Nobles and Peasents - Kammark RP [Message before joining]

(this thread will start with the coronation of Robert IX, but will eventually have other events)

Trebizond
Château de Girène
May 10, 2025

It wasn't cold, but it's certainly not warm. This phrase could be used to describe the weather in Kammark's capital, Trebizond, year round. This cold was very much amplified by the medieval walls of the Chateau de Girene, the official seat of the Commonwealth Diet.

The previous King, Augustin Alfred I, had drowned while on a hunting trip just two weeks ago, at the age of 33, leaving his son Robert, just barely 17, as the next King with absolute rule over the country. This young man now stood in front of the Commonwealth Diet, waiting to be confirmed as the next monarch. The Diet sat in something like the nave of a church - a table in the middle of an empty hall lit only by candles where one could fit 50 such tables, adding to the sense of unimportance in the young man.

The first to speak after Robert's entry into the hall was the Magistrate of the Diet, Mihkel Allik, who stood up from his ornate seat with a tablet in his hand and a speech opened in its notes. "My Lord! After short deliberations and a vote, this Diet of the Commonwealth of Kammark has confirmed you as our new King, in accordance with our laws of succession. What do you wish to be known as?"

Allik was confident, his grey whiskers and hair barely moved as his powerful voice filled the hall, echoing off the walls - almost a complete mirror image of Robert. The new King looked to his chamberlain, who gave him a nod of approval. "I have chosen the name, uhh..." An uncomfortable silence lasting a few seconds ensued. Robert's voice turned meek, "The name Robert the Ninth."

Mihkel smiled, though it wasn't obvious to anyone due to his chaotic facial hair arrangements. "Therefore I do congratulate you, King Robert, and officially ask you to begin preparations for your coronation, for which this Diet has allocated 5 million kronor."

Though Robert's clothing was thick and woolen and there were several layers of it, he felt cold sweat developing. "Thank you, Magistrate, and the blessings of Jesus be with you today." That was all he managed to get out of his mouth before he had to turn around and rush out of the hall (which he managed to pull off in a regal manner), lest he faint then and there. He had been so sheltered that being in the presence of such people made him absolutely terrified.

Mihkel sat back down and took a good look at his fellow Nobles before speaking. "Well, gentlemen, what are your impressions of our new King? Seemed quite... twitchy to me." His manner of speaking had switched from the respect he had shown to the King to now a smirking ego-centrism.

His comrade from the House of Erenfried, Lauro Erenfried, smiled weakly. "And you'll, of course, be taking advantage of this. Don't mess with him like you did with the late Augustin, blessings upon him and his heirs. I know all about your web of informers and innocent teachers and carers around our King."

"Do you? I'm simply trying to do what's best for His Majesty and for our noble Commonwealth. He is.. immature, incomplete, one might say. I am... providing a guiding hand, something someone like you might appreciate if you were in our King's place."
Mihkel words provoked approving nods from around a third of the other fiefs and their first-borns around the dense pine meeting table.

"Some would say that the King is a lot more mature and competent than you give him credit for. I will remind you, my Magistrate, that lese-majeste is still a capital crime." He did not voice it, but his whole manner of speaking showed that he had nothing but contempt for Allik and his entire House.

A tense silence lasting half a minute ensued, during which the two of them exchanged glares. "I suggest, Magistrate," another Noble spoke up, who was no more than 50, "that we end proceedings for the day. We all have celebrations to whose planning we must attend to."

Allik, called Old Rug Rat behind his back, did not break his intense stare at Erenfried's freckled face. He simply said, "Agreed," and banged with the gavel. The Nobles exited the chamber in silence.

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Trebizond
Trebizond Citadel
An hour later

Robert was lounging in a chair in his library, his mind a swirling mass of thoughts. Everything that had been happening in the past few weeks had been too much for the sheltered, let's face the facts, kid. He had been sitting and blankly staring at the shelves, a cigarette butt in his hands which his lips hadn't touched even once. The bells of the Royal Chapel had been ringing for the past 5 minutes, calling the Royal Family to evening prayer - Robert hadn't noticed them.

The young King didn't even notice his old maid, Marie Delacroix, enter and approach him. "Rob, you should get to evening prayers, you know how Father Sylvester gets when you don't come. I don't think you've even been in the Chapel since your father, bless his memory and his heirs, passed away." She was dressed simply, on account of being a Commoner, in heavy contrast to the newest foreign fashions worn by Robert.

He blinked a few times in quick succession and picked up his phone, checking the time. 30 minutes had gone by, they felt like 30 seconds. "Plea... Don't call me that, Marie. I'm not the Prince Royal anymore, I'm King. I just need some alone time right now, time to think and decide what to do."

"What you need, Robert, is to get off your regal behind and start doing something." Marie had been taking care of him since his baptism and knew that she could scold him if needed. "You're in a library, read the Lives of Saints, anything! My father also died and what helped me was moving on. And yes, you ARE King - the single most powerful person in Kammark. You can do anything and you choose to do nothing, withering away in here." She was a second mother to him, but with both his parents so often away, she had often been the closest thing to a parent.

Robert remained calm. "Your father wasn't that single most powerful person in Kammark, whose place you've just suddenly had to take, now was he?" He murmured, remaining still as a statue. His morbid stupor was, once again, disturbed by someone entering and beginning to talk with him.

This time it was the Royal Guard, who had just been outside the door. "Your Highness, the Marquess of Erenfried has arrived and wishes to see you."

Robert looked up with confusion in his face. "What does he want?"

"He wishes to discuss the coronation, sir." The Guard wasn't used to talking with the monarch, it immediately made him uncomfortable.

He turned his gaze forward again, his mind blank for a few seconds. "Send him in." Too late did he realise that he had given this order while wearing a t-shirt, sweater and wide jeans, something very unbefitting a King. No matter.

The Marquess entered, looking considerably more regal than a literal King - full dress civil uniform and cape going to his ankles. He adjusted his ginger hair as he walked from the door to where Robert IX was sat. "Your Highness, I wish to discuss the guest list for your coronation." He stumbled briefly as he noticed what his monarch was wearing. "I assume you wish to invite the standard - kings, queens, heirs to the throne and Messianist leaders?"

