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A storm had gathered over the Gravenburg. Banners bearing the crimson fist of House van Rossum fluttered in the wind while men were scurrying around the fortress grounds, trying to keep as sheltered from the rain as possible while performing their daily tasks. In a dark room, only lit by a single fireplace save for the intermittent lightning flashes sat an imposing figure. Elise van Rossum, Hertogin of the Duchy of Gelderecht, sat in her study, staring intently into the fireplace. The three empty bottles of Arbormark wine on the ground next to her betrayed that she’d been here for a while already.

The death of the Master Minister had led to a crisis in Elise’s duchy, and the Crownmark as a whole. With the death of both King Cloyt II and Viscount Holdorf a power vacuum had appeared which pushed the Crownmark on the brink of disaster. Already she had to send some of her Irons into the countryside to ensure panic wouldn’t get a grip on the population. Gods forbid she had to deal with another revolt right now. But even though this was already enough reason to cause a headache, it wasn’t the most ominous event concerning the Hertogin.

News of a Northern Alliance had reached Elise’s ears mere hours ago. There had been rumors from a handful of northern traders at first, but as the number of traders repeating the rumors kept increasing, it was safe to assume there was truth in them. The mayor of Anthagen had already come to her directly to voice his concern about the potential loss of income for his city, and himself of course. “Greedy bastard,” Elise grumbled to herself, “I should have gotten rid of that snake during the Uprising.”

This Northern Alliance could prove a far bigger problem than just a nuisance concerning trade income. It is said that they side with the pretender Sharles of Bremerant. Elise remembers the impression she held of him at the royal funeral; a meek boy who would be torn apart by Adanion’s political elite. He might have some claim by family and he had been friends with the Crown Prince, whom Elise had respected greatly, but in her mind Sharles wasn’t able to hold a candle to either Cloyt II or Daymian. No, Elise far more preferred the alternative.

Anyarama “the Bastard Maiden” was Elise’s prefered candidate, though she hadn’t stated this openly yet. Anyarama obviously has the noble blood of Cloyt II running through her veins as she has inherited his conviction and sense of righteousness. With the Realm on the brink of chaos and with a malicious force in the shadows, it is clear that a firm hand needs to bring order to Adanion. And Anyarama shows the potential to be able to do just that. 

The formation of the Northern Alliance was worrying, and thus something had to be done about the Crownmark’s current situation. The Crownmark should not be allowed to fracture with a civil war looming on the horizon. Its wealth would be a tantalizing prize to any would-be pretender and its central location almost assured that armies from both parties would march on its rich soil. A unified Crownmark, on the other hand, would be a formidable force to be reckoned with. This is why Elise has been subtly probing the different lords in the Mark on what their opinions would be if they elected a Lord Protector of the Crownmark. It would be a temporary office, only there to weather the coming storm of civil war, but it would assure the Crownmark’s continued cohesion. Potential candidates for this role would either be dukes of the Crownmark or Sir Jorin Redside, Captain of the Crownguard.

A knock could be heard before the door opened. A one eyed man clad in black armor entered Elise’s study. “Siegmund,” Elise said while nodding, “are all preparations ready?” Siegmund was the commander of the Black Iron Regiment, the elite of the elite, and Elise’s second in command. He beat his fist on his chest and bowed his head before replying. “Yes my Lady Hertogin, forty Black Riders are waiting in the courtyard to be your escort.” There was some hesitation before he continued. “Are you sure you won’t need me by your side, my Lady Hertogin?” Elise chuckled as she rose from her chair. Dwarfing Siegmund, she put a hand on his shoulder and said “I need you to take care of the Gravenburg while I’m gone, my friend. You needn’t worry, I promise my return will be swift.” With that said, she left her study and made her way to the courtyard.

Walking into the courtyard, Elise could see her forty Black Riders all present, just as Siegmund said they would be. They had clearly been waiting here for a while, as they were soaked by the rain. A chorus of “Hail Hertogin” greeted her as they saluted her with a fist pound on the chest, a salute she returned. Mounting her horse Zege, a destier as black as tar, Elise gave a final nod to Siegmund before riding out.

An auspicious omen appeared as Elise went through the main gate. For the sun was breaking through the storm clouds, and Elise’s face was basked in its warm embrace. Hopefully we’ll keep this luck with the weather all the way, she thought to herself. There was much to discuss with friends and potential allies. Normally on occasions such as this she’d travel by carriage, but the Northern Alliance’s formation demanded expediency. Her first visit would be to the region on which Gelderecht’s economy relied the most, and to the man Elise considered to be amongst the most dangerous in all of the realm:

The Archduke of the Stormland. Karl Müller-Hohenstein.

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Concerned over the current troubles in the Crownmark and the formation of the Northern Alliance, Elise has set a plan into motion to temporarily unite the Crownmark under one elected leader. She is also heading down south to talk to [@Pagemaster]’s Karl Müller-Hohenstein about the current state of affairs.
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