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Coronation P.2

On the Road to Sankt-Sigfrid

“Blasted rain!” shouted Karsten, one of Reinhard’s knights, his voice cutting through the steady drumming of water against armour and earth.

Reinhard’s journey to Sankt Sigfrid had come to an abrupt halt midway. A fierce storm had overtaken them, bringing howling winds and torrential rain. The once-solid path had turned to thick mud, and the cartwheels became hopelessly stuck. Soldiers scrambled with shovels and wooden planks, working tirelessly to free the carts, but their efforts were in vain, each time they managed to dislodge one, it would quickly become mired again. The storm showed no signs of relenting, leaving the entourage frustrated and drenched.

“This is useless!” Karsten exclaimed, throwing up his hands in frustration, “The path is a mess, nothing but mud and slick slopes, and with this pouring rain, the carts will just get stuck again. And look at the river.” he added, gesturing toward the churning waters below. “The current is fierce. If anyone slips and falls down the slope, it’s over for them.” He turned back to Reinhard, his tone more measured but still firm, “I think it would be best if we set up camp and wait out the storm. Pushing on now would be for naught.”

“Hear, hear!” exclaimed Clas, another of Reinhard’s knights, nodding in agreement as he wiped the rain from his face.

“And what? Rest in the middle of nowhere? How barbaric, how uncouth!” Herr Heinrich von Hals retorted, his voice dripping with disdain. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself, casting a withering glance at the muddy surroundings, “We should at least seek out an inn. Surely there’s some semblance of civilization nearby where we can find proper shelter.” His tone made it clear he found the very idea of camping in the wilderness utterly beneath him.

“And have your noble arse sleeping under a warm silk blanket while the rest of the men share quarters with the fine ladies of the stables?” Freiherr Ludwig von Pucha quipped, in a mocking tone. His jab at Heinrich’s unwillingness to endure the same hardships as the rest drew hearty laughter from the soldiers struggling in the muck, momentarily lightening the grim atmosphere.

“Someone of noble stock such as I?” Heinrich shot back, his voice was dripping with haughty disdain, “No, I don’t think so. A person of noble birth should not degrade themselves to such levels. Digging through mud in this wretched rain? That’s the work of peasants, such as these.” He pinched his nose theatrically as if warding off an offensive smell, casting a mocking glance toward the soldiers. His remark earned him a chorus of angry groans and hostile glares from the men, their patience with his arrogance wearing thin.

“Noble? I’d hardly say so.” Ludwig retorted sharply, planting his shovel into the mud with a forceful thud, “You inherit an estate with a few hamlets, and suddenly you act as though you own half the empire. You don’t even have the divine blood to justify such arrogance.” He turned his gaze to the soldiers around them, “These soldiers here, these men with hearts of true courage, carry far more noble blood in their veins than you ever will. To risk their lives like this, to defend their liege and their land, that is true nobility, the highest honour anyone could strive for. The mark of true nobility. But you? I’d wager you wouldn’t even dare raise a sword in his name if the time came.”

The soldiers erupted into cheers at Ludwig’s words, lifting their spirits.

“I’ll let you know that I–” Heinrich started, but before he could continue, Reinhard raised a hand, interrupting him.

“That is enough!” Reinhard’s voice cut through the storm, sharp and commanding, “Now is not the time for that. Karsten is right, we should set camp here and wait for the storm to pass, or at least for the worst of it. Under these conditions, we risk unnecessary deaths or injuries.” He glanced toward the distant horizon, he furrowed his brow in concern, “I hope Fridl and his men have managed to find refuge somewhere.” Turning back to Heinrich, his expression hardened, “As for you, Heinrich, once we arrive at Sankt-Sigfrid, we will have a private discussion, you and I.” Reinhard shifted his focus to the task at hand, in a brisk tone, “Use the carriages and trees as support for the tents. Make sure the horses are given their own shelter as well. Let’s get to work.”