Robert slowly stood up and mashed the cigarette butt into the ashtray for no apparent reason (there had been no ash on it for at least 20 minutes) and took a few steps closer to the map of Eras hanging on the library wall. "I was also considering... presidents and prime ministers. Yes. Invite those too." He took another cigarette as he walked and lit, this time taking several elongated puffs.

Lauro was left ever so slightly stunned by this - inviting people from non-monarchical countries to coronations was a major taboo, it had only been done twice before and then it had been for purely for political reasons. "Are.. you sure, sir? This breaks precedent and the Diet," he was thinking only of Allik as he said this, "might not approve." He didn't allow his concern to show, he knew that Robert was already enough pressure as it was, but it was there, inside him.

"Then if they object," Robert turned around and looked Erenfried straight in the eyes, "that they are invited because Robert the Ninth Dei Gratia has decreed it and their objections are denied. After all, I'm King, aren't I?"

Trebizond
Trebizond Citadel Chapel
May 11, 2025, 3:30 AM

Robert was kneeled before the iconostasis of the Citadel Chapel, his legs already in heavy pain from the hard marble floor. Unable to sleep, he had come to the chapel, which stood abandoned on the north side of his expansive residence. Nobody was there, except for the lone monk doing laps around the nave, swinging around an incense burner and chanting prayers to himself - standard practice to never leave a house of God completely alone here in Kammark.

During the day, the chapel was quite beautiful, but now all of it was in the shadows, foggy from all the incense. Only a small portion was lit up by the moonlight, which tried its best to make all the gildings shine. It's interior had stood untouched since the days of Philippe the Handsome, the only changes had been the icons over the entrance as the patron saints of Kings (and the occasional Queen) changed.

"Oh, Jesus, my Saviour, why must you do this to me?" The boy's eyes shot from one icon to another, unable to stay still, just like his mind. "I do not desire power, I will gladly give up anything just so I may be relieved of this. Tell me, please, why have you taken my parents away? Why have you burdened me so?" He was close to tears, but even here, with no-one around, his Kammarkan culture got the better of his weeping. And what he was praying was true - all his life he had never desired power, never desired the Kingdom - he had made that abundantly clear to his parents, but he didn't have siblings that were still among the living, so he would be King whether he liked it or not.

Robert's sinuses took in the incense, agitating his mind even more. Though it was traditional, he had never been a fan. "Why, tell me? Please!" Robert screamed this into his mind, drawing blood from his palms as he tensed up. He had always been taught that all hardships are simply a way to greater faith, but this... this was close to breaking it totally. For 3 days he had not slept, had not rested prodded by his ministers and various artisans preparing his clothing and crowns, but more importantly - prodded by the realisation that the rest of his life would be spent personally in charge of the fates of 20 million Kammarkans. At this point, he would have even taken 5 minutes of rest as a sign of divine providence.

Yet he was destined for more. As he took another strong, yet ragged, breath, his eyes finally fixated on the icon Jesus, standing and looking over the chapel in his golden robes from the top of the iconostasis. Robert was, for some reason, unable to take his gaze off it. In the middle of the night, it seemed to him to glisten more than usual, Jesus' face appeared more beautiful and serene than ever. And that serenity... it calmed him. His mind ground to a halt, his thoughts now fixated on this one object, shimmering in the pale moonlight.

"Be not afraid, Robert," he heard a voice in his mind. "You may shed tears today, my child, but you will sing with glee tomorrow." Contrary to all 21st century standards of icons being stationary, it began to move. Rather, He. Jesus had come off the iconostasis and was now standing in front of him, glowing. Robert looked up, his tear ducts finally giving in and flooding his face with those salty rivers that should not ever touch a King's face. The tension in him released and he lunged forward towards the apparation, nearly knocking down the lectern in front of which he was kneeled.

"How... how? Why? Tell me, please!" The young man tried to grasp the Saviour's robe, but was unable to. "You are King of this holy land, my child," the apparition said to him, "and that is what you will be. Be not afraid. Where rivers flow today, wine will flow tomorrow." And it was gone. Jesus returned to his seat at the pinnacle of the iconostasis, returning to immobility. As quickly as it had started, it ended. The icon wasn't even glistening now, it was barely even visible from where Robert was kneeled.

Robert looked up at it, hoping it would say something - nothing. With tears flowing, he fell unconscious, finally relieved. Truly, divine providence.

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Fiefdom of Côté
Erenfried Manor
May 11, 2025, 14:00 PM

Lauro Erenfried, Marquess of Erenfried, had been at work all morning. So little time until the coronation, so much work. His servants had acquired a map of Eras the size of a bedsheet and laid it out on his desk for him to examine and to decide who to invite. Just as him wife came in, he looked over to his butler, "Get me a map of the world's Messianic dioceses and archdioceses, we'll see about inviting some religious leaders as well." It was customary to invite Auroral Church leaders, but Lauro had chosen to, in the spirit of ecumenism, to invite those from other denominations as well.

The list of people to send an invite to was now over 200 people long and only growing. His wife, dressed in a long red dress in the precise shade of red that was on Kammark's flag, walked over and sat down in one of the Art Noveau-style armchairs in front of his thick, dense desk. While May was a cold month in Trebizond, it was a very warm one here in the south of the country, most of the population had already begun the swim season. Lauro was planning to take the future Marquess of Erenfried swimming later as well, if time permitted.

"Well, my dear, how are the invitations coming along? Anything I could help out with?" Her voice was as sweet and as soothing as the morning dew on grass and as pure as a mountain spring. While it had been an arranged marriage between Jeanette and Lauro Erenfried, they had always loved each other, they'd been childhood sweethearts. This love between them had already produced a child and a second one was already in the works.

"Just about everything. Which countries, for example, are big enough that we invite both the head of government and the head of state, but which deserve only an invitation for the head of state?" He grinned widely and blushed. "I say sod them all and invite no-one - quick coronation and a 3 day afterparty, everyone gets the day off, even Clergy."

"Oh, please. You're always too happy to send them all wherever and do it quickly and efficiently. After all, that's what you did on our wedding night, isn't it?" She grinned as well, taking in the sweet scent of the begonias blooming in the pots behind Lauro. While some in Kammark might object to this, Jeanette was quite apt in matters of politics and often assisted her husband in planning some of his more cunning undertakings.

