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Author Topic: The Noble Republic (2008)  (Read 4189 times)

Offline Myroria

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The Noble Republic (2008)
« on: October 12, 2014, 12:11:23 AM »
PROLOGUE: A FUNERAL


Quote
EMPEURESS' 'DEATHBED DECREE' LEAVES FUTURE OF MONARCHY UNCERTAIN
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Reform will likely be Fredrika's legacy
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HM Meneldur elected Empeurer, Sendryna Andraniseth likely to become Prime Minister


By AMOS TROVTRITH
Special to the IVORHEART POST

Pelagis, July 3 - His Majesty Meneldur Quarrovth Ilium, in a public statement days after his election by the General Assembly, called for public calm in "this time of drastic political change". A decree made by his mother, Empeuress Fredrika Quarrovth Tar-Ilium, hours before her death last Saturday enacted sweeping reforms that almost overnight have made the Myrorian monarch a largely ceremonial head-of-state. Serja Sendryna Andraniseth, a minister of the Assembly representing Thanelen, will likely be elected Myroria's first Prime Minister by the end of the week.

Ælar Quarrovth Ilium, Fredrika's second child, Count of Traval, and head of Great House Quarrovth, called the reforms "a mistake". He denied, however, that he sought to return the Great Houses to political power, assuring gathered reporters that "he will always be a member of the Liberal Party first and a member of House Quarrovth second."

When pressed for a comment, Emma Ilium Quarrovth, Fredrika's youngest child and partner of Ozian dire Vendecci Parpaski, only said that "as an Ozian citizen [she had] nothing to say regarding Myrorian politics." Regardless of their differing political views, His Majesty and his two siblings will all be attending the late Empeuress' funeral tomorrow.

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Analysis: the latest reform, the undeath of the Great Houses, and Ælar's political rise
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In 1999, when Fredrika dissolved the Council of Great Houses and ordered Myroria to hold her first nationwide elections, she assured conservatives that the new General Assembly would ultimately still answer to the monarch. However, in the last years of her reign and shortly before her death from duodenal cancer last week, it became clear to any political analyst in Fellowmoor-Pelagis that Fredrika had one last reform up her sleeve.

However, the breadth of the reform that came shocked even the most liberal activists in the capital. In one five-page document, likely written months before her death, the Empeuress took away the last vestiges of political power reserved to the Great Houses - making them little more than private organizations. The purpose of her centralization of power in the throne over the past 30 years immediately became clear - the queen had always intended to wash away the House system, but first had to make the Great Houses politically impotent. Once that happened, Fredrika was free to enact her vision for a 21st century Myroria without the interference of the conservative nobles opposing her - for better or for worse.

Though the breadth of the queen's deathbed decree was wide, its depth was shallow - more of a general vision than a new constitution. Whether or not it this was her intention - to leave the functioning of the new "Noble Republic of Myroria", as she styled it, to its new government - its vagueness has resulted in arguments both in the Assembly and outside of it. These arguments are wide-ranging but all seem to have several questions in common: to what extent does the new "Noble Republic" have to adhere to the wishes of a dead monarch? Could Fredrika even absolve herself of her power and the power of her successors, constitutionally? And what role, if any, do the Great Houses have in this new government?

Reports from Ivorheart recently have shed light on a street brawl between Quarrovth and Ondanitrith youth - showing that old feuds die hard and that House vendettas have become more, not less, violent since the Council's prorogation and dissolution. Open violence between Houses - in the city no less - has not been seen since the earliest days of the Myrorian state. Membership in the Houses, too, has shot up - without direct participation in the political system, Houses have started to admit anyone who applies - often using young men as muscle to back up business interests throughout the country. Great Houses are starting to look more like Ozian direships than traditional Myrorian clans and rites.

Connected to this is the meteoric rise of the Tar-Ilium's second son, Ælar. The prince has shot from a minor noble in House Quarrovth's bureaucracy to the organization's leader - commanding the fierce loyalty of the House's burgeoning young population. Though he has not yet advocated for a return to the House system, he would certainly be in good company if he did. A recent poll has suggested that nearly two-thirds of respondents in Myroria's rural areas would prefer a return to traditional ways - likely because voting in elections is hard in the large swaths of the country lacking election officials or polling places.

If Ælar were to come out in support of the House system, he would be able to force the issue like no one else in Myroria.

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Meneldur elected to the throne
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Meneldur Ilium, the eldest son of Fredrika Tar-Ilium and disgraced Empeurer Peté Tar-Ilium, was elected by the General Assembly to the throne. The vote was mostly a formality, as the recent reforms have made it all but certain the throne will belong to the descendents of Fredrika and her husband for the foreseeable future. Despite rumors that Meneldur would take the regnal name "Fendryn II Quarrovth" upon his accession, honoring his grandfather, he chose to remain known as "Meneldur Ilium".

Upon his election, he made a brief speech to the General Assembly, addressing them by the traditional Myrorian honorific of "Serjos a Serjas". Born in the province of Ilium, Eluvatar, in 1945, he will be the second Myrorian monarch born on foreign soil - after his father, Peté. Taking the throne at the age of 63, Meneldur is one of the oldest Empeurer's in recent history, with two children of his own - Berethor, his son, and Relmerea, his daughter. HM Meneldur also has one grandchild - Llervu, the daugher of Berethor and his wife Daynasa.

Meneldur promised a "speedy transition" to an "open and transparent democracy", adding that he awaits the confirmation of Myroria's first Prime Minister with "bated breath".

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Sendryna Andraniseth on course for Prime Minister's office
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Serja Sendryna Andraniseth, the Assembly Minister (AM) representing Thanelen in the General Assembly, has been confirmed by the Worker's-Republican Coalition to be its pick for Prime Minister - Myroria's first. The Liberal Party, representing His Majesty's Loyal Opposition, called the pick a "mistake for Myroria in this delicate time".

