The white stag hung limply on its standard, the fine emerald green having been turned the colour of miserable swamp water by the merciless downpour. Anfel had very rarely made trips up to the capital and this latest excursion did not place her in the lightest of moods even without the miserable weather. With the royal family all but scattered to the winds the nation was left leaderless and no doubt each noble representative looked to the others as carrion feeders looking to usurp their way to power through this ritual of choosing. That was certainly the way Anfel's mind was leaning, her thoughts racing with the dire possibilities and conflicts that so often followed power vacuums like this in her history books. Would that she could be back in Stag's Hearth, preparing for the coming storm.

Tythmas looked a truly downtrodden place under these heavy clouds. The crowded streets and rain slick stones gave the city an glistening, almost diseased, appearance. Back in Enea the popular style of architecture was rather more... organic and flowing. The rich lumber yards provided the majority of their building materials, with thatched roofs and the fertile lands springing up wild flowers everywhere they could the towns felt more like an extension of the land itself. Here in Tythmas every living thing felt crammed in against each other, clawing at each other for survival. Perhaps that was just the bumpiness of the carriage talking, putting her in a foul mood. 

Though if the journey had been dreadful then the meeting would do little to improve things for her. Anfel greeted each representative politely in kind as they all filed in, bowing her head in deference to Lord Marek as he proceeded with the beginning of the cerimony. And after that... well she waited. In theory it was open to any who cared to put themselves forward as a candidate but Alfen wasn't naive enough to think that even half of those here would willingly elect someone of her heritage. 

So the bigger contenders came forward, some of them with a backup troupe bearing snacks, how pleasant! Anfel was half tempted to abstain from voting, already the wind was taking a turn and the risks of putting one's neck out could be very dire to those in her position. Toying with her braid in one hand as it rested over the front of her right shoulder, she weighed and measured them both. 

Both houses had name and history behind them to carry their weight. Both had proven themselves competent rulers in differing ways to their duchies. What remained was a matter of character and reputation. There things became more clear cut. Little was known about Conrad with certainty, the man cultivated rumors and half truths around himself like a farmer did crops, he'd never even fought the accusations that had haunted the disappearance of his younger siblings. Hardly a tale that would go over well with the common folk. Then there was the shady past passing talk that had given away his standing on matters of race. Besides not giving Anfel much hope for how she personally would be treated in the court it could well threaten the foreign trade her family had worked so hard to secure and the allies they might bring to the kingdom. Part of her could only assume given how little of the Summit's lord was shown that all these praises the others gave him had been bought through ties of fealty or iron.

Then there was Gerantius. Half the realm relied on his lands to help provide them with food and in times of hardship pilgrims had flocked to Marethia for safety both physical and spiritual. In the past he'd proven himself a cunning man and one with a known sense of justice, something that almost always went over well with the citizenry. And even in his current age the man's well kept features wouldn't look bad stamped on a freshly minted coin. This one might be counted on to see the world beyond Osteria's borders rather than locking himself away in his keeps. 

Of course the votes were not going his way... and silence might be safer. 

"My lords." Anfel began, voice gentle as a summer breeze. "Like others here I have no designs on the throne myself. Only to see the best done for the kingdom and it's people. There is no doubt in my mind that both of these fine candidates are capable of ruling fair Osteria and guiding her to a peaceful and prosperous future." Her eyes scanned the room as she spoke, flitting from one face another of those sat at the table and the expressions or masks they wore. She found it unsettling that such weighty decisions have been made so quickly, no one had even asked a question of the candidates, of what their policies on trade or on dealing with the Blackmouth threat might be. Desperatly Anfel thought to call a pause to it, as if to demand those that stepped forward might explain themselves in more detail. Yet it seemed lines were already been drawn and a cadre already forming. Each lord was well known and each expected their past deeds and reputation to speak for them. Such was the way of the aristocracy.

"And my own conscience bids me to cast my support in favour of Duke Aldwyn Gerantius. Yet whatever the result it is my greatest hope that no bad blood be formed from this choosing. We have each come here with the same purpose and one far greater than ourselves at that as servants of our people." Even if this were to fail, at least Anfel could hold her head high in standing by what she thought was right.