The Marquess looked up for a moment at his wife, but then back at the map. "See, His Highness doesn't have a wife yet, so that doesn't work. We have to at least invite the people from Waltalriche and Friedensstadt. It's a rare moment, a coronation. How many people watched it live in foreign lands when Augustin, bless his memory and his heirs, ascended the throne? 500 million? We'll have to invite a lot of people."

"Well, technology just keeps getting better and better. That 500 million is only television, if I remember correctly, you're not counting the views on Viedéo, half the world watched it on there." She pulled out her phone, one of the newer foreign models with the many cameras, and checked it out. "As per usual, I'm right. The moment of the crown being placed on Augustin's head, bless his memory and his heirs, has been viewed 4 and a half billion times."

"Well, I'll be damned." Lauro looked briefly into Jeanette's phone, confirming the viewcount. "I'll have to suggest making an official online livestream at the next Diet meeting." He glanced into his coffee mug - sadly empty. "Butler! Another coffee!" And back to the map. "The people we have good diplomatic relations with get both. If not, then only head of state." Lauro sat back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment. "I just hope King Robert does well, it's been hard on him. But if he's half as headstrong as his father and one third as pious, he'll do well."

Puusepp
Barracks of the Royal Guard of Côté
May 13, 14:30 PM

"Just a shame how little time Augustin, bless his memory and his heirs, had on the throne. I, for one, really liked what he was doin' with rebuilding our roads. Really made it easier to take ma girl out on holiday without crashing our car." Corporal Toomas Kukk was sat on a case of ammunition, facing his friend Sergeant Oskar Magi and carefully taking apart his service rifle and polishing every little bit of it. Both of their voices were hushed, as was customary during a period of mourning. Soft jazz was playing on Oskar's phone, giving the scene an air of casualness.

"Agreed, what a shame. Death comes for us all, but for all the good ones first." Both of them were in a state of rather heavy undress (at least for members of the military) - trousers and undershirts, not even any socks on. To be fair, it was May. "I hear his son Robert is meeting with the Conclave today, getting spiritual advice for how to proceed after... you know." Oskar passed a roughened palm through his crewcut, not that there was much to pass it through.

The barracks were rather spartan, though not overly so - bunk beds in rows, tables with chairs at either end and a portrait of both the King and the Marquess hung over the southern door. Both of them looked over at the portraits instinctively. King Augustin Alfred was still hanging there, with black ribbons hanging from the frame.

"So King Robert... the ninth with that name, if I'm not mistaken." Toomas (often shortened to Tom by the Santonian-speaking officers) broke the awkward silence, trying to move off the topic of death that had been so pervasive for the past week. "You know anything about him?"

"He is the ninth, said so on the radio. Apparently he's not even 18 yet. That's about all I know, I haven't even seen a photo or portrait of him. Pretty mysterious for a King, no?" Though Oskar was talking rather casually, every time he mentioned Robert directly or indirectly, a note of deep respect entered into his tone. He leaned back a bit more in his bed, but still keeping his gaze on Tom.

"Well, then we'll know a lot more about His Majesty soon enough. After all, it's pretty hard to be secretive if you're King. I do hope he'll continue his father's, bless his memory and his heirs, reforms - they made the soldier's life much better, even if you're not an officer." The same respect pervaded the Corporal's voice. He finished polishing and quickly put the firearm back together, laying it down beside him on the ammunition.

Sergeant Magi's response was interrupted by the trumpet that signalled the entry into the barracks of a high-ranking officer. The two Commoners quickly threw on their jackets and rose, doing their best to appear put together. It turned out to be Colonel Ignace Gaudreau, commander of the 4th Brigade of the Royal Guard of Côté. Ignace was quite elderly now, his silvery hair was only irregularly interrupted by the brownish-black streaks of his youth.

He spoke in a clear, though raspy Santonian, in contrast to the Scalvian spoken by most in Côté. "Good afternoon, men!" Everyone saluted briefly. "I'm here to inform you that this company, the 11th, will represent Côté's Royal Guard at the upcoming coronation. You will depart for Trebizond this afternoon, where further orders will be given by yours truly. Participation is mandatory. Anyone not in the trucks parked in the main square by 5 PM will be flogged without mercy. Understood, soldiers?"

Everyone's reflexes kicked in and the room filled with: "Yes, sir!" and Ignace departed, together with his bodyguards and deputy. Now the common soldiery could relax, though only momentarily. Immediately started up the hubbub of departure - people packing up their service rifles, uniforms and personal belongings. Truly, an honour - they would be the first to see the new King after coronation.

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Trebizond
Cathedral of Saint Carpophorus and Abundius
May 13, 17:00 PM

While this cathedral was an important cultural and architectural landmark, it was also the seat of the Conclave of Seventeen - the body charged with spiritually protecting Kammark and its people. As time went on, however, it was given other duties on top of that, such as running the court system and federal police.

The Conclave was meeting today in its usual place, under the Dome of St Luke (yes, the other three are named after the other Apostles). A small chamber had been built under it, just big enough to fit the 17 members of the Conclave and whoever they were meeting with. All 17 sat on a raised platform, behind one continous desk that heavily resembled a lectern. The younger bishops had laptops or tablets out in front of them, one just had a phone, but all the elders were with pen and paper in front of them, looking down at their new King.

All 17 bishops and archbishops of the Conclave had been called back to Trebizond as soon as news broke of King Augustin Alfred's death, and they had stayed there after to take care of the other very important thing - crowning the next King. Their meeting today was not at all about the coronation, however.

"I say to you again, Your Excellencies, without a single doubt in my mind that that is how it happened. Christ Himself came down from the icon and spoke to me, told me to not be afraid. I hope that you can... tell if it was real, what it means." Robert IX was King, but in front of this Conclave he was nothing more than a peasent who had found his way before a bunch of bishops.

First spoke the most senior of them all, the Patriarch of Trebizond, who, despite his age and declining health, was all attention. He leant forward, his red vestments slightly crinkling. "I believe you, my child, and I hope that so do my fellows here. The Book of Joel does state that..."

He carefully took a Bible (red covers, printed specifically for the Conclave) from a drawer in the desk before him and slowly opened up the relevant passage. "'And your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions.' You once told me yourself, my child, that you were afraid of being King of our bountiful land - now you need be afraid no more."