Serja Sendryna made her name politically in the late 1980s as a young noble of House Quarrovth and Thanelen's representative on the Council of Great Houses. On the Council she was a fierce defender of Fredrika's reform efforts and helped push through a proposal for the construction of girls' schools in the rural areas of County Ivorheart. After the Council's dissolution in 1999, she was easily elected to represent Thanelen in the new General Assembly and helped form the Republican Party.

In the Assembly she continued to be a close ally of the Empeuress and helped push through more reform efforts throughout the early 2000s. After the Worker's-Republican Coalition won the election of 2007, she was picked to be the Coalition Leader and quickly won the election for their nominee for Prime Minister after the queen's death. With a clear majority heading into the Prime Ministerial elections on Friday, her election has been all but assured.

"I can only thank the Myrorian people for letting me get to where I am," Serja Sendryna said yesterday. "May all of our ancestors bless this Myrorian democracy."

A cook crumpled up the Thursday Edition of the Ivorheart Post and stuffed it into a chimney under the grill. On this hot July day, not even the drafty interior of the Quarrovth Estate could keep the humidity away - cooking inside would be unthinkable. Myrorian wakes were drunken affairs - and in a country house full of inebriated Quarrovths, all one insult way from a physical fight, more heat was exactly what wasn't needed.

Ælar took a sip from his drink - Novic whiskey on the rocks - leaned on a tree, and turned to Meneldur. Ælar was a spitting image of his father - high cheekbones, short, wiry hair, and dark eyes - but Meneldur was more a mix of both his parents - high cheekbones, but steep, curved eyebrows. Short, wiry hair, but a dark brown instead of black - or at least it was a dark brown in his youth. Now His Majesty's hair was white and his hairline quickly receding.

"Where's Father?" Ælar asked - more out of genuine curiosity than genuine concern.

"He's with the body," Meneldur said, voice oozing empathy. He was a charismatic - and genuinely caring - man, a rarity in this nation. To any observer it would seem he almost blundered into the kingship.

"I don't think he'll know what to do with himself now."

"Same thing he's always done," Meneldur replied with a sigh. "I don't think they ever saw each other more than once a year anyway."

"He used to watch the television hoping she'd make a speech;" Ælar began, taking another sip of his drink. "She never even let him know ahead of time. He wouldn't have done this, you know."

"What is 'this'?" Meneldur said. He loosened his tie, hoping to get some cool air on his neck.

"Turned us into novelties. We'd be something."

"We are something, Ælar," Meneldur sighed. "We wouldn't know what to do with that power if we had it."

"You wouldn't, maybe," Ælar said dismissively, looking towards the estate gardens and taking another sip of his drink.

"I was the last to consent to this," Meneldur said, taking a step towards Ælar as he pushed himself off the tree. "But now that it's happened I won't stir the pot."

"We could have had it all! But you let Mother ruin it!"

"She had our country in her heart," Meneldur pleaded.

"No she didn't," Ælar scoffed, taking a step towards his brother. "She wanted all the power for herself, then when her favorite Emma skipped off to Ozia she decided she'd rather no one have it than one of us. You know it."

Meneldur opened his mouth but was interrupted.

"Oi! My brothers talking about me behind my back?"

Meneldur and Ælar both turned to see their sister approaching. Though Vendecci was nowhere to be seen, she had two bodyguards hanging back by her car that certainly met the wake's brown skin quota. Emma herself, after years in Ozia, had darkened her skin tone from a 3 to a 7 - no small feat, for a pasty Myrorian. She wore an untucked grey cotton button-up and black trousers, and wore a black ribbon tied on her left arm. Though Emma had jumped headfirst into the Ozian culture, she wore no keffiyeh - yet.

"We were just discussing the future of Myroria," Ælar said smugly.

"He was. I was trying to discuss our departed mother." Meneldur interjected.

"Like either of you half-Dunedain can talk about what's best for Myroria," Emma said.

"And you can? At least we live here," Ælar near-shouted.

"I never said I could. But I know what I want for Myroria..."
« Last Edit: October 28, 2014, 10:53:52 PM by Myroria »
"I assure you -- I will be quite content to be a mere mortal again, dedicated to my own amusements."

Offline Eluvatar

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Re: The Noble Republic (2008)
« Reply #1 on: October 12, 2014, 03:18:49 AM »
Peté never drank. That's not to say he didn't take excellent wines with food. Whiskeys, however, were simply not a potable in his universe.

He was nursing a glass now.

The room with the bier was emptying now, as the various guests found it hard to keep a respectful silence so... prolonged.

Peté's gaze remained on the purple pall covering Fredrika's coffin and body as he drank great gulps, wincing.

"I don't think Freddie would have been quite so quiet at your funeral," interjected a firm though a touch hoarse elderly voice.

Peté started, spilling a drop of expensive Novic whiskey on a bit of pall-covered floor. He stared flatly at the interloper. "Mother," with more sarcastic emphasis than one might have thought an eighty eight year old man capable of, "Our marriage was never entirely symmetric, but I won't begin begrudging her that now of all times, Idril."

"Oh don't call me mother, you're four years my senior after all," Idril replied wearily, "I only mean that gloom and melancholy is not the local tradition at these affairs. Come, join the telling of tales and jokes, see your children in the name of the King, soon may he return." She snickered. "One of them is a king now, in a manner of speaking."

Peté sighed, and nodded. "You're right, as you so often are. Thank you." He turned to leave, then stopped. "And apologies for the sarcasm, you didn't deserve it. You've only ever had our best interests at heart, when we had no reason to expect it of you, my brothers and sisters and I."

As Peté left the room, Idril remained, alone.