The men set to work. The downpour obscured their vision, and the howling winds fought against their every move, making even the simple act of unfurling the tents a gruelling challenge. After what felt like hours, the camp slowly took shape. Carriages and trees provided much-needed support, and the tents, though battered by the storm, stood firm. The horses, too, were secured in a hastily erected shelter, their nervous whinnies gradually subsiding as they were tended to.

=====================================================================

Inside the tent, Reinhard sat with his knights, a handful of nobles, and the High Priest, Elgast. The makeshift space was dimly lit by a few lanterns, their flickering light casted long shadows across the tent walls. The group engaged in lively conversation, their voices mingling with the patter of rain against the canvas while tankards of mead, beer, and ale were passed between them.

“Another mug of beer, Your Grace?” Clas asked, glancing at the High Priest

“No, thank you, my son. One tankard is enough for me.” Elgast replied with a soft smile. “Is there any juice, perhaps?”

While the clergy were not barred from drinking as much as they desired, Elgast had always been a man of moderation. Indulgence was not in his nature; he preferred temperance, finding satisfaction in simplicity over excess.

“Hmm… Let me see…” Clas muttered, rummaging through the crates of drinks.

Juice was far from the most popular beverage in the realm; most citizens preferred beer or mead, while the wealthier indulged in wine. Yet, juice remained a solid, if humble, choice for many. Most of it was crafted by monks in the southern abbeys, alongside their renowned wine, though peasants also produced small quantities for local use.

“Ah, yes! There’s some raspberry juice here. Would you like it?” he asked, holding up a clay jug.

“Yes, that’ll do.” Elgast replied with a nod.

Clas uncorked the bottle and carefully poured the deep red juice into Elgast’s tankard. “Here you are, Your Grace.” he said.

“Thank you, my son.” Elgast lifted the tankard and took a sip, his expression softening with satisfaction. “Ah, delightful. I do love the tartness of raspberries, so invigorating,” he remarked, savouring the drink.

“Yes, I bet you do.” Karsten quipped, unable to suppress a booming laugh that filled the tent.

“What is so funny?” Elgast asked, raising an eyebrow as he sipped his juice, clearly puzzled by the sudden outburst.

“Don’t mind him too much, Your Grace.” Clas said with a chuckle, waving off the laughter, “That’s a joke only Karsten understands.”

Meanwhile, Reinhard and Ludwig sat in a quieter corner of the tent, engaged in a hushed conversation about the events that had unfolded earlier.

“Ludwig, tell me, what happened back there?” Reinhard asked, “I’ve known you since we were children, and I’ve never seen you lose your temper like that. It’s not like you.” He placed a reassuring hand on Heinrich’s shoulder.

“Apologies, Your Majesty. It’s just…” Ludwig sighed heavily, frustrated, “It’s this new generation of noblemen that infuriates me. They lack even a trace of divine blood, yet they strut about, acting so high and mighty. Their arrogance is insufferable.” He paused, shaking his head, “How do you manage to stay calm in situations like that?”

Reinhard smiled knowingly, “I don’t.” he admitted with a chuckle. “Who said I keep calm? The truth is, I’ve just learned to hide it better than most. Staying composed, keeping a level head when making decisions, that’s something you pick up over time. It doesn’t mean the frustration isn’t there; I just don’t let it show.”

“It still makes you better than most of us.” Ludwig remarked.

“I don’t know about that,” Reinhard replied thoughtfully. “Did you not hear me when I said I would have a private talk with Heinrich at Sankt-Sigfrid? His comments and behaviour toward my soldiers and knights won’t go unchecked. He will face consequences for his arrogance. Furthermore,” he added, “I intend to launch an investigation into his estate. If he’s engaging in anything unscrupulous, it will come to light.”

Ludwig raised his brow, sceptically. “An investigation? Isn't that a bit far, your majesty? I haven’t heard of any wrongdoing on his part, in regards to the management of his properties and the surrounding hamlets.”