Now spoke another, equally crusted bishop - but this one was in green vestments, with a cane leaned against his section of this synthesis of lectern and desk. "But the First Epistle of St John does also state that one should test these visions, to see if they are of God. I am also of the opinion that Jesus has spoken to you, but pray, child, pray and have faith that God will tell you if this was of Him or not."

Robert could not bring himself to lift up his head to look at them as they spoke one after the other, he could merely listen. In the moment, it had seemed so real, so beautiful, so... godly. Now he was beginning to doubt it. "If I could interject..." He stepped into the conversation, still not looking at any of them directly. "That's where the problem is, though. I'm not sure if I can believe that it was of God, that I could believe it even if God told me." These were the men in whose presence even his father had been shy, so Robert was thrice as shy as him and five times as meek as him.

"Have faith, child." The eldest spoke again, offering his sage advice. "Every challenge, every attack directed towards your faith is a chance for more faith. If you see yourself doubting, look to Scripture and find out if this is something that our Lord would communicate to you." It was clear by how quickly the room became silent once he began speaking that his advice was something worth listening to.

The boy remained silent for just a few moments, before stepping back and deeply bowing. "Your advice is, as always, useful. Thank you, Your Excellencies. I shall allow you to continue with your work."

Everything on Robert's body radiated total obedience and submission to circumstance in this very moment. He had not dared to look at the Conclave once while he was talking with them, he was exiting without turning his back towards them, out of fear it might cause pearl clutching. Even his clothing - smart casual jumper with a collared shirt was nothing compared to the full vestments of the bishops and he knew it. The young man exited with humility, returning swiftly to his home in the Citadel.

Only 30 minutes later

King Robert's exit was in total contrast to the entry of Mihkel Allik, Duke of Courbet. He practically tore down the door, only bowing briefly as he took his place in front of the hemicircular desk. "I have been told, Your Excellencies, that His Majesty the King came to see you just a few minutes ago."

Now was the turn for young blood as the bishop with the phone out spoke up, calmly but firmly. "Yes, he did. But how would you know that, my child, seeing as it happened, by your admission, only a few moments ago?" He leant forward, placing his hands and elbows on the lectern, fingers locked together.

"You need not concern yourself with that. I am very much interested in the spiritual wellbeing of our new monarch, I have taken it upon as one of my primary duties, in fact. I should like to know what it is that he wanted to discuss, Your Excellencies, if it is prudent." Allik had not spoken to the Conclave in a long time, it became immediately clear to him that no-one was by default his friend here.

"It is not prudent, Allik," Spoke the eldest of them all, "You labour under the misapprehension that this Most Holy Conclave of Seventeen is beholden to you and should report to you. I remember very clearly our first encounter," His voice was tired, but strong, "You showed nothing but contempt 8 years ago, you show nothing but contempt now by entering so rudely and in such an excited state. Leave."

The Duke's face contorted into various expressions as he tried to savour the thought that he might not be welcome somewhere, but eventually emitted a forcedly humble look. "I apologise, Your Excellencies. I will make an appointment and come see you on another, more... suitable day." Even with this sudden change of heart, he had not the common decency to exit without turning his back on them. Mihkel briefly considered sending one of his men after that oh-so-full-of-himself Patriarch, but immediately talked himself out of it - that was God's representative here on Earth, after all.

Mihkel made his way down the stairs as quickly as his old body physically could and swept out into the street and into his car, plopping himself down into it. "Driver, Citadel." Fine, if he couldn't get at the King this way, he'd do it another way. No chance another one would slip out of his hands.

Trebizond
Citadel of Trebizond
May 14th, 10:00 AM

The gavel in Robert's hand struck weakly the sound block and Lauro Erenfried, Marquess of Erenfried, rose. He had a phone in his hand, quite a new model, with the main points of his speech open on it. "I thank you, my King, and may my speech please this commission." He quickly bowed to the right and then to the left. "The invitations to the coronation itself and the feast thereafter have been sent out to most heads of state on our bountiful planet, 122 in total. The heads of government of 47 of those have also been invited. They were all sent by diplomatic mail and I have received confirmation that all of them have arrived. I am now waiting for responses, I shall inform this commission when I do receive them."

Approving nods and harumphs all around. Lauro was emboldened, began to speak even more confidently. "Now onto our next point of business - the feast itself. As we are all aware, a coronation is a big deal and the feast, therefore, must be equally big. I propose that it last three days, in accordance with tradition. During this time, we here in the Citadel can celebrate and the workers of our noble Kingdom can have the time off to celebrate as well. Any thoughts?" He sat back down and unconsciously ran a hand through his ginger hair, slicking it back slightly. The cold of the northern city of Trebizond was quite unpleasent and Erenfried was shivering, but was so far managing to hide it rather well.

A momentary silence ensued and the King himself spoke. Heads turned in slight surprise towards him. "Thank you, Marquess. I agree - our celebrations have to be big." His voice was rather meek and shy, but the words were now confident. "Tradition is what our country is known for and tradition we gott- have to keep. 3 days it'll be. I have already spoken with my chamberlains about preparing the Citadel for this. The most important guests will stay here in the central building, those being from our neighbors and close allies, others can be in the other buildings or in the Noble Quarter."

The quiet confidence of the King seemed to inspire discussion among the coronation planning commission. Next was the Bishop of Maubagne, the representative of the Conclave of Seventeen - the same who had become infamous among his peers for exclusively using a phone to take notes during Conclave sessions. "Our monasteries and nunneries can also provide shelter for visitors. After all, that is their purpose - to give a home to those seeking God." His tone now changed from one of alacrity to one of worry. " I am concerned, my friends, that such lengthy celebrations could devolve into... debauchery. I'm not talking just about the top brass here in Trebizond, no, across the country. The saying does go that the Devil finds work for idle hands. If we are celebrating, then the celebrations must be meaningful and godly."

Once again - nodding heads and agreeing harumphs. Erenfried again. "Yes, you're very correct. I'll see about working with the other fiefs to organise celebrations inkeeping with tradition and religious law, that'll keep the populace from partying too hard." Though considering one of the more progressive (at least by Kammarkan standards) and laid-back nobles, he still clung to tradition and the social hierarchy as if it were made of solid gold.

