[center][b][h1]The Rise of the Second Kingdom of Osteria[/h1][/b][/center]

[center][b][u]Chapter I: A New Monarch[/u][/b][/center]

[i]Tythmas, Hightide of the Year of the Harvest, Reign of King Timault[/i]

[center][img]http://extrawall.net/images/wallpapers/171_large-thumbnail_medieval_town.jpg[/img][/center]

Beyond it's high walls, the city of Tythmas was like any other. The walls reached so far beyond the city limits, it was as if Tythmas was a country all its own. It had its own fields, it's own pastures and windmills. It had it's own functional economy, and for decades it's walls had come to bequest the title of "[i]The Unbreachable City[/i]" upon Tythmas. From there, King Timault had ruled. His father, King Tenneth had ruled justly for 47 years before following ill during the Short Winter. Timault, ever the brash and sensational Warrior-King, spent more hours planning crusades against the Blackmouth beyond the Southern Reaches than planning to solidify his dynasty as rule.

His apathy to the continuation of his lineage was not a direct threat to the kingdom, thanks to the Order of Silk and Iron. Vaunted protectors of more than just the Kingdom's many codexes, these scholarly warriors and martial academics were responsible for protecting not the king, but the throne. It was with this that over 700 years ago, the Rite of Continuation and the Ceremony of the Choosing was instituted. Never in Osteria's history however had such a rite been issued.

Until now.

The messengers weathered the crags and peaks of The Summit to reach Duke James Conrad. They journeyed east into Enea, where the quiet somber of the trees and the sparse interaction with the wistful and pointy eared merchants that crossed from Celihodon. The messengers of the Order rode to the desolate and dried fields of the Southern Reaches, staying long enough for refreshments and to pass the parchment telling of the death of King Timault to Lord Jeran Gades Stolt. Every Duchy and Barony was visited, and the expectation was every Duke--including Duchess-and Barony would be in attendance at the Hall of the Howling, on the first evening of the next month.

Their arrival would be onset by unfortunate storms, throwing Tythmas into an eerie shadow through the evening. As each Lord or Lady arrived, they were greeted by Lord Marek, the Low Lord of the Order of Silk and Iron and one of the most respected men in the entire kingdom. At near ninety years old, he had weathered a great many trial and tribulations of the kingdom. He was a gnarled and bent old man, standing in the scarlet robes of the Order with golden flecks cast upon the hems and sleeves. He stood at the head of the long table while servants brought wines and cheeses to the seated Lords and Ladies.

Outside, the rain beat down upon the great hall.

"[i]It is a great calling that now rests on your shoulders, Lords--and Lady[/i]," he said, looking to Duchess Anfel Allard, the renowned half-elf who had long kept relations with the stoic princes of Celihodon at a high. "[i]King Timault has fallen to Ash, but Osteria will rise anew. And it's new monarch sits in this very room. Who among you are qualified? Who among you would stand and give counsel as to why you wish yourself--or another--upon the throne?[/i]"

He stood for a long moment. "[i]Speak now. Speak.. freely. For every moment Osteria goes without a ruler, it's people will suffer[/i]."