“No. Hildebrand had been telling me about the numerous complaints he received from Heinrich's workers and subjects. He was planning to investigate himself, but then all that business with his abdication happened.” Reinhard paused, “I intend to see it through. Any claims of mistreatment or corruption must be taken seriously and investigated thoroughly.”

“Then, if it must be done, so be it,” Ludwig replied with a resigned shrug. He shifted his gaze to the small opening in the tent, where the relentless rain continued to pour, “But enough about that pompous fop. Bad timing for Lady Nerta to shed her tears and bless the fertile lands, don’t you think?” He said with a tone of frustration from the delay they had to endure.

“Aye, but I’m sure it’ll pass soon enough. And if not, well, it gives the late arrivals more time to catch up.” Reinhard replied with a wry smile, “The coronation doesn’t begin until I arrive, after all.” He clapped Ludwig on the back, before rising from his seat, “Now, come along, let’s join the others before these drunkards drain the kegs and leave us with nothing but juice.”

Coronation P.3

In the distance, the walls of Sankt-Sigfrid came into view. Rising above it all was the Temple of the Blessed, the tallest structure not only in the city but in the entire Reich. A sacred heart of worship for the followers of the pantheon, the temple also served as the central hub of the church's operations. It was here that most priests resided, including the head of the church himself, the High Priest Elgast. Sankt-Sigfrid was often called the "City of All Saints," a name earned from its famed cemetery where the nation’s saints were laid to rest.

Many scholars believe that Sankt-Sigfrid was first settled by the ancient hero Dagaric, who sought a suitable home for himself and the families of his soldiers. This theory was supported by an ancient runestone, still standing today, bearing inscriptions attributed to Dagaric himself. Over time, the settlement grew, evolving from a modest village into a centre of Midland culture and sometime later, faith, once the first priest settled in and began expanding their influence.

The city’s transformation into a recognized municipality was formalized with the Royal Charter of 793 NR. Issued by King Gelfrid, the charter not only granted the settlement official city status but also delineated the boundaries of the church's authority. By that time, the church had already established a formidable presence in the region, which, coupled with the formation of the surrounding duchy, cemented Sankt-Sigfrids significance in the empire.

Sankt-Sigfrid eventually held the esteemed position of being the capital of the Duchy of Mittelland, once it was formed, and the current residence of Duke Herman III von Welden. With the authority of both institutions established, Its strategic location made it a commercial hub, where goods from the western marches converged before being distributed across the empire. The Dämmer River, cutting through the heart of the city, allowed for such a development.

Upon recognizing the arriving entourage as the Emperor’s, the city guards swiftly opened the gates to welcome them. Four mounted trumpeters heralded the procession with a ceremonial fanfare, their notes ringed through the air announcing the sovereign's arrival.

At the forefront, Reinhard rode his pristine white mare, Winter. Flanking him were Captain Berengar and Freiherr Ludwig von Pucha, his most trusted soldiers and sworn blood-brothers. In the Reich, leading from the front was not only a show of power and bravery but also a symbol of unity, a gesture that was meant to further cement Reinhard's image as a leader of both strength and honour.

Following closely behind were other nobles and high-ranking military officials, accompanied by two drummers who struck a lively marching tune to uplift the spirits of the troops. The procession's order was deliberate and impressive: standard-bearers carried the vibrant banners of Reinhard’s house and his possessions. Then, finally, came the disciplined ranks of soldiers, marching in perfect unison.

As the procession entered the city, curious citizens began to gather along the streets, drawn by the sound of trumpets and the rhythmic drumbeats. When they realized it was none other than the Emperor himself, many fell to their knees, while others bowed deeply in reverence.
Word of Reinhard’s arrival spread quickly, and soon the narrow roads of Sankt-Sigfrid were lined with spectators eager to catch a glimpse of their new sovereign. For most, this was their first time seeing the Emperor, as it was not uncommon for the average citizen to live their lives without the knowledge of their sovereign's appearance, and the grand spectacle of his entrance left them awestruck. Banners fluttered in the wind, and the glint of polished armor in the pale sunlight added to the moment.