A momentary silence ensued while everyone considered the next points of business. Finally, after around 10 seconds of everyone admiring the medieval walls and their own notes, spoke up the Lord Protector of the Realm - none other than Mihkel Allik. He was seated opposite the King, still internally fuming from being turned away from the Conclave. He leant forward and spoke in his characterstic rasp. "But about the military side of this now, gentlemen. As the Marquess of Erenfried noted," he spit the name out like something vile, "we will have, at the very least, a hundred high-profile guests. I request permission, Your Highness, to mobilise both the Royal Guard of Trebizond and the Royal Guard of Courbet, my fiefdom, to protect this important occasion. They could also put up a very stunning military parade in your honour, sir."

Robert's somber face didn't move a single muscle. Lauro stirred as if asking for permission to speak and the King granted it with a slight nod, preferring to let the others do the talking instead of him. Even though his confidence had risen because of what the vision and the Conclave had said, Robert still felt as if his words and his person held less importance than those of others.

"If I may... thank you, Your Highness. Even though I personally do not think so, the other fiefs might have a two or thing against only the Royal Guards of Trebizond and Courbet taking part." Lauro definitely thought so and Allik knew it. "I have ordered a regiment of the Royal Guard of Côté to come here as an honour guard myself, so perhaps we could organise the defence together, as fiefs?"

A deep sigh and a mechanical nod came from the other end of the table.

"Very good, then we'll talk about in the next Diet meeting. Anything else that we need to speak about, Your Highness?" Erenfried looked to the teen to his right, who was sitting rather uncomfortably in the plush chair and, as calmly as he could, shook his head. The gavel went down and Robert rose, sliding his phone into an inner pocket and exiting regally, before anyone else.

And as Lauro was walking out with several binders in his arm, the Lord Protector himself, in full dress uniform, brushed harshly past him. Lauro stopped to examine who had done it, since the dim candlelight and minimal natural light prevented immediate recognition - and he saw a glare that was unmistakably that of the Old Rug Rat himself, Mihkel Allik.

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Trebizond
May 14th

While the high elites discussed the hows and whats of the coronation, preparations for it were already in full swing. The Royal Constabulary had stepped up patrols and their general presence in the city - you know couldn't go even near the Noble or Ecclesiastical Quarters without someone from law enforcement asking you for your documents.

Action was most visible, however, in the Citadel of Trebizond. All the guest rooms and spaces were being deep cleaned by a virtual army of maids and cleaners, ensuring that anyone living there would find nothing lacking. Lauro Erenfried had already unilaterally decided that all delegations would have a 25 person team assigned to them - guards, maids, butlers, dressers, liaisons, interpreters etc. Nothing was to be missing.

And so it was across the city - at the airport, at military bases, at the central Cathedral of Saint Carpophorus and Abundius, hell, even the high-end restaurants and cafes were being vetted and prepared for the hordes of variously inebriated kings, queens, presidents, prime ministers and everything inbetween. Say what you will, but Kammark takes coronations seriously.

Trebizond
Trebizond Citadel
May 15th, 22:00 PM

King Robert was back in his private quarters, this time in the lavishly decorated smoking lounge. The act of smoking had long since been a pastime of Kammarkan Kings and Queens, who often spent a large portion of their money on the finest cigars, ashtrays and other such paraphernalia. The royal family had amassed a gianormous collection of these items, they were often put on display to show the immense amount of wealth held by Robert's family.

One of the newest additions to the room was an Ishikawa OLED TV, spanning a very sizeable quarter of the western wall. "Late Night with Francois Dupont" was on, an unlanded Noble was being interviewed. The young King placed the cigar to his lips and took the expensive smoke in - strictly speaking, smoking was banned for under-18s, but most Kammarkans started at around 15.

"That, my dear viewers, was Marc-Antoine Garnier - we hope to see him here again. And it's also all we have time for tonight, unfortunately. I'll see you all again tomorrow, have a good one!" The theme music was played once again by the band there and the smiling 40-something man walked off stage to the cheers of the crowd. Robert, however, was not in the mood for cheering.

*I'll be lucky if people cheer at my coronation. Why, why did my brother have to go with Father on that fff-fucking hunt? Why, why did they have to get on that damned ice? And why could no-one help them?* Though he had been confident in yesterday's meeting, Robert knew that that was only for show, that he could not put himself together for anything longer. How would he rule, how would he make it through any of the long Privy Council meetings? Then the nicotine hit and the worries... seemed to drift away.

"And now on Channel 3 - the evening news." The image on the screen switched from the end credits to a live broadcast of Trebizond Citadel's bell tower, a mere 200 metres from where Robert was. The bell tolled in the Citadel, then tolled a few seconds later on TV. Even with all of the modern technology of today, they still couldn't fix that little delay on telly.

The tolling turned into the footsteps of a Royal Guard approaching him, giving a deep bow before speaking in an official tone. "Your Highness, the Marquess of Erenfried is asking to see you." He might not have said it, but the guard's demeanor quickly gave away that he had been sleeping at his post and had been woken up by this sudden visitor.

"The... Marquess? Alright, send him in." As the Royal Guard left, the King sat up and leaned the cigar onto the ashtray, letting the smoke slowly escape. Most of everyone was already home at this point, even Robert, in his capacity as King who is never off-duty, expected to be left alone for at least a few short hours. He tugged on his green-and-blue sweater jacket, stretching and straightening out the fabric.

Lauro Erenfried entered, his ginger hair very much in contrast with the chestnut brown hair most common in Northern Kammark. He gave a deep bow shortly after entering, held it for a few short seconds, and then approached. He was evidently in a hurry, since he had neglected to take off his signature black coat and was now taking it off, throwing it over his left arm.

"Your Highness, I'm really quite sorry for disturbing you at such a late hour during such a crucial time. But I felt very strongly..." He stopped mid-sentence to catch his breath, "that you should be aware of this."

The young King was caught off-guard, even more so than usual, and was left speechless. "Wh.. well... aware of w-what, Lauro?" He then immediately lightly bit his tongue - the two of them were not nearly familiar enough to use first names yet. He stood up very slowly, then suddenly nearly fell over, the stress was so great, but managed to keep himself stable. He walked over to the roaring fireplace, set inside a rock wall, and adjusted the burning logs with an ornate poker. "Oh, do.. do sit down, feel free to smoke." He added as an afterthought, trying to be a good host to this unexpected guest.

