those who would otherwise be not permitted into your presence. I come on behalf of a number of Elven citizens, some living in Malinor and others in your own Kingdom, to most respectfully and humbly request the release of the remains of some half-hundred of their kin that lie in the ravine beside the great fortress of Ard Kerrack.

 

These bones have remained there since the last great conflict between Elf and Man some years ago, and their defilement is quite a dishonour to both your noble self and elfkind, your grace. Such grisly shows were common, mayhap even necessary, in more turbulent times, but now that Elf and man enjoy such a glorious friendship as servants of the Emperor and Creator there is little need to hand on to such cadavers? Many Elves fear you my lord, as they rightly should of course, but fear can often be counter-productive in times of peace. A small act of mercy and beneficence such as this can go a long way in assuaging their doubts and showing what a just and forgiving King you can be, your grace.

 

This matter may be quite beneath you, my lord, but I am merely the messenger of those unworthy to be in your presence. Whatever your decision, rest assured that in my eyes, it will be a fair and just one."

 

The hired petitioner makes another sycophantic little bow and scuttles back to his place, smiling contently. He absent mindedly pats the fat little purse of coin the elves gave him.

[Mr_Boomer337 56]

*Andrew Herrion forces his feet to step slowly as he forces himself to move down the throne room.. He feels his skin to get cold, bones shivering as if they were about to break, and muscles tend to be tense. Andrew finally approaches footsteps to the king and kneels down. He stands back up a looks to the king with his amused gesture upon his face, he exhales deeply and begins to speak.*

 

"M'lord."

"I come to your lands to serve The Order of the White Rose. Though highly inexperienced with an sort of weapon, I believe I may help in more ways then just a soldier. I come requesting land so that I may harvest wheat and farm for the order. I understand all Kaedrin Law and shall abide with my fullest capability, with that being said. 

 

*Andrew pauses once more before speaking once more.*

 

"If granted the land I shall dedicate my life to the order and shall be in favor of what they shall need of me, whether it be by blade or by scythe."

 

*Andrew exhales once more whilst looking towards the king.*

 

"That is all M'Lord"

[Peter Chivay 2494]

Gilahad coughs after Gwenael's little show, then moving forward to take a knee in front of the royal dais. In the same position as he was when he had first made his oaths all those years ago, he begins to speak.

 

"M'lord.. er.. ah mean m'king.. ah've served ye most devoutly these past decades n' ah nevah' asked for nothin', but now ah make one simple request m'lord Petah... Ah'd like to build a small cottage for me n' Garen somewhere 'bout in our Fatherland. If it do please m'lord, ah would ask it so. Don' mattah where it be but ah'd like a lil'.. seclusion.. n' a nice view wouldn't 'urt none.

 

He remains kneeling, heeding whatever Petah says.

The King, hearing the first request, smiles happily as Gilahad finishes speaking. "Gilly, you 'ave served the Chivay House and I fer' ages. I would be a fool to not grant you such a humble gift. Request granted." Peter now nicks his head, motioning for the next man to speak his piece.

 

 

 

A non-descript human petitioner in Salvian finery steps forward. He bows deeply and keeps his gaze averted as he draws a small scroll.

 

"Most beneficent King, I come before you a hired petitioner of those who would otherwise be not permitted into your presence. I come on behalf of a number of Elven citizens, some living in Malinor and others in your own Kingdom, to most respectfully and humbly request the release of the remains of some half-hundred of their kin that lie in the ravine beside the great fortress of Ard Kerrack.

 

These bones have remained there since the last great conflict between Elf and Man some years ago, and their defilement is quite a dishonour to both your noble self and elfkind, your grace. Such grisly shows were common, mayhap even necessary, in more turbulent times, but now that Elf and man enjoy such a glorious friendship as servants of the Emperor and Creator there is little need to hand on to such cadavers? Many Elves fear you my lord, as they rightly should of course, but fear can often be counter-productive in times of peace. A small act of mercy and beneficence such as this can go a long way in assuaging their doubts and showing what a just and forgiving King you can be, your grace.

 

This matter may be quite beneath you, my lord, but I am merely the messenger of those unworthy to be in your presence. Whatever your decision, rest assured that in my eyes, it will be a fair and just one."

 

The hired petitioner makes another sycophantic little bow and scuttles back to his place, smiling contently. He absent mindedly pats the fat little purse of coin the elves gave him.

Peter nods slowly, heeding the words of the man. With a hint of a smile, the King responds; "Dearest petitioner, I 'ave 'eard your request, but I must woefully deny. The bodies that remain on the Ts are not of only Elvish descent, but of Human, Orc, and even Dwarf. No race is willfully subjugated." Lifting his hand, Peter motions to the side, "For this man's troubles, please give him a sum of one hundred-an-fifty mina from the treasury." Nodding finally, dismissing the man.

 

 

 

*Andrew Herrion forces his feet to step slowly as he forces himself to move down the throne room.. He feels his skin to get cold, bones shivering as if they were about to break, and muscles tend to be tense. Andrew finally approaches footsteps to the king and kneels down. He stands back up a looks to the king with his amused gesture upon his face, he exhales deeply and begins to speak.*

 

"M'lord."