Not all were enamored with the opulence, and a handful muttered discontentedly about such extravagance. Yet their whispers of dissent were drowned by the roar of cheers and applause that swept through the crowd. Women and children tossed flowers in a jubilant welcome, their petals carpeted the streets as a fragrant tribute to their ruler. A symbolic beginning to the new reign.

The procession finally came to a halt before the grand doors of the Temple of the Blessed, their first destination. As tradition dictated, the Emperor was required to first seek the gods’ blessing within the temple before proceeding with his coronation.

The temple itself was a marvel of Imperial-Vindaric architecture. Towering columns flanked the entrance, each etched with intricate runic motifs. These inscriptions, painstakingly carved and gilded, carried blessings from every deity of the pantheon. On either side of the nave, rose-stained windows casted ethereal hues of light onto the polished marble floor. Each window depicted a god, from the pantheon, in vivid detail, showcasing a more modern interpretation of their divine forms, as their actual looks were a long forgotten memory.

Reinhard gracefully dismounted his horse, his shoes touching the cobblestone as he approached the grand entrance of the temple. The massive double doors swung open, revealing the interior; it was teeming with people, citizens, clergy, and nobles alike, all gathered to partake in the grand mass led by High Priest Elgast. The ceremony began with a deep chant, as the High Priest recited passages from the Buch der Weisheit (Book of Wisdom), the sacred text believed to hold the divine teachings of the gods. Each verse recited, echoed through the chamber.

For over an hour, the congregation prayed and listened intently, heads bowed in reverence as the words of the gods were spoken. Reinhard stood apart from the rest, positioned at the very center of the chamber beneath the great dome, where the light from above illuminated him. Clad in his coronation garb, he knelt in silent prayer, hands resting on his legs.

At last, the High Priest concluded the mass with a final blessing, extending his hands toward Reinhard, he spoke, “An object of great emotional importance.”

Reinhard reached into his satchel and carefully withdrew a small, intricately crafted pendant. It had belonged to his late sister, Irmgard, who had tragically passed away from Consumption just months prior. Her final gift to him, given in her waning moments, carried immeasurable sentimental weight for him, “This.” he said solemnly, holding the pendant up, “Is my sister’s pendant. It bears great importance to me, may the gods find it to their liking.”

Elgast accepted the pendant with gentle hands, bowing his head in reverence. “May she forever find eternal respite in Frey’s loving embrace.” He turned toward the sacred flames burning at the altar’s end, their golden glow casted dancing shadows across the temple’s hallowed walls. With a steady hand, Elgast cast the pendant into the fire. The act was a deeply symbolic one, representing Reinhard’s willingness to make personal sacrifices for the greater good of his people and the gods he served. The flames roared momentarily, as if acknowledging the offering, before settling back into their steady glow.

A radiant light suddenly poured through the stained glass windows, with great intensity, as if the gods themselves were bestowing their approval. Then, just as swiftly as it had come, the light softened, fading back to its usual gentle luminance. The crowd was left in awe.

With the religious ceremony concluded, Reinhard prepared to make his way to the second and final destination: the Sigfridssaal. The grand entourage, already impressive in size, swelled further as members of the clergy and nobility, and even the common people, joined them.

The hall stood not far from the Temple, allowing them to arrive swiftly. Its grand doors were already open, inviting them inside. Reinhard stepped in and slowly began walking to his place at the far end, marking the beginning of the coronation ceremony, his gaze swept over the gathered assembly as he passed by those already present. According to the Vindaric rite, the Emperor was to crown himself, and then address his subjects. Trailing behind was his entourage who all took their place as each arrived at their designated place.

The nobility occupied the front rows of the hall, while the common people stood behind them in orderly ranks. High above, on a separate tier that overlooked the gathering, the clergy were seated to the left and foreign dignitaries to the right. Among these honored guests was Viscount Herluin d'Orluçon, representing Lysmer, alongside Grand Duke Jehan-Luc de Pueyrredón, ruler of Brelogne. Both nations enjoyed amicable relations with the Reich, and their participation was a warmly welcomed tradition.

