A man who looked to have just entered his elderly years sat at a desk. A few black hairs clung to his otherwise grey head of hair, and he was dressed in an orange-red cassock. A quill in his hand, he swiftly moved it across the parchment, periodically dipping it in a nearby inkwell. In a short span of time the man finished writing, and set the quill back in the inkwell. He folded up the parchment, and reached for a stick of wax. The pontiff promptly set the wick on the flame of a candle, and let the wax drip over the parchment. Afterwards, he blew out the wick.

The elderly cleric sighed as he applied the seal, and peered toward the window only to see the night sky. “It’s getting late.” He mumbled to himself. The day had been tiring for the pontiff, beginning with the morning services at the cathedral, and then rushing over to the king’s palace for another council meeting. He then had to deal with allegations of corruption in a nearby monastery. Finally, he returned to his office outside of the cathedral, where he was busy writing down official documents and responding to letters sent to him.


If he didn’t have his other position, it was highly likely that he would have lived and done most of his work in the king’s palace, but he was the archbishop of the archdiocese of Kingstead, and that required administrative duties and faculties in addition to his ecclesiastical ones. Really the two were intertwined, a polyphony of bureaucracy and the spiritual that demanded his full attention. Not to mention his work as chancellor, which had its own grueling qualities. “I’ll keep at it tomorrow.” He muttered. “Wyatt!” He shouted. A young man with brown hair dressed in a black cassock rushed into the room where the pontiff sat, “Yes, your eminence?” He asked. “It’s about time we head to bed.” The pontiff stated.

At those words a knock on the door was heard. The pontiff groaned. “God have mercy on me! Wyatt, get the door!” He ordered. The pontiff set aside the seal, and shook his sore writing hand. “St. Hugh, let me have some of your energy. A drop will do.” The cleric closed his eyes, and was on the edge of sleep, when Wyatt walked back into the room, a scroll in his hand with the seal of the pontifical states. “The messenger said this was for you, your eminence.” The old man of the cloth reached out and grabbed the scroll, his eyes wide open. He unsealed the scroll, and read who it was addressed to, “His eminence Pontiff John Whaler.”

He read the rest in silent. John’s tired look turned into one of thought as he studied the document in his hands. He was reminded that the High Pontiff was dead, and an election would soon take place. He had recalled hearing about the High Pontiff’s death, and he knew what would be expected of him. “Wyatt, I will be gone for some time in about two weeks time. It has to do with the elections.” Wyatt remained silent. “I’ll go tell the king of where I’ll be going, explain it to him if need be. I will undoubtedly be temporarily replaced while away, and you are to do everything that man tells you to do short of jumping off a bridge. Am I making myself clear?” He asked tersely. Wyatt nodded, “Yes, your eminence. Though what should we do right now?” He queried. “For now, we’re going to sleep. I’d say it’s well earned.” John and his assistant headed for their respective rooms. The next day, another council meeting would be called.

[hr]


Edwynn rapped his fingers against the arm of his thick oaken chair. He looked around the long rectangular table; on all sides four men took their respective seats, and focused their attention on him. Edwynn briefly examined the faces of those surrounding him, and began to speak.

“My friends,” Edwynn said as he shifted his heavy body in the chair. “It has come to my attention that we have been talking about the same issue for little over a month. I thought we would have all come to an agreement by now.” He sighed and rubbed his temples, but continued talking.  “It falls to me to make the decision, but I want to ensure that your voices are heard one last time before we move on to other issues.” Edwynn nodded towards a midlife obese man with brown hair dressed in an elaborate blue leather jerkin. “What do you have to say Duke Ergurd?” He asked.

The duke answered, “I’m still of the opinion that we should stay clear of the mainland for this issue. We have plenty of forests untouched in the Calm Mountains, not to mention the woodland in Behr. As for The forests belonging to the nobility, I believe those should be left alone. It is after all a nobleman’s right to hunt and have wood gathered in his own forests.” He said a bit haughtily. “We should also remember that many mainlanders are opportunists.” He added.

Edwynn ran a hand through his beard. “Thank you Duke Ergurd.” He peered at a thin, elderly man with black and grey hair. He was dressed in an orange-red cassock. “What about you Pontiff Whaler?”

Pontiff Whaler gazed at Duke Ergurd, “I have disagreed with the good Duke on this issue for as long as it has been discussed.” He cleared his throat. “We have enough wood for housing, and for fires, at least for some time. But for building ships?” The pontiff shook his head lightly, “We could only rely on the forests in Behr for a short amount of time, and the Calm Mountains are notoriously hard to traverse.” The Pontiff inclined his head. “We would need to spend more coin on infrastructure first, and that could get expensive. We need to find someone who can provide significant amounts of lumber, or we won’t have as strong a navy in a few years.” He concluded.

“Thank you Pontiff Whaler.” Edwynn said. The monarch’s vision shifted to a middle-aged man with blonde hair dressed in an orange jerkin almost as intricate as the duke’s. Edwynn smiled, “Do you have anything to say Admiral Guilds?”

“Always, your majesty,” He replied in a happy tone of voice. “I disagree with the duke on but one issue. I’ve been saying it for quite some time.” The duke let out a barely audible groan as the Admiral spoke. “Our noblemen’s hearts are aflame with love for Reheba, as are the common folk.” He pointed to himself at the last few words. “The rights of the nobility are to be respected, as we all know.”