Though others were still adjusting, Erenfried had already gotten well used to his new King's verbal and physical clumsiness. "I suspect that there are certain plots and... conspiracies abound, Your Highness. They revolve around you, Your Highness, that's why I felt it necessary to inform you." He had now caught his breath and was speaking coherently again, using his favourite soft-yet-confident tone.

Robert locked eyes with the Marquess and was speechless once more. His face contorted severely during and after the other's remarks, Robert's mind now rushing with ideas of who and how and why and where and when. The King's mind finally landed on that first one - who. "Wh-who? Who is plotting? And why am-am-am I being told only n-now?"

"I can't say for certain." He could, Mihkel Allik's face and stare were lingering in Erenfried's mind. "I think it's someone in the Commonwealth Diet, one of the fiefs who's trying to influence and control you, Your Highness. Only someone like him could do... this." Though he had been given formal permission to smoke, it was against all royal protocol to do so unless the monarch was smoking with him. "I came upon certain rumours a few days ago, I looked into them. Those led me to reviewing security records here in the Citadel and the Chateau de Girene, which showed someone with a fief's clearances bringing people in and so on."

Once again the intense contortions. For a moment there, Erenfried considered calling the Citadel's doctors. "And-and how far do these plots go?" Robert slumped down into the nearest armchair, poker still in hand. "Are they a danger to me?" His brain was a slurry at this point, he still broke down completely at even the slightest bit of pressure from anyone and anything.

"I don't think so, Your Highness. I hate very so much to say this and may Almighty God forgive me for doing so, but you are probably considered useful by them. If I might be allowed to dispassionately use some facts without any offence intended towards you, Your Highness - you are inexperienced and, as we see even now, easily influenced. Whoever is behind this, whoever has been pulling people over to their side is probably preparing to or is already using these traits of yours to their advantage." Lauro switched to a more neutral tone, trying to make this reveal easier on the King. Internally, he was ever so slightly pleased at being able to tell that to the King, seeing as the former one would've most likely yelled at him for saying something like that.

"Huh," Was all that Robert managed to get out of himself. He flung the poker away lightly and leaned over to pick up what was left of the cigar and put it to his lips. He now needed to think. "I think... you should continue investigating. Tell me if-if-if you find something, just don't-don't make a scandal of it." There was nothing left of the cigar now and he flung the glowing remnants into the ashtray. "I don't want my c-coronation to be disturbed by... this." Though Robert wanted to say much more and be much more emotional, he knew that that would mean placing himself even more in the hands of the Marquess. If anything, he was aware of his weaknesses.

"Understood, Your Highness. I should also tell you that a company of my Royal Guard has arrived here as part of your coronation celebrations. I presume I may, as per tradition, house them here in the Citadel?" Lauro slid this in as a convenient aside. He stood up and put his coat back on, making it clear that he now wished to leave and was asking for permission to do so.

"Yes, yes, yes of course." Robert slowly stood back up, nearly fell over again, but managed to walk over to the ornate desk by one of the windows and lean forward unto it. "You can... you can go."

Erenfried left in silence, knowing that the King now wished to be alone. Though the matters discussed had been thoroughly unpleasent, he now felt emboldened. Permission, enclosed in an order, from the King himself! Permission to do what? To search and destroy, as he saw it. Anyone he now implicated and showed enough evidence for their crimes would surely die.

Robert looked over at the photos of his family, the Royal Family, strewn across it and the windowsill. They'd all been so happy together, why did it have to end? His father gone, his brother gone, mother self-exiled. Robert was the only one left over from that smiling family - and he couldn't bring himself to smile. He wanted ever so much to just leave, to damn it all to hell and to get away to somewhere nice. He'd take even the commie shitholes at this point.

"Thank you for watching Channel 3's evening news. We now end our broadcast for the day and hope that you will tune in for the morning news. As always, God Save the King!" And the anthem played - a brave, bold chorus of tenors singing praise unto him and demanding God's blessings. How hollow it sounded to Robert - he felt neither saved nor blessed.

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Trebizond
Just outside the city
22:30 PM

The trip from Puusepp had been surprisingly comfortable. Everyone in the various Royal Guards knew how uncomfortable and, frankly, disgusting military trains tended to be. This was like travelling with the King himself - each squad had its own compartment, you didn't have to sit on top of your belongings, food, good food, was even handed out as they were passing through Gundovald's famous dales.

Colonel Ignace Gaudreau had chosen to come with the company himself. Because of his high rank and command position, he had a compartment all to himself, where he could enjoy the passing scenery without being disturbed by the various shenaningans of the common soldiery. A knock came on the frosted glass just as Ignace was finishing up a large cup of actually not too terrible coffee and preparing to get off in Trebizond. He sat up and commanded, "Enter!"

It was Henri Bruneau, the Major normally in charge of this company, who had now been relegated as second-in-command to Gaudreau and served as his communications officer. "10 minutes until the Central Station, sir. Shall I tell the men to prepare to disembark?" He was noted for his overt formalness, even when he really should've been more casual. Unlike some other officers, he hadn't ever bothered to even try to learn Scalvian, which most of his men spoke. Technically, of course, it wasn't required, but it made things a whole lot more efficient.

"Yes, do so. Boy, these Scalvians, huh?" He looked out the window and resignedly placed his hand on his knees. "After this, I'm definitely going to ask Command to move me to HQ, I can't deal with them anymore. They demand you speak their language, sure, then you learn it and then they're still unhappy about having to know basic Santonian. Eh, I should've had each and every one of those who complained flogged." His attitude towards the Scalvians in the Royal Guard was like that of many other Santonian officers. That is, he tolerated them and was willing to work with them, but there still was a clear line between Scalvian and Santonian, always.

"Agreed, sir. At least being in the higher officer ranks gives you the freedom to not interact with them." His whole tone and voice indicated that he felt that this conversation needed to take place, but definitely not openly. "I'll go and give that order, sir." Bruneau was the stereotypical Kammarkan Santonian - crow black hair, reasonably tall, high cheekbones and an ego bigger than the planet. Only among his own people was this last quality at least slightly less noticeable. Being born as a Capitalist and a Santonian meant that an officer's career in the Royal Guard was more than open to him.


The Major knocked on the door of each compartment as he walked and yelled out. "Prepare to disembark, NOW!" Every squad he stirred could hear the clear contempt in his voice he had for all of them. Of course, Bruneau liked to be in charge and, as a tactician, was reasonably well liked, but he obviously would've liked to be in charge and be a good tactician for a Santonian-speaking unit.