"I've always wanted to say this to your face." Idril remarked, quietly. "I suppose this is the last chance I'll get." She shuffled over to the head of the coffin, and, after peering about, pulled back the pall to confront a deeply wrinkled old face, at peace. "For what you put my stepson and his children through, you cachagenas, may you face the same pain and loss in the beyond, if god be as just as they say."
                                 
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Offline Letonna

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Re: The Noble Republic (2008)
« Reply #2 on: October 12, 2014, 10:44:36 PM »
“Our contacts in Myroria are unsure of how the situation will pan out. It's mostly speculation at the moment, nobody is really sure how to proceed. Minister Vambaum has assured The House we will support Quarrovth through this troubling time.”

“Yes, troubling news from the west. They're well overdue for more democracy, though I'm nervous for the trade implications. If their government is more solidified, trade in and out may go through more central regulations and tariffs. Our dealings with the nation will likely be more public as well.”

“This is to assume it goes as planned. Ambassador Ormfren sent word of possible political turbulence. There are many loyalists to the old system, as well as more liberal politicians who would like to see a more direct democracy. Anyway, this is all merely gossip.”

 Empress Helgla reached across her desk for a very decorated piece of paper, and handed it to the man in front of her. He read it over in silence.

“So who are you sending?” The man asked.

“My father and Minister Vambaum. They were both pretty chummy with the House, so it would only be appropriate. It'll get my father out of the estate anyway, all he does is read novels and garden nowadays.”

“So he recovered well from the surgery?”

“Yes yes. They ordered him to rest in bed but he insists on picking his tomatoes and what not. Anyway, spread word in the parliament that there's nothing to fear, and it's none of our concern. The MOFA will keep an eye on it. I don't want anyone down there to get antsy and start nullifying treaties. Got it?”

“Perfectly my Lord.”

Offline Myroria

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Re: The Noble Republic (2008)
« Reply #3 on: October 13, 2014, 01:16:04 AM »
The next day in Pelagis was considerably cooler; partly because of the capital city's higher elevation, compared to Quarrovth Estate, and partly because of a low pressure system moving in from the west. The state funeral was an ostentatious affair; a procession was moving down East Avenue past a wide stage with seating for various Myrorian politicians and foreign dignitaries. The hearse was empty, of course, as the body still laid in repose at the Quarrovth country house in County Ivorheart.

In stark contrast to the celebratory, indulgent, drunken nature of the traditional Myrorian wake, the state funeral was considerably more subdued, mostly to appeal to Myroria's more traditional neighbors. The stage was decorated in black, and the food table - covered with plates of grouse, vegetables, and potatoes at the Quarrovth Estate - was arranged with plates of delicate, small hors d'oeurves. Most galling of all to Fredrika's family attending the public ceremony out of obligation, the event was strictly BYOB.

The Myrorian bigwigs in attendance were seated stage left, and foreign dignitaries stage right. The two groups, though, mingled as politicians - professional minglers - tend to do. There was Peté, of course, and his children - as well as their spouses, excepting Emma's Vendecci. Their children were also present, and Meneldur's grandchildren. Then there were the more distantly related: Idril Quarrovth, former Head of the Majority on the old Council, and even old Folvys Quarrovths' children - though they never forgave the queen for their father's untimely demise. Finally, there were the Myrorians in attendance purely by virtue of their importance: Sendryna Andraniseth, Republican Party leader and Prime-Minister-to-be, and the heads of the Liberal and Worker's Party.

The foreign dignitaries were diverse and numerous: Retired Emperor of Letonna and gardener extraordinaire Ulfrum, as well as Minister Vambaulm from the Foreign Ministry; a dignitary or two from Austrasia, and a tall Librarian from Al'Khem. Some assorted Elaran ministers mingled on the top level of the stage, while nearby stood an Ozian representative in a near argument with an Eluvataran. A Prydainian official chatted with Sendryna, clearly thrilled Myroria would be following a parliamentary model. A Hemlander and a Novic bureaucrat rounded out the group, filling the stage to near capacity.

Peté, of course, made a beeline for the only other retired monarch on the stage. He was in better spirits today than the day before, his hand absent of any glass of whiskey. Ulfrum was presently giving the old Myrorian king advice on new tomato cultivars; never a gardener, Peté seemed to be considering picking the hobby up, if only half-seriously.

Meneldur was fielding condolences from the Khemian Librarian, but quickly excused himself when the topic turned to Hermetic schools rumored to reverse death. Spotting Ælar alone by the hors d'oeuvres table, Meneldur hurried to him.

"Sometimes I wish I was the second son," he began as Ælar shoved a bruschetta in his mouth.

"Do you?" Ælar responded sarcastically, swallowing with a gulp.

"I've been listening to 'I'm sorry's all day," the new king continued, "I'm starting to miss the wake."

"Maybe Mother's Myrorianism rubbed off on you, despite your best efforts to hide it," Ælar said with a smirk.

"I don't think so," Meneldur replied, looking at Emma on the other side of the table. Wearing the same outfit as the day before - or at least an identical-looking one - she was marvelling at the lack of rice among the appetizers. "That's what hiding your Myrorianism looks like."
"I assure you -- I will be quite content to be a mere mortal again, dedicated to my own amusements."

Offline St Oz

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Re: The Noble Republic (2008)
« Reply #4 on: October 13, 2014, 04:32:38 PM »
Compared to how the death of Empeuress Fredrika affected Ozia with Myroria, the ignorant might have thought she reigned over Ozia. The Ozian populace knew her by the endearing name, Imi Freddi or Enlightened Freddie. While she was there to accept the award or gift or not, the Ozians threw every civilian merit and peace medal they could at her, and the people even named streets, slums, and school after her. The whole country was at a standstill. Bars everywhere opened up, employers delayed or canceled work, and soothsayers sold "genuine" lockets of her hair to be burned in her memory.