"I come to your lands to serve The Order of the White Rose. Though highly inexperienced with an sort of weapon, I believe I may help in more ways then just a soldier. I come requesting land so that I may harvest wheat and farm for the order. I understand all Kaedrin Law and shall abide with my fullest capability, with that being said. 

 

*Andrew pauses once more before speaking once more.*

 

"If granted the land I shall dedicate my life to the order and shall be in favor of what they shall need of me, whether it be by blade or by scythe."

 

*Andrew exhales once more whilst looking towards the king.*

 

"That is all M'Lord"

 

 

 

Hearing the next man speak, Peter leans further back into his throne. Contemplating the choice. "Kaedrin is not simply a military Kingdom, my dear farmer. We accept all kinds, regardless if they serve the Rose or not. I graciously accept your request and a plot of land will be chiseled out for you shortly." With a bright smile on his face, Peter motions to the side, glancing about for anymore court goers.

[SteelMarshall 190]

The intimidating fortress of Ard Kerrack loomed over the surrounding landscape. Fields of long, fair grass swayed in the soft breeze, only to be trampled by thick boots, whose hobnailed soles dug into the rich soil. The boots belonged to three men, who made their way towards the mountain keep. A strong wind gusted over the figures and whistled towards the citadel, dispelling any vestiges of the sunlight's warmth.

 

Two of the men were muscled like oxen. They were warriors, marked by their long- hafted axes, which were as tall as their wielders. Runes were etched into the brutally sharp heads of the fearsome weapons. They had long, dark beards, which fell thickly upon their chainmail. Yet it was the third man in the small company of northerners that stood out from the rest.

 

He wore a thick chainmail byrnie, whose polished links shone brightly over a padded leather top and a deep red undertunic. A leather strap snaked across his chest, and clasped to it was a long knife with an antler-bone handle. He was distinguished by several armbands of gold and silver, which were headed with serpent clasps or semiprecious stones. He, unlike the two warriors who stood on either side of him, wore no helmet. Long, brown hair hung lank around a stern, angular face. The man’s eyes, gray as the sky before a storm, seemed burdened under the his heavy brow. They seemed dull to the untrained eye, but any seasoned warrior could see that they flitted over the surrounding landscape like the eyes of a hawk. Then he spoke.

 

"Ic sceall ne linnan fram modiglic gefeoht, Ne sceall min speord slaepp in minum hand..."

 

His voice could be heard clearly over the whispering wind, though he spoke calmly. The other two warriors nodded to their leader, and the trio continued on the final leg of their journey. One of the northerners spoke up, his voice gravelly and thick.

 

“Ealdorman, forgive me, but I must ask... why do you do this? Surely there is no need to bend your knee to them. We can simply take the land we need!”

 

The leader frowned, and his brows furrowed as he replied.

 

“This kingdom is new, and there are many who would gladly see it fall. Yet they helped Lord Aedric Ulfhaedyn when he was in his darkest hour, beset on all sides by his foes. Therefore we come to return the favor. We will make these lands strong, stronger than perhaps even they imagine.”

 

The three northerners soon stood directly outside the grand entrance to Ard Kerrack. The men were surprised by the thick stone walls, and the strength of the fortress, even if it did not show upon their faces. The leader undid several straps that were tied to his belt. The thin leather cords were attached to a fine scabbard, made of sealskin. The soft white fur was capped on either side by fine silver inlay. Sheathed snugly in the scabbard was a steel sword. The effort it must have taken to forge could be seen in the painstakingly fine swirls that lay elegantly inside the cold steel. One of the northerners reached out, and tenderly took hold of the weapon and its sheath. The leader then motioned for his men to stay outside of the throne room, and, unarmed, went inside, hoping his gestures of respect to the masters of this keep would not go unnoticed.

 

He walked slowly but purposefully, his footfalls echoing as his boots connected with the smooth floor. The recent victory at the “Siege of the Dreadfort” left him exhausted. His footsteps were weary, though he attempted to carry himself respectfully. He was motioned to step forward, once the affairs of the other men in the hall had been dealt with. He knelt at the foot of the throne, his head hung low. He drew stares from several of those in attendance, though he did not seem to notice, his eyes downcast to the King’s feet.

“It as an honor, Your Majesty. I am Uhtred Foy, descended of the Great Lord Salex, kin to the Ulfhaedyn and Norsem houses, and closest living relative to the late Lord Aedric Ulfhaedyn. I would speak with you.”

[Nefarious Aus Shitpost 891]

closest living relative to the late Lord Aedric Ulfhaedyn.

 

[[ Liar. Svengal Ulfhaedyn, his youngest son may be a scrawny cave dweller, but he is still alive :\ ]]

[Cjmate 1270]

Sabri sighs, glancing nervously around as he prepares to make his audience. After respectfully taking off his hat, he speaks quickly and to the point.