By the time the train finally came to a screeching halt, the corridor was full of soldiers in service dress, casually chattering amongst each other. Through them pushed and showed the Colonel, trying to make his way to the Major, who seemed to be an island of calm in this sea of Scalvians. "Make way, make way." He repeated in Scalvian, and finally pushed through, brushing off random crumbs and dust from his uniform. As he was about to speak, the door of the coach, which was just behind Ignace and Henri, opened.

Both of them wanted to tell whoever was there to get the hell off, but they stopped short of that when they saw that it was the Marquess of Erenfried himself, the man in charge of their fief and commander-in-chief of the Royal Guard of Cote. An immediate salute came, after which Lauro spoke in a low voice to the Colonel. "I'm taking charge here, I appoint you as my second in command. Now, are all of them ready to get out of here?" An affirming nod.

The Marquess turned towards the soldiers, all of whom instantly recognised him - how would you not, the man's ginger hair and style were famous across Kammark. "Listen up!" An immediate 'Wow!' in the minds of every one in the company - this guy speaks Scalvian? and fluently? "Outside the station are trucks, which will take you to your barracks. You'll be here for the next two or three weeks, depending on how things go. I want to make this clear - once you're in your temporary home, you can do what you like, but no funny stuff until then. Understood?"

A strong "Yes, sir!" from everyone and they exited the train behind their Marquess, now having gained a new appreciation for him. As always, they marched in formation through the station's halls in two columns with Erenfried at the tip of the spear. He was walking unusually quickly, everyone noticed, so much so that they had to walk much quicker.

The Marquess' thoughts were swirling at the moment, he was considering his next move. He now had his Royal Guard here in Trebizond, they would soon be in the Citadel - but they wouldn't be alone there for long. He had already received word that Courbet and Audovald had begun preparations and would be sending a 'ceremonial' unit as well in the morning. Ahh, but the Trebizond Royal Guard...

They would be a problem if he decided to make any moves. Under the direct command of the King, they would not hesitate to move in and take out any threats to national unity, and they would do so rapidly and very efficiently - they were the cream of the crop when it came to Kammarkan soldiers. Well, his allies among the other fiefs should be able to help him if need be, but that would mean damaging his reputation and standing.

The 11th Company of the 4th Brigade of the Royal Guard of Côté was now on the approach road to the Citadel. The trucks drove across the drawbridge over the moat and past the first defensive wall. They then turned off to the right and into the night, to where a multitude of barracks were left over from the Dark Ages of Kammark, during which the entire army of the Baron of Trebizond would often be housed there.

It would now be home to the Marquess of Erenfried's army.

All Around The World
In Official Residences, Palaces and Monasteries
Early Morning of May 14th

Among the official mail to all major world religious and temporal leaders that morning was a very strange envelope. From it were hanging 4 thick wax seals, each more intricate than the last, the wax had even been scented on the biggest and, evidently, most important. They were hung from literal golden threads (actually the finest Kammarkan cotton interlaced with gold), giving them all a very ornate appearance. A close inspection of each would reveal what they all were, in order of size from smallest to biggest:

1. The Lesser Seal of the Coronation Planning Committee - self explanatory, quite literally just the Committee's logo stamped onto wax with some fleurs-de-lys around the rim. The logo showed a stylised man placing the Greater Crown of the Commonwealth onto another man, with the Holy Spirit descending upon the man being coronated.
2. The Seal of the Marquess of Erenfried - this indicated who had been personally responsible for this letter. Upon the seal's front was the greater coat of arms of Côté, which showed two hands shaking on the shield (in the background a wave pattern), upon the shield was the Marquess' coronet. The shield and the crown were circumscribed by a floral motif, the flowers evidently being cornflowers. Around the very edge was the Marquess' full title. On the reverse, however, was the same full title and Lauro's thumbprint in the very middle, with nothing else.
3. The Lesser Seal of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs - the same drawing on both sides: below the Greater Crown of the Commonwealth a sword crossed with an olive branch, under which was written, in several scripts, "Kammark". On the rim "Commonwealth of Kammark" was repeated 4 times.
4. The Greater Seal of the Commonwealth of Kammark - considered the single most important mark of identity in the entirety of the nation, it indicated the personal approval of something by the King - an order with this seal affixed could be only superseded by the Conclave of Seventeen and, therefore, by God. The seal was also impressive in size, its diametre was well over 15 centimetres. On the front side was a close-up of King Robert IX from the profile, it was clear to all receivers that there was not a chance in heaven of him being 18. Of course, the acne had been removed by the artist, but that just made him look younger. Around the portrait went his full title: "Robertus, Dei Gratia Rex Kammarkae, Magnus Dux Maris et Aeris etc. etc.". On the other side was the greater royal coat of arms, which was: upon a shield with an ermine background, the Orthodox Cross. Sat on top the shield, the Greater Crown of the Commonwealth. Holding up the shield - a bear and a wolf. Behind all this was a cloth draping, holding all the elements together. Once again, the rim was Robert's full title.

The surprises didn't stop after opening the envelope, since out of it came this:

With, of course, the appropriate things placed into the sections enclosed by square brackets. Everything about the invitation looked expensive - the paper was heavy, looked untearable and was, weirdly, scented with the finest Kammarkan floral fragrances. The envelope was of the same paper, with the addressee's name and address written in the most exquisite and elaborate lettering, evidently manually, same as the invitation itself. The various seals, upon opening, came off easily, evidently meant as a first litttle coronation gift and a showpiece for any guests of the recipient.

More than that, the intention could easily be gleaned - how can you refuse an invitation like this? If a literal army of scribes, artists, seal casters and others have put their effort into making this just for you and you only, it'd be incredibly idiotic to refuse. And why would you? Kammarkan coronation parties were world renowned for how hard they went, the volumes of beer that flowed and how well just everything was organised. Absolutely criminal not to come.

Kronach, Waltalriche
The Episcopal Palace
2:42 PM

Archbishop Rupert von Kadelburg sat at his desk reading, the waist of his black and magenta cassock ruffled as he leaned forward, squinting at the text on the screen.

"The Real Power behind the Throne of Waltalriche by Andrea Böhme"

Rupert quickly read through the article, pulling the small notepad on his desk towards his keyboard, and with a small smile, reached for his pen. Scribbling "Andrea Böhme" on the pad before returning to the article's analysis.