A new face in attendance was Grand Doge Alessio di Fontana, ruler of Sirenze. This marked the first appearance of a Sirenzen leader at such an event, and Reinhard eagerly anticipated the opportunity to introduce himself and establish a rapport.

The most enigmatic guest, however, was Ser Marga of House Fang, representing the mysterious Roughlands. Her presence stirred whispers among the nobility, not because of her appearance, which seemed familiar yet foreign, reminiscent of the fashion of the northern lords of the realm, but because of her homeland. The Roughlands were virtually unknown, only for a selected few who had some knowledge, and when her arrival was first announced, many questioned whether such a place even existed. Yet, Reinhard found himself drawn to her, intrigued by appearance.

Whatever murmurs lingered among the nobles were soon silenced as the ceremony continued, shifting the assembly’s focus back to the Emperor.

Standing at his designated place, Reinhard's gaze settled on the crown resting regally upon a polished marble table. Crafted from pure gold, the crown was a detailed masterpiece, made by the goldsmith Glockrian Ruppel for the coronation of emperor Gelfrid I, in 815. The circlet glimmered with an array of pearls and emeralds, while six fleur-de-lis rose proudly from it, each adorned with intricate rubies and emeralds at their tips, embodying the heraldic symbol of House von Lillien. From the circlet, a high arch extended gracefully, originating from four symmetrical points, crowned by the sacred symbols of the Church, the Hammer, and culminating in a radiant blue sapphire at its zenith.

Reinhard carefully lifted the crown, holding it aloft for the gathered assembly to see. A solemn hush fell over the hall as he slowly placed it upon his head, the golden circlet gleaming under the light. Moments later, a nobleman stepped forward from the crowd to present him with the symbols of imperial power: a scepter and a ceremonial sword, both crafted from gleaming gold and decorated with gems.

This honor fell to Duke Wolfgang von Essling. From a gilded chest, he retrieved the two sacred items and, with a deep bow, presented them to Reinhard. Accepting them graciously, Reinhard took the scepter in his left hand and the sword in his right. Fully adorned in his regalia, he turned to address the crowd. The noblemen knelt.

“I stand before you now, not as Reinhard von Lillien, but as Kaiser Reinhard von Lillien I, by the Grace of the Divines: Emperor of Thalengard, King of the Vindaric, of Thalen, and the Marchlands, Protector of the Ledenians, Archduke of the Lendereich, Ruler of the Lilleanic Crownlands, and Count of St. Weigel and Türnitz.

This day marks a most memorable and joyous chapter in the history of our nation. Your presence here, standing alongside me in this moment of great significance, fills my heart with gratitude. For what is a ruler, if not the reflection of his subjects’ strength and loyalty?

When the fateful day arrived, and my cousin Hildebrand was compelled to step aside, I could never have foreseen the path that would lead me to this moment, my coronation. Yet here I stand, resolute and prepared. Our glorious nation faces challenges, yes, but I vow to confront them with my head held high. I pledge to uphold unity, to strengthen our Reich, and to ensure that our enemies tremble before our glory.

In the coming months, I shall embark on a tour across the realm, to listen to my subjects and address their concerns with all the wisdom and justice I can muster. From north to south and east to west.

Now, rise, my subjects! Swear your fealty to me and to the Reich, that we may stride together into a new era of prosperity.”

The noblemen rose. Drawing their swords, they turned the flat sides toward Reinhard. With voices that resonated through the grand hall, they chanted as one: “Long live His Majesty! Long live the Reich!”

With that resounding pledge of loyalty, the coronation ceremony came to a close. Wolfgang stepped forward once more, retrieving the scepter and ceremonial sword and carefully placing them back into their gilded chest. Similarly, the crown was delicately returned to its own ornate case, prepared for its journey back to Lillienheim.

Most of the citizens, brimming with joy and high hopes for the new monarch and the future of the nation, returned to their daily lives. A few lingered near the hall, eager to catch another glimpse of the Kaiser or perhaps offer their personal thanks, if fortune allowed.