"I am a merchant and builder for Lord Carrion. I have done several projects for him as well as building a small village near Auvergne. I would like to help expand your kingdom by improving and expanding the village located west of the checkpoint. I do not ask for much in return besides simple pay and permission to stray from the roads along the checkpoint while building."

He begins to fiddle with his straw hat as he awaits an answer.

[Z3r05t4r 855]

A man in a purple cloak enters, using a silent moment to announce:

 

"Your Royal Majesty, I announce the Lord High Treasurer..." The man hesitates. "No-Land Duke Silus Iullius Horen of the Holy Empire of Oren."

 

Upon the silence of the man, Silus steps forth through the doors, alone, purple cloak flowing in the wind, with clanking armor stepping in front of the throne, bowing slightly and smiling at the King of Kaedrin in a humble way.

 

"Your Royal Majesty. Instead of using many of words, I came here to hint about the Seventh Imperial Tithe I have come to collect. The outstanding sum for the Kingdom of Kaedrin runs on one-thousand six-hundred Minas."

 

He bows his head again.

 

"And shall you happen to have need of me to confer or  else, so here I be."

 

---

 

((Brief OOC note, I recommend to send the money when I am online. Otherwise send me a picture of my Mina amount before, the transfer and after on one  picture to confirm it.))

[Gunner 775]

-----

 

"No."

[{Charles Redwing} -Pmck6- 2]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Charles slowly pushes through the packed hallways of the citadel of Ard Kerrack, grumbling to himself as he ducks and weaves through the crowds lining up for their time with the King. He runs over what he is going to say in his mind as he walks toward the great doors to the Citadel Throne Room, constantly revising and repeating the small speech he has prepared. As he finally gets to the great doors, he smiles to the scribe on station there, and nods to him.

 

"Ah, greetings."

 

He nods in understanding as he listens to the scribes' request for his name, and then grins again, growing a bit more nervous under the gaze of the knights on either side of him, but refusing to allow it to show on his face.

 

"I am Charles Redwing, from Solace. I am here to speak with the King."

 

Smiling, he heaves a barely perceptible sigh of relief as the scribe and his burly knights allow him to pass. Quickly he makes his way into the throne room, and then makes his way to his position in the line of petitioners. When he reaches there, he looks around and sees that everyone has stood and are looking towadr the King. He turns, and then smiles as the anthem is begun. Joining in as best he can, he sings along until the end. Once the anthem finishes, he waits in line until it is his turn to speak to the King. He then grins and bows deeply to the King, and then kneels before him, speaking loudly and clearly, as confidently as possible.

 

"Your Royal Highness, a pleasure to finally see you in all your glory. I am Charles Redwing, a simple historian from the city of Solace.  I have recently embarked on a large set of travels, venturing around our world and seeing what there is to see. However, now that I have come back to Oren, I must find a proper job . As a loyal citizen of the Kingdom of Kaedrin, i thought that I might be able to help serve you with my various skills. As an educated scholar, I would serve as a good scribe to you, or as your personal historian perhaps? I would be happy to help advise you on the history, culture and politics of our world, whatever you see fit really."

 

Charles finishes quickly, smiling as he does so. He bends his head down and awaits the verdict of the King.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Stevie 1598]

Thomas Chivay, who had seated himself in his throne to the left of Peter's, straightens out his back as the scholar speaks, listening intently to his request and giving a slow nod of approval. Sitting up a bit, he rests his elbow on the armrest and brings his hand to his beard, stroking it in thought as he turns his head up to Peter, sharing an inaudible conversation of sorts. After a few moments, Thomas smiles and turns his head down to Charles, grunting to clear his throat and speak on behalf of his brother.

 

"Mistah Redwing, yer request is 'umble an' respectable, an' the Kingdom of Kaedrin would be delighted to 'ave you in our employ. We trust that yer abilities as a scholar an' scribe can boff glorify an' inform the people of Oren an' abroad of Kaedrin an' its endeavors. An' wot bettah way to describe the kingdom then describin' the king's family?"

 

The prince's smile widens a bit as he licks his lips, continuing.

 

"Yer first task to to compose a family 'istory of 'ouse Chivay since we've come to the continents of Asulon an' Anthos. We've been lookin' fer a propah scribe to document the 'ouse, an' we 'ope you can give that to us, Mistah Redwing. Should you 'ave any questions, find me around the keep, or send a lettah to my chambers, should I be out((PM HARAMBEE on the forums))."

 

Thomas bows his head to Charles out of respect, and then waves his hand a bit to the left, signalling the humble scholar to step aside and allow the next few petitioners to come forward.

[{Charles Redwing} -Pmck6- 2]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Charles nods and grins in thanks, bowing first to the King, and then to Thomas as a gesture of his gratitude. He files to the side, and quickly extracts a large notebook from the satchel at his side. Making his way to a seat, he sits and begins to write down what is happening, firstly as a way of making records for possible future books, and secondly as a way of passing the time until he can speak to Thomas further.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Danny 2232]

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