While police struggled to keep a drunk country under order, the daughter of Vendecci and Emma, introduced among the funeral guests with a bit of trouble as Dirizinha Zekije Aerika Emmazinha Quarrovth Parpaski stood in the brisk weather of Pelagis to attend her grandmother's funeral. Zeki, as she preferred to be called, had fond memories of her grandmother. While her country called her Imi Freddi and Myroria called her Her Majesty, she called her Vuye Freddi (Grandma Freddi). She didn't feel the same about the rest of the family on her mother's side.

Among the other children and grandchildren she really stood out, she was a tanner and taller 27 year old version of her mother with big maroon eyes like her father. Unlike the Ozians she had high curved eyebrows that she inherited from her mother, but they were darker and thicker. Also, her dark chocolate hair was short and naturally straight rather than the typical Ozian curls. She wore mostly black and gray as was the attire, but with her black slacks, gray duffle coat, and black Ozian cap, she wore a colorfully knitted scarf that Fredrika knitted for her. Ozians who saw her on television would know exactly what that was, and a style of the knitted scarf would be manufactured immediately after the funeral.

Zeki wasn't surrounded by people she hated though. Among the foreign dignitaries stood Dirizinha Guelay Iseltov, the heir to the Iseltov direship who was only three years older than she was. When the politicians and foreign dignitaries mingled, Guelay walked to her first and they extended hands to grip each others wrist then closer for a hug. A stray photographer taking pictures of the event caught the hug and would only realize later how valuable capturing it would be.

Guelay spoke first to her in the La Sava accented Ozian, "Myroria  lost their Queen, our country lost their icon, but you lost your maternal grandmother. May she be at peace with Gaea."

Zeki stifled a laugh, "Bitch, you're so damn formal. Don't think my grandmother's passing will delay that issue we need to sort out with the Zevedoia Rail Commissioner."

The Iseltov patted her shoulder, "Of course not, many only see your Keihessezhi face, but I know you have the Parpaski, pain in the ass, frugality. By the way, I regret this. These damn foreigner funerals are so damn moody."

"Yeah I know, but thanks for coming Guelay. I'd talk more but I have to go piss off some family members."

"Hah! If you think I'm here to support you, you're wrong, this is Imi Freddi's funeral. Your father realized this PR gold mine back when he married Emma."

Zeki couldn't help but laugh, "Crazy cunt, bringing that up at my grandmother's funeral."

Guelay raised her eyebrows but kept her mouth from smiling back when she saw the camera, "Quickly get rid of that smile Parpaski, this is your Vuye's funeral. Make like an Eluvataran. Life is dread. Life is so precious."

Zeki wrapped an arm around Guelay for the camera and tried her best to lose the smile, "Definitely can't, because what would the Prydainians and Eluvatarans think? This is depressing. I'm depressed. Life is so short."

They waited for the camera to move along, but it made no hint to do so, "That's it Parpaski, don't smile."

Her smile cracked a bit, "Shut up."

"Parpaski."

"What?"

"Don't smile"

She turned her head from the camera and lost her composure with her smile, "Fucking broad."

The cameraman veered off from them when he recognized the Ozian slur, concentrating on other guests instead. While foreigners might not have appreciated the moment, those back in Ozia saw it as a warm reminder that the Iseltov-Parpaski conflicts were a thing of the past. Guelay saluted Zeki goodbye, then walked over the Ozian Ambassador to pester him about some politics.

Zeki saw her dear Uncles at the table, Aelar stuffing himself with bruschetta. She decided to sneak up on them as she always saw her mother doing since she was little. She overheard a little bit of the conversation as she approached them.

Aelar pointed at her mother, "That's what hiding your Myrorianism looks like."

Zeki appeared behind them, patting her uncles on the backs and speaking to them with a Myrorian Inglish accent, "Oi! It isn't a family gathering without my Uncles talking lovingly about the dear Parpaskis. Before you scoff about my mother's lack of Myrorianism you should look at yourselves and your father for appealing to Ilium thugs."

Aelar's face contorted and turned red at the presence of his niece. He gulped down his bruschetta quickly speaking to her with a shaken voice, "You know better than to tou-touch the imperial presence, girl."

Zeki patted Aelar's red face, "Let's see how long you get to say that Uncle." She leaned in closer to whisper, "If you listen real closely you can hear, Republic! Republic!"

She walked off after the whisper, and Aelar now had beads of sweat dripping down his red face, "Emma needs to put a muzzle on-"

Meneldur interrupted him, "Leave it Aelar. Ozians feed off ego. Just keep your composure for the cameras."


« Last Edit: October 13, 2014, 07:19:14 PM by St Oz »

Offline Eluvatar

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Re: The Noble Republic (2008)
« Reply #5 on: October 16, 2014, 12:19:39 AM »
Peté spotted his granddaughter stalking away from his sons over Ulfrum's shoulder and thanked the man, assuring him he'd try the techniques, as he turned to follow Zeki.

Despite the slowness of his walk, it did not take very long to catch up to his Ozian granddaughter, for she was in no rush to get anywhere in particular.

"Diriszinjha, it's been too long," Peté began, "You've grown up entirely!" He paused, looking at her annoyed face. "How is life treating my dear granddaughter?"
                                 
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Offline St Oz

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Re: The Noble Republic (2008)
« Reply #6 on: October 18, 2014, 03:22:27 PM »
Zeki's eye twitched when she heard the voice of her grandfather, and she knew now he was going through his dying retribution phase. The less than empathetic thought came across her earlier, what if he died instead of she, and she would have an excuse to take a break from work to visit Vuye Freddi. She kept her composure as best she could. She didn't want to make a scene, and as well as an argument, she didn't even want an amicable one with him.