“Though what if we went around and asked the kind-hearted nobility for just a measly portion of their wood? Say, an acre of woodland for those with large tracts of land, and one-third of that for those with smaller amounts of land. I believe that much of this timber should go to the navy. That is all I have to say your majesty.” Admiral Guilds gave Duke Ergurd a wide grin, and then looked back at the king.

Edwynn almost bobbed his head up and down in agreement, but, seeing the sour look on the Duke’s face, toned down his enthusiasm. “I should add that If I were to implement this notion or any other similar ideas, those members of the nobility that donate wood to the cause of our naval upkeep would be rewarded.” The king viewed the next man with a raised eyebrow. “Where is your cloak Marshal Hunter? You near always have one on. Oh, and do you have anything to speak about?”

A man who looked to be about in his late thirties sat near perfectly straight in his chair. He was a balding figure with a few strands of red hair on his head, and was dressed in a plain brown doublet. “Your majesty,” He answered, “I lost my cloak. I was walking near the Stavolt river some time ago, around a small village. Can’t think of the name now, I don’t even remember the circumstances.” The marshal looked down at his feet, a very slight smirk on his face, which he was quick to wipe away. He turned his attention back to Edwynn. “In regards to what else I have to say, I am fond of the Admiral’s idea.” He motioned a hand towards the Admiral.

Admiral Guilds gave Marshal Hunter a quizzical expression as the Marshal continued to express his thoughts. “I’ve given it some thought. Perhaps we should have ourselves a small procession come onto the land of the nobility. Trumpeters, soldiers and sailors, maybe a printer to note down their patriotic generosity if they agree to giving up some woodland.” The duke whipped his head in the direction of the Marshal, his face slightly red.  Admiral Guilds held in his laughter as the duke became flustered. The Pontiff flashed a slight grin, and Edwynn had to stop himself from chuckling.

“You both need to learn your pl-“ The duke started. Edwynn raised his hand, his face now a deadpan, “Members of the council, while we all love to joke with each other, and while it’s all in good fun, I do believe we’re heading off task.” Edwynn looked around the table, as if asking anyone to disagree. No one spoke, and the duke appeared to be calmer. “I’ve been thinking on this long and hard for a month, as I’m sure all of you have been as well. Your points have been made clear time and time again.” Edwynn leaned forward, “Though now I know what we should do.”

Edwynn nodded, “As much as it pains me to say it, we Rehebans cannot keep to ourselves on this matter. I understand that the good duke has objections to us going outside of our islands for such a delicate matter, and these objections have some merit.” The monarch drummed his fingers against the table. “While there exist opportunists on the mainland, there exist a greater number of men who would like to see coin in their pockets in an honorable and friendly fashion. After all, who would want to have poor relations with us?” 

As the marshal opened his mouth to speak, Edwynn raised his hand, “It was rhetorical, Marshal Hunter.” Edwynn went on, “We must find a good trading partner, one who has plenty of lumber, and is nearby. While we search for a trading partner, we will continue to harvest the lumber in Behr, and some in the Calm mountains. Now, who among you has any idea of who we should trade with?”

The duke was the first to speak. “I believe we should trade with the Kingdom on the Ardäin. I am certain that they would honor our agreements, and their land is fertile. If we must look to the outside, we should look there!” He proclaimed.

“I am fond of tradition,” Edwynn replied, “Though I am not fond of axes at the necks of innocent peasants! Perhaps when they get their affairs in order, and allow the peasantry a few basic rights. God above, and Fiorentino at his side, somebody mention another state!” Edwynn was by now a bit agitated.

It was the Marshal who spoke next. “What of Vohemia?” He asked the monarch. 

“Vohemia?” Edwynn asked aloud. He scratched his head, slightly ruffling his white hair. “I’d think they’d still be bitter over the reclamation of our soil. I doubt they’d come here and offer us a good deal. Any other ideas?” He queried the group.

Nobody said a word. The king looked around in vexation, but finally said, “You may all go. We can discuss this further tomorrow.” Near everyone filed out of the room. 

The only person left inside by the end of it was the pontiff, who hurriedly chased after the monarch. "Your majesty, I have to tell you something!" 

Edwynn paused in his tracks, and turned around. "Please be quick pontiff, I am getting tired, and need to rest my knees." 

John nodded, "I received a scroll from the Pontifical States. I am to partake in the election. I would like to ask for a ship and a few guards. I am certain the archdiocese is already in order should I leave. If you would loan me a boat and a few men for security purposes, I would be very grateful."

Edwynn fervently bobbed his head. "Go then. I'll have the Admiral and the Marshal work together on this. A few men to guard you, and a fast carrack. Maybe three to ensure that nothing bad happens to you. Yes, that should do perfectly!" He declared. "You should be able to leave in about a week. How's that sound?" He questioned. 

"Very good, your majesty. You are most generous," John answered, a wide grin on his face. The cleric turned to leave the palace.


[center][hider=Summary]The Pontiff of Reheba, desiring to go to sleep, is interrupted by a scroll from the Pontifical States. The next morning, he and four other men head into the council chambers of the palace. The topic is what to do with Reheba's lumber crisis, as it has been for a month. Fun is had at the expense of the duke. Although the issue is still a bit unresolved, the king has made a decision that Reheba should look towards the outside for help. At the end of the meeting, the pontiff asks for help from the king in regards to his safety going to the election. The king offers guards and ships. With the king's promise of help, the cleric leaves the palace.[/hider][/center]