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The Kingdom of Lústria, one week after the regicide of King Attaviano Ludor.
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The King is dead. Long live the King. Or so the saying goes, but a King has yet to be. As the last member alive of the House of Ludor, Attaviano was under pressure from a young age to marry a suitable woman of status and sire an heir to safeguard the future of a family on the cusp of extinction. Thus, as is proper of any gentlemen and lady of good name, the past few months of the royal calendar were marked with a plethora of social events, where each of his vassals’ daughters' tongues and hands exhibited synchronized sounds and movements, each carefully rehearsed beforehand to maximize their likelihood of seducing their king. Even the curia regis appeared more concerned with peddling their scions to the throne than administering the realm, as the matters of the state were neglected in favor of a unique chance to ensure their blood ran inside a conceivable heir. Yet, in a tale old as time, weakness has a tendency to breed sedition even under one’s watchful eyes, and being a childless monarch is anything but a liability. In a shocking turn of events, the brief reign of King Attaviano Ludor came to an end violently as assassins drove blades again and again into his body, eluding the royal guard and escaping justice for their regicide. Indeed, their bloody blades were a herald for the anarchy to come. As Lústria’s government collapses in disarray at the succession crisis in their hands, a great council is to be held at the capital city of Karamann, where the great lords and ladies of the realm shall pick, at their discretion, their next sovereign. The race for the crown has begun.
Once upon a time, the realms of Lústria and Calinia were at each other’s throats, locked in a fierce struggle for territory and wealth. Emboldened by his rival kingdom’s internal issues, King Dorian Rodomontie’s soldiers hastily crossed the border in the direction of the enemy capital in a gamble poised to bring King Thaddeus Ludor to his knees. Had everything gone according to plan, the Calinian hegemony over the continent would have been secured indefinitely. But as summer turned to winter and the first snowflakes fell upon the siege camp, the logistically strained and ill-equipped army met doom upon the high walls of Karamann, and the following spring saw the annexation of Calinia and the beheading of their ruler. And while half a century has come and gone since then, Duke Alistair Rodomontie still bears the weight of his grandfather’s hubristic legacy. As if losing their crown and their sovereignty was not enough, his father was forced to marry an irrelevant Ludor princess in what was orchestrated to be the final coup de grace upon their dignity. But as the news of King Attaviano’s death reached the Duke, what was to be a humiliation may be the key to the rise of his family to power once again. As distant from the main line of the royal family as she may have been, his mother was still a Ludor, and that carries a greater weight than ever before. In the eyes of the Lustrian nobility, the Rodomonties are still the same foreign subversive elements they once were, and the passage of time seldom unhardened their hearts to Calinians. Between the throne and Alistair stands a mountain of prejudice, which may turn out to be insurmountable.
As one of the oldest aristocratic families in Lústria, the House of Firesi became the right hand of the crown ever since the Wars of Unification centuries before, serving as the stewards of the realm. As the Ludors expanded their domain over the continent with fire and steel and collected the glorious accolades of conquest, their vassals were more than happy to fix the bureaucratic mess left behind in the wake of the kingdom’s expansionism. While such an arrangement deeply pleased the Firesis, their loyalty rewarded with lands, wealth, and marriages, they were limited to exerting their influence behind the curtains, always living under the shadow of their masters. With the death of King Attaviano and the end of his bloodline, Lord Antoine Firesi smells the opportunity in the air, one that may rend the veil away from this theater and show who truly pulls the marionette strings. Among the many potential claimants for the Lustrian throne, the Firesis can paint Karamann’s walls with their bonafide. If ancestry is the issue, in their blood runs the legacy of multiple Ludorian princes and princesses, as the line between the houses blurred with each union of the flesh. Should their experience with the state machinery be called into question, the long list of generals, spymasters, and prime ministers to Lústria will bury the naysayers under the weight of their own ignorance. But Lord Antoine would be wise not to claim victory before the battle is over, as his peers already mobilized to kill this ascension in the crib, jealous of their close proximity to the throne. Paradoxically, the royal seat is constantly at their fingertips, and yet it may be perpetually elusive.
From its inception, Efrangée has always been a safe haven for thieves, rapists, murderers, traitors, and all those that weaseled out of rightful punishment by the various kingdoms in the continent. But more than a hideout for the worst scum that humanity had to offer, the flexible interpretation of the law enticed a particular type of people, encouraged by the local elite to sabotage their opponents: mercenaries. In an unspoken social contract with the government, a blind eye was turned to their frequent disturbance of the peace so long as Lustrian and Calinian trade caravans met convenient ends whenever possible, guaranteeing the monopoly of Efrangerian merchants over any foreign competitors. Many families were enriched and built enormous fortunes thanks to such informal agreements, including that of Lady Marie Gerarcier, Grand Princess of the Merchant Republic of Efrangée. Flamboyant as the title may be, the so-called nobility beyond the walls of the city-state has a particular distaste for those man and woman of means, whose lavish mansions and fanciful parties serve as a contrast to their decaying power and growing irrelevance in the affairs of the commons. Yet many an aristocrat is mesmerized and impacted by a sudden bout of dementia where such predispositions upon the bourgeoisie are conveniently forgotten whenever and wherever their pockets are filled. Bloodlines, traditions, and laws all bow before the pragmatism of a golden coin. It is this natural instinct of avarice that afflicts all strata of society, which Lady Marie aims to exploit all the way to Karamann. Whether she can buy the loyalty of the pompous Ludorian families remains to be seen.
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As the Lustrian nobility convenes at the capital of Karamann, the royal halls of Raven’s Keep bustle with activity. Notable figures from all corners of the continent gather to witness the historic moment as another bloodline assumes the monarchic mantle after centuries of Ludorian dominion. In their infinite wisdom, the aristocrats reach a consensus and announce from the balconies the name of their new sovereign:
1. Alistair Rodomontie.
2. Antoine Firesi.
3. Marie Gerarcier.
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