She waited for him to finish his attempts at grandfatherly love. She thought, why doesn't he just bake some cookies or just write a card.

"It's nice to see you too Grandfather. Yes, I did complete growing up entirely around ten years ago, and I won't bore you with the list of everything I'm dealing with so I'll just give you a short list you can boast about with your fellow bridge players. I have a doctorate in economics, I'm managing a financial giant worth more than some countries, and the Ozian People's Party is just now lifting sanctions up on the Parpaski direship. I'm doing well, still breathing."

Offline Eluvatar

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Re: The Noble Republic (2008)
« Reply #7 on: October 25, 2014, 09:37:43 PM »
"Ah, keeping busy is good. Yes." Peté spoke, softly. "I suppose so much work makes it hard to visit family thousands of kilometers away. Maybe we can come visit you and Emma in Ozia sometime?"

After a pensive pause, he concluded, "You could show me where my Uncle died."
                                 
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Offline Myroria

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Re: The Noble Republic (2008)
« Reply #8 on: October 28, 2014, 10:59:23 PM »
I. A GATHERING


Ælar and his closest advisor, Saril Llaranivroth, stood backstage at an event in the city of Quarrovth -  the prince's adopted home. Saril, a shrewd politico and former employee of the Imperial Chamberlain's office, was trying to ensure that Ælar, head of House Quarrovth, would be Quarrovth city's favorite son despite having not set foot there until his teenage years. Events such as these - gatherings mostly of loyal House functionaries with the occasional apathetic citizen or homeless person - consisted of House orators making lengthy speeches before the head himself would take the stage, say a few words, and disperse the group.

Despite the mediocre attendance numbers for these events, a day or two after their end the people of Quarrovth all seemed to know and appreciate Ælar a little more. The fact that the House he led had no official political power in this brave new republic made no difference; it was the name recognition that mattered.

"The Prime Minister expressed her concerns about the incident to me yesterday, serjo. I'm worried we may have gone too far this time." Saril Llaranivroth said grimly. A tan man with a sallow, leathery face and a crooked nose that had never been set properly after a childhood fracture, he looked as if he was perpetually delivering bad news. Today the news concerned a recent brawl between House Quarrovth youth and the Pelagis prefecture.

"I don't think this will be a problem, Saril." came Ælar's reply. He was sitting in a chair having powder applied to his long Quarrovth nose. "I spoke to the leader of our House's youth wing about reining in some of the more... aggressive voices within our ranks."

"I think," Saril said, stepping towards the prince's ear, "she's worried about her political standing. If you had designs on..."

"Saril, my friend," said Ælar, dismissing a makeup artist and rising to his feet, "if those were my plans you would be the first to know." Standing six foot two, Ælar made for an imposing figure despite his advancing age. Next to the five foot five Saril, he looked like a giant.

"Would I?" Saril asked bitingly. "Because everyone is saying you want to force the PM to resign."

"Keep your voice down!" Ælar half-whispered. "This isn't my office."

"Well, I think I deserve to know what you're planning."

Ælar looked to each side before leaning into Saril's ear. "That's not my plan... yet."

"Yet?" Saril whispered, face reddening. "When did you intend to tell me this?"

"When I knew what our chances were. And I still don't."

"Well, you'd better figure that out before you do anything rash."

Ælar stepped back and leaned on the side of the vanity he was sitting at a moment before. "I've always liked your... directness," he said. "Contact your people in Letonna. See what they're willing to do for House Quarrovth, and for how much."

The applause began to roar outside as a band played the first of four ruffles and flourishes. "That's my cue," Ælar said with a grin. "I'll see you in a bit."



Emma and Peté stood alone in a clearing fifty miles north of Rastianav, Ozia; the ground, rocky and untilled, was near the border with the old Myrorian homeland. It was in a region of the world over which six thousand years' worth of battles had been fought, and that was the grave of countless men and women.

If he was present, Ælar might have felt beneath the hard ground the steps of thousands of his ancestors - the Kei'hesse'zhi - being marched to Ozian boats that would sail them across the strait to Vonisia in the 15th century, two hundred years before their exodus to the Pelagian Empire. Meneldur might have felt the hoofbeats of thousands of his ancestors' horses - Dunedain horses - as they rushed into Ozia from the north millennia ago.

Neither Ælar nor Meneldur stood on the field this day, though - it was only Emma, that half-Dunedain, half-Myrorian, half-Ozian princess-cum-dire, and her father.

Emma was trying her best not to think of any ancestors of hers that died on this field - so as not to take sides. She stared awkwardly at her phone in her hands while the disgraced former Empeurer surveyed the field like a general after a battle.

"Sorry i couldn't make it", a text from Zeki said. "didnt want to leave you alone with gramps but im just so busy."

Peté was thinking soulfully on the death of his uncle, stabbed to death by Ozian partisans in the Great War nearly 100 years before. It was in this very spot - or near it at least - that he fell.

"Ten bayonets is what it took to kill him," Peté said solemnly. "If only we could all go out so valiantly."

Emma cleared her throat. "Mother always said we all go out valiantly."

Peté said nothing for a moment. Emma looked up and saw her father looking at her. His hair was white, and his high cheekbones covered in wrinkles, but his dark eyes were still piercing, after ninety-some years. She met his gaze. It was hard for her to put up with Eluvataran dourness - but then again, she was much farther from death than he.

"That's wise," her father said after what seemed like an eternity. "Your mother’s people always had such a benevolent view of death," he stopped, as if to look for words. "But I can't help but feel it was the young ones that came up with that."

"Perhaps," Emma said. "Mother always said that once your spirit leaves your body it's happy to be away from this world. Away from all this pain, you know. I'd be happy for her if I were you. And I think she'd say it's healthy for us to remember the good times while we're still here."