From across the room, there was a quick knock at the office door, pulling Rupert from the article.

"What is it? I'm working!" He said drawing out the -ing, as he kept his pen hand pressed to the notepad.

The quiet voice of his secretary spoke up from the other side of the door, "There is a message from the Foreign Minister here for Your Grace."

Rupert raised an eyebrow, putting down his pen. "Come in then!" He adjusted his zucchetto, balancing it on the crown of his head, as he got up from his desk and walked to the center of his office.

The door opened, and a thin priest of about twenty-five entered the room, doing a quick bow after closing the door behind him.

Rupert extended his right hand, and the priest quickly kissed his episcopal ring, standing back in a sort of clerical position of attention.

"This message came sealed in this envelope, Your Grace, but I opened it for your convenience, Father." The man looked down at his feet after handing Rupert the letter, his hands clasped together in front of him.

"Thank you, Father Hermann." The Archbishop replied.

Rupert flipped up the unsealed flap of the envelope, pulling out its contents and handing their paper shell to Hermann. Reading through the message carefully, he rolled his eyes before handing the letter back to Hermann.

"It's an invitation," He yawned. "Does the Foreign Minister want me to attend?"

"Yes, Your Grace, there was another paper attached asking for your attendance with the Minister-President."

"Oh, so they roped us both in? Hah, does Konrad know he's being shipped out?" Rupert chuckled a bit.

"I believe he does, Your Grace," Hermann replied. "The Foreign Minister requested that you travel together."

"Good, he has a nice family, it'll be a good trip for them. Formative. He'll probably want to talk strategy on the Pakt invitation before we arrive... That reminds me, have my foreign relations team prep my briefing for Kammark before I leave, I want to make sure I am on the proper course."

"Of course, Your Grace. Would you also like me to convey your response to the Minister?"

"Yes, thank you, Hermann. Please have Sister Herzel prepare my afternoon tea as well, please."

The priest nodded and bowed once again before taking his leave.

Erstes Haus
Regierungsviertel, Friedensstadt
on a Wednesday, at 7h59

Konrad Meyer looked out of the fifty-second storey window from his desk as Chamberlain*, over the blue-grey skyline dotted with towers of concrete and glass. The sun glared the right side of the window, aided by the clarity and clearness of the mid-May skies over Friedensstadt.

"Herr Meyer," a rough yet steady voice called out sharply from in front of him, snapping him out of his morning daze. Konrad turned about to see the familiar, weathered face of the Arch-Treasurer, a man forty years his senior with a faded yet well-kept crown of grey-speckled white hair. "Guten Morgen, Kammerherr."

"Ja, guten Morgen, Erzschatzmeister*." Konrad rallied back, a faint weariness in his voice. If it was up to him, he would not have to be here in this grey office at half seven each and every morning. Alas. "What is the business you want to raise with me?" Dreadfully formal. Why did each and every Arch-Treasurer have to be a procedural dinosaur? Not that he could raise his complaints, with the Arch-Treasurer's second-most abundant asset being connections - the first, of course, was wealth. Getting on his bad side would never be a good idea. Meyer was already a tad too liberal* to be automatically in the stalwart status-quo Arch-Treasurer Traugott-Danz's* good books anyway.

"If you would wake up," Meinrad hissed, snapping Konrad once again out of his daze, his voice as thin as the spectacles perched upon his nose, but not as thin as the old man's patience had been worn. "Danke. Now, we have received an invitation from the Osteners*, to a coronation."

"When will th-"
"The twenty-eighth. Do permit me to finish what I started, Konrad." A brief, awkward pause, and then Meinrad warbled on, first readjusting his glasses as to have a hope of seeing the intricate print of the message. Konrad could swear he saw Meinrad recoil slightly at its unorthodox font. "The Communit...Commonwealth of Kammark lädt Sie ein..." Traugott-Danz continued, using a finger to point each line of the letter painstakingly slowly. Konrad stifled a yawn. "... to the Krönung of King Robert, Ninth of... oh, you get the gist. 31 May, though naturally, the Kammarkers have written the date the wrong way around. What a shame."
Stopping himself from telling the Arch-Treasurer off for chastising a grammatical difference, Konrad waited a good five or six seconds of pointless time before continuing. "So, the Kammarkers wish to receive us. Then, I say, we should-"
"We?" Meinrad interrupted, abhorred that he could be demanded of. "I have a board meeting at TGL* on the Montag!"
"Then you miss the meeting, and do your job." Konrad snapped, his impatience catching up with him. "You do know you have a job, right?"
Put aback, Meinrad readjusted his spectacles, and let off a noise that could only be described as a grunt of indignation. "You are right, I fear. The board can wait. I shall send an electronic mail to-"
"No, no, please, do your email on your own computer." Please don't make me have to teach an octagenarian how to use a phone again. Konrad thought, taking the letter from his elder counterpart. "I have much to get on with."
"I am sure you do." Traugott-Danz replied, smiling slightly, an uncomfortable grimace. Konrad wondered if the Arch-Treasurer had ever known how to smile properly, though realised quickly that he would never have the need anyway. "I shall be on my way. Ich danke Ihnen, Herr Kammerherr. Auf Wiedersehen.*"

As the old head of state shuffled his way out of the room and closed the door imperceptibly quietly behind, Konrad sighed and turned back to staring out of the window at the city skyline down the river Gera which split the city in two. After a few moments, he began to write an email to the Kammarker ambassador at Friedensstadt confirming receipt and acceptance of the invitation.

---

Chamberlain, or in Stadter Aleman Kammerherr - head of government
Arch-Treasurer, or in Stadter Aleman Erzschatzmeister - head of state
liberal - Stadter politicians typically lean conservative, and Kongressmen (members of the dominant party) are mostly tied together by their support for status-quo politics. Konrad Meyer is a moderate reformist, which makes him stand out - Traugott-Danz, at the age of 89, has a reputation as a boilerplate conservative politician in Kongress
Osteners - lit. "easterners", as referring to Kammark being "easterners" to Stadters.
TGL - Traugott-Danz-Loewen, a major multi-billion-gulden (ƒ) logistics company owned 53% by Traugott-Danz
Ich... Auf Wiedersehen - Thank you, Chamberlain, goodbye.