"Those are wise words. Do you believe them?"

"I don't think there's a spirit inside me. But I think one shouldn't dwell on the past."

Peté nodded slowly, but said nothing. He turned his head upward - at least as far as his arthritic neck would allow. The sky was bright, but cloudy.

"Good advice."

"How are things in Myroria?" Emma asked. She took little interest in affairs across Cefnor but wanted to steer the old man's mind somewhere else.

"Ælar is causing a row," he said sternly.

"He certainly knows how to do that," Emma said, brushing her hair out of her face. A strong wind was picking up. This close to old Resdaynia, a devout Myrorian might claim to hear the moans of the spirits of dead ancestors on the wind.

"His Quarrovth boys got into a fight with the prefecture in Pelagis;" Peté began, with a tinge of disgust in his voice. "Some of them no older than 15. He says he discourages it,” Peté sniffed, “but he's congratulating the winners the next day. It's a dangerous disgrace to the whole system."

"I don't know much about that system, but I think violence has always been a part of it."

"It has," Peté said. His voice carried the authority of someone who knew such things firsthand. "But not like this. Not like Ælar's boys. Not in many, many years."

The wind blew stiffly and Peté crossed his arms. The tropical-weight wool blazer he was wearing was doing little to keep him warm.

"Let's discuss it in the car," Emma said. "It's a long drive back to the airport, anyway." She beckoned her father towards her, and they walked towards a black sedan, wheels covered in dust. She whispered something in Ozian to a guard standing by the driver's side door, and the guard swaggered to an SUV parked nearby. "I'll drive," she said to her father. "Get in."

Peté slowly lowered his body into the bucket passenger seat as Emma turned the key. The car, and the two SUVs in front and behind her, roared to life.

"What did the Prime Minister say about all this?" Emma asked, as the three vehicles pulled away towards an unimproved road. Emma glanced at the former king and saw his eyes widen.

"I haven't talked to a single member of the Myrorian government since your mother passed. And before that - oh, probably not since 1970 or '71."

"What?!" Emma exclaimed, keeping an eye on the road as she looked at him. "No wonder all the newspapers call you disgraced. You let them."

"I can't control the newspapers, Emma. I have neither favors nor intimidation on my side now."

"Sure you can," Emma said. "Do you think my reputation here is based on Ma's good word alone?"

"Your mother," Peté began, correcting her colloquialism, "is well liked here."

"That lasted me two months. Then the newspapers sounded a little resentful of me. But once they started hearing about how I killed a rival with my bare hands - "

Peté looked about set to have a heart attack. Emma quickly interjected -

"It wasn't true! But it's the story that matters. Do you get my point, Father?"

"Not... entirely;" Peté questioned.

"Agh," Emma sighed. "I was going to wait until we got on the plane to do this. Reach inside the center console."

Peté looked skeptical but slowly opened the console. Reaching inside, he slowly grasped a long metal blade. "What is this?"

"A bayonet for an Iseltov model 7 rifle. Circa 1900."

"Why are you showing me this?"

"Listen, Fa' - " Emma paused. "Father. Your Uncle Celar probably never got stabbed ten times with ten different bayonets. It was probably twice, with one. But everyone that ever saw what happened is dead now." Peté pursed his lips and turned the bayonet over in his wrinkled hands.

"That's a gift to you. Hang it above the mantle in Ilium House back home. And every time you look at it, think about how Uncle Celar made his own reputation, even after he was dead." Peté remained silent, his eying the century-old blade.

"One time - oh, this must have been 1965 or so - we were all at Quarrovth Estate. You and Meneldur had gone hunting," Emma began. "And I was sleeping on the floor of the Green Room. I woke up to hear Ælar and Mother yelling about something. I walked over to those glass doors separating the Green Room from the first-floor parlor, you know, and they were standing in the parlor arguing. I guess they never saw me, because they kept yelling even though I was looking at them, plain as day." Emma turned the car onto a paved road with a thump.

"And their argument got more and more heated - I don't even recall what it was about. And finally I hear Ælar call mother a drunk." Emma said the word drunk dripping with ire and anger. "Just like that. A drunk. I guess he regretted it as soon as he said it, because he got this look on his face like he wished he'd never been born. And Mother - she wound up her arm and - " Emma slammed her palm on the steering wheel. "Slapped him as hard as I've seen anyone slap anyone. I don't think he came out of his room the rest of the week."

"What was the point of that story?" Peté said, face oddly blank.

"Ælar has all those boys pressing to get rid of the Council, and throw out the Prime Minister... I think you just need to slap some sense into him."
« Last Edit: November 06, 2014, 01:29:55 AM by St Oz »
"I assure you -- I will be quite content to be a mere mortal again, dedicated to my own amusements."

Offline Letonna

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Re: The Noble Republic (2008)
« Reply #9 on: October 29, 2014, 02:37:18 AM »
"...It's an interesting situation. We should proceed with caution. A misstep could turn into an international affair."

Minister Vambaum said before bringing a gold rimmed tea cup to his lips.

"Are we entirely certain we should get involved though? It would be hypocritical if we stunt their growth for democracy when we fought so hard for ours." a well dressed man said, sitting around the same small patio table.

"But of course. It would only hypocritical if the media spins it that way. Some clever word smiting and we can have the public, and those parliament stooges on our side." Vambaum said with a sly grin on his face.

The well dressed man put on a sour look.

"I hope you realize who you're calling a stooge, Minister."

"Oh relax Charles, you know I didn't mean you."

"Did the house say anything specific? Any particular favor they want to take out?" Helgla said. She had her head in her hand, looking across the garden at some birds eating from a feeder.

"They did not my Lord. The contact only hinted at a favor that would bolster the house. They seemed to leave the means to us, or, well, you."

"I strongly urge you disregard this request miss. Our ties to the house historically have been through mischievous goings ons. The people of Letonna, and especially the media, may not take to heart the cause. Those damn bleeding heart liberals will smear this as unethical political interference or something. Your ratings could plummet."

"Ugh, why are you even here Charles if you're just going to torpedo the discussion. You shame the Empress with your Pres-" Vambaum said before being cut off.

"Enough Vambaum. He's here because I wanted to hear both sides of the argument. You both bring valid points."
Both men were silent as they awaited her solution.

"With the restructure of government, many businesses can no longer get around import taxes in Myroria. Before, trade could go strictly through a specific house, undermining any attempt of central government regulation. However, many businesses have been hit in the recent months with the new laws. To compensate for this, and until the Myrorian government realizes the value of our business, more strict regulations will be imposed on trade." Helgla said calmly, twirling a tea spoon in her fingers.

"What?! You can't do this without the approval of the parliament! They will never agree to it."Charles said.
 
"No need to worry Baron. I will make my case before the Parliament in the next session. As I'm sure you're well aware, they can often be swayed with a few valid points and a pretty face.  With any luck, it will buy the House some fuel to jump start this political agenda of theirs."

Baron Charles Felver was red in the face.

"You're creating an issue where there is none, all to play into this twisted scheme of theirs! Let it be known that YOU, my Lord, are the one to have stunted the growth of democracy, and the betterment of a people! Good day!"

The Baron stood up, threw his napkin down, and stormed off. Minister Vambaum smiled and chuckled.

"I did mean him when I said 'those stooges in the parliament.'"

Offline Eluvatar

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Re: The Noble Republic (2008)
« Reply #10 on: October 29, 2014, 05:20:21 AM »
"Captain?"

"Give me a moment, Colonel, a moment. This is a fascinating report."

"Yes Captain."

The several-handed clock above the desk ticked, relentlessly.

"Colonel, I am approving plan Heron, in the name of the King's peace, soon may he return."

"Yes, Captain. The signals will be sent forthwith."



"Thirty two. Twenty. Thirty five. Fifty one. Forty four. Forty eight. Fifty eight. Ten. Twenty one. Thirty seven."

As the machines in the laundromat churned and rumbled above, the proprietor wrote in a notebook.

After a few minutes of intent work with pencil and paper, she turned to a cheap telephone hanging unimpressively on the basement wall..

"Audrey? Yes, hello, this is this is Jeanne. I think I could use another ah another order of your flowers uh tonight."

"Yes, I'm doing quite ah well, thank you Audrey."

"Yes, the ah blue lavender. Ah, well no, not ... not tomorrow."

"It is a, ah, pleasure doing business with you ah too."

Jeanne then ripped the page out of the notebook and stuffed it into the pocket of a jacket waiting to be dry-cleaned.
« Last Edit: October 30, 2014, 12:40:24 AM by Eluvatar »
                                 
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Offline Myroria

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Re: The Noble Republic (2008)
« Reply #11 on: November 07, 2014, 02:27:46 PM »
Sendryna Andraniseth let a sigh out of her mouth. She had met with the Empeurer once before - after her election to the Prime Minister's seat. Now, two months later, she was meeting with His Majesty again - though not for a hailing of her accomplishments as she had hoped the meeting might be. It was called almost immediately after the brawl between Ælar's Quarrovth boys and the prefecture had ended; before the dust had even settled and the wounded bodies carried off to Pelagis General, Sendryna was clearing her schedule.

She adjusted in her seat and brushed her dark, wavy hair out of her face. Sitting in the first of three chairs lined up against the wall outside the monarch's office in the Imperial Residence, she couldn't help but feel like she was being called into the principal's office. She leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees but hardly had time to relax the muscles in her back before the door clicked open and a middle-aged man with dark stubble stepped out.

"Serja," he said in a gravely voice.

"Ganalyn Quarrovth!" Sendryna exclaimed, grabbing her briefcase off the chair next to her and standing up. "I had heard about your appointment but never got a chance to come see you.

"Ah," Ganalyn said, confusion in his voice.

"We were in class together, at Green Hills."

"Is that so?" Ganalyn said, suppressing annoyance. "Does anyone actually like talking about high school?" he thought.

"Yes, well, you were a year below me. I was Class of 1985 so you must have been - "

"'86." Ganalyn said tersely.

"Yes, that's right. How has life been treating you?"

"Well..." he began, looking for words. "I'm Imperial Chamberlain now."

"Yes, I heard that," Sendryna said. "I always knew you'd go far."

Ganalyn forced a smile and glanced over his shoulder into the king's office. Seeing a look of annoyance on his face, he quickly turned to Sendryna.

"His Majesty can see you now, serja.

"Thank you Ganalyn," Sendryna said, adjusting her skirt. "It was nice to see you again."

"You as well." Ganalyn replied. Sendryna walked into the Empeurer's office, the smile fading from her face as she remembered what she was here for. The Chamberlain closed the door as she stood before the Empeurer. He sat behind a large mahogany desk - bought by Nelvil I Moomintroth in the 1860s, it had seen use with every monarch since.

"You'll have to forgive me, Madam Prime Minister, as I don't have much time." the Empeurer began. His jacket was draped on the chair behind him, and the suspenders he was wearing over his shirt only served to make his near-ancient visage seem older. He was never one to remove his suitcoat, but the Myrorian summer - the hottest on record - had given way to a Myrorian fall no cooler.

"Of course, Your Majesty," Sendryna said. The street - visible from the window behind the Empeurer - was bustling.

"Please, Madam Prime Minister, take a seat." he implored. Sendryna walked to a chair in front of the desk and sat carefully. The chairs were about as old as the desk - but the desk would probably be more comfortable.

"I have tried speaking to my brother on numerous occasions - " Meneldur began. He had a habit of monologuing - both of his parents blamed the other for it. "And each time he has denied any wrongdoing. I visited the prefecture after the latest 'incident' - to use his language - with the Quarrovth boys and they looked worried. Some of those kids - no older than 17 - they have handguns. No one has died yet, thank Eru, but it's only a matter of time. If it's one of our men, they'll know they can beat us. If it's one of their boys, they'll strike back with the fury of a thousand suns."

"It certainly is," Sendryna said, pausing. "a very serious situation. Have you spoken with the Office of Investigation? Maybe they could stick something on him."

"Not so much as public nuisancy. I spoke to Ralmyn Prolrovth in the MIA - about if they've heard anything through the grapevine - nothing. He's airtight."

"Ah," Sendryna began. "I could look into it. I might have more pull over there than you. I'm sure the IOI could find something, for the right favors. Or maybe the MIA could get a man on the inside."

"That would be an immense help, Madam Prime Minister. But be careful. Once you anger them, they're out for blood."



"New drivers, eh?" asked a Customs agent as laborers loaded up a semi with goods from Letonna. At this small station in the woods on the border, the only thing that could be heard was the rumbling of the truck's diesel engine. 

"Just for today," said a man in the driver's seat.

"They keep getting younger and younger," said the agent, shaking his head.

"We work for cheap," the driver said.

"Sign this," the agent replied, shoving a clipboard through the cab window. The driver duly did so and handed it back. "I think you should be good."

"Thank you, sera!" said the driver as it pulled off. After about ten miles, the truck pulled onto a main road and the passenger checked the mirrors to see if there were any cars following them. Breathing a sigh of relief when he saw the road empty, he turned to the driver.

"Where do we meet them?"

"There's a weigh station fifteen miles ahead that's empty. We pull in, set the truck on fire, and drive off. Our contact shut off the cameras.

"Can we take any of the furniture? I just moved and I'd really like to get - "

"That's not in the plan." the driver said. "No Letonnese goods on this truck will make it into anyone's house. This was direct from Tharer himself, which means its from Ælar himself. Trade is to be restricted even more than it is already. We want the PM to feel this. And if the Letonnese think its the government burning their trucks, well, all the better." The passenger sighed and looked out the window.

"Fine."
"I assure you -- I will be quite content to be a mere mortal again, dedicated to my own amusements."

Offline Letonna

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Re: The Noble Republic (2008)
« Reply #12 on: November 15, 2014, 09:01:03 PM »
Empress Helgla and a group of Ministers, advisers, and Parliament members sat around a large oval table in a very decorated room. Called the Burgundy Room, it used to be her fathers smoking and drinking room, where he would retreat to have a cigar and think alone. But since Helgla had no taste for tobacco, she turned it into a luncheon room, where she would invite members of government to a weekly luncheon so she could discuss goings on in the nation.

Today they were serving kwar baranth, a popular dish in Myroria. Helgla told the chefs to make something Myrorian, on the off chance it would agitate some of her opposition attending today. She barely had time to start off with small talk before debate erupted regarding trade with Myroria.
 
"We demand answers to what's going on. Trade is grinding to a hault. Shipments are going missing. There are rumors that terrorists are destroying all of our exports. If we find out the crown is in league with terrorists, we will file impeachment charges against you My Lord." The representative from Khenstien shouted.

"Come now Representative, we would not cripple our own economy. It's true the House reached out to us for help, but we agreed to only offer political support. We have instructed the Ministry of Justice to look into this, and we will report our findings to the Parliament as soon as we find out something." Minister Vambaum quickly retorted.

"And what will you do in the mean time? Western Letonna is crippled without that trade. Myrorian buyers have freezed all orders for goods. There are hard working people out there that are going to lose their livelihood, all because you looked the other way at these acts. We need to demand compensation from their government, or else the Parliament will take actions its our own!" The Vems representative shouted.

Open debate erupted with people on both sides yelling and pointing at nothing in particular. Helgla remained silent, and took a few bites of her dish. She stopped after 3 bites, fighting back the urge to spit it out. She never liked yams. She remained silent for another few minutes before picking up her water glass, turning it around, and throwing it against the wall, smashing it, and silencing the room.

"Sorry to interrupt this constructive discussion, but I really must be going, I have other urgent appointments. I trust you'll all see yourselves out."

She nodded to Minister Vambaum, and the two stood up, and walked into the hallway. Vambaum checked his phone as they walked.

"The Luncheon still has another 15 minutes." He said, curious.
 
"30 more seconds in there I would have signed an order to have you all shot. Why my father thought a parliament was a good idea I'll never know."

Vambaum nervously coughed and adjusted his collar.

"Well, I think it overall went well My Lord. The Myroians may have taken our offer a little to far, but the parliament seems to be riled up and patriotic. They may actually help our cause by propping up some embargo or trade restrictions or something."

Helgla put on a frown.

"Yes, but the fact they took it this far is what makes me nervous. If the house is this desperate to take back control, I don't know if I'm willing to be involved anymore. They're sending thugs to attack people, burning goods, pulling every political string they can find. Those strings go two ways you know. If they fall, they're going to drag us down with them." Halgla said, staring at the floor.

Vambaum stopped and turned to the Empress.

"My Lord, I assure you this will all straighten itself out. Our relationship to the house is beyond value. We need them, Letonna needs them. You wouldn't turn a blind eye to a friend in need would you? Once they win the hearts of the people, trade will resume. Heck, with the Parliament up in arms now, it will probably be even quicker. Just leave it to me, and this whole affair will be done with soon." Vambaum said.

He gave her a wink, and turned to keep walking down the hall way. Helgla remained standing there, lost in thought and swirling emotions.