The clergy and nobles, meanwhile, remained behind, engaging in discussions among themselves. Reinhard, ever mindful of diplomacy, chose to first approach the foreign dignitaries, before turning his focus to the other gathered elites.

Reinhard felt a quiet happiness at how the day had unfolded, though a faint melancholy lingered. Parting with his pendant had not been easy. But, the thought of his sister watching over him from the afterlife brought him solace.

What truly occupied his mind, however, was the weight of what lay ahead. The grand tour of the country he promised: where to begin, whom to visit first, and how to listen to the voices of his people. It would be his first official act as Emperor, a critical step in shaping his reign, especially after months devoted entirely to planning his coronation.

Beyond the tour, more pressing concerns awaited his attention. The delicate balance of foreign diplomacy, the growing tension with the Kingdom of Fahlrein, and countless other matters demanded careful consideration. But for now, Reinhard knew, all those burdens would have to wait.

The Bull and The Bear part 1

The wind smelled of smoke, ash, with charred burning flesh melting away against magical fire.

A knight whose golden armor glimmered in the fires, looked on in horror.

Hell had truly come for them all.

Four days earlier, 944, late harvest.

Maksmillian awoke, stepping out of his tent to see the rising sun painting the sky in orange and pink hues. He could see the border city of Ryavir to the east; he could see the Gavarian army itself waiting much like they were. The Volonskyians had invited both kings along with other nobles from the realm to try and solve the issue without bloodshed. Though the prince had his doubts some were inevitably going to side with the Gavars, a fact he knew his father would not accept nor allow.

As he took a deep breath of the morning air he heard a voice from behind.

“Enjoying the morning, your majesty?” A voice asked as he turned to look, it was a young man perhaps of fifteen years. He gave a bow which the prince returned.

“Indeed, I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure good sir?” The prince said, giving a friendly smile.

“I am Lupold Popek your majesty, nephew of the count of Swinia, I don’t fault you for not knowing one as low as me.” The young boy said, bowing his head once more.

That was when the prince noticed the lads features he was pale as winter snow, with long ink black hair, but didn’t have any such tinge to his eyes, he was humorless, a black omen for any family especially one which held prominent lands.

Maksmilian laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Do not sell yourself short lad, perhaps in the days to come you may prove your own words folly.” He said thinking for a moment “Who do you ride with.”

“My cousin Ser Teodor your majesty, one of many my uncles tasked with being of service to him.”

“Are you his squire?”

“Unfortunately not your grace.”

“Perhaps I will speak with the good Ser I am in need of a squire, humored or no.” The prince said with a smile, he could see the boys eyes light up with recognition, he remembered the feeling all too well himself.

The boy bowed a few times, repeating “Thank you, your majesty.” For a few moments before the prince waved him off, as he turned to continue enjoying the morning horizon he caught a glimpse of one of his fathers knights approaching him. He let out a sigh his time was up, and with it perhaps the little slice of peace he had known.

“Your Grace, your father demands your presence.”

“Let him know I will be on my way.” The prince said as the knight gave a bow leaving.

It wouldn’t take long for the prince to make his way to his fathers tent, an ironically enough simple large war tent made of leathers and furs. The crest of their house hanging from both sides of its oversized entrance.

“You summoned father.” The prince said as he stepped across the threshold.

“The time has come boy.” His father took in a deep breath letting it out through his nose, Maksmilian could have sworn he saw steam come from the monstrous man’s nostrils.

“Today they either bow or be broken, if they are foolish enough to meet us in battle this day then I must be able to rely on you my son, can I?” The Minotaur king said placing his overgrown hand on the prince’s shoulder, he could feel him grip it tightly.

Maksmillian met his father’s gaze. “Of course, I stand ready to serve the realm as needed.” He said kneeling to his father who gave a smirk.

“Good we ride soon to the city, have your men be ready.”

Two hours later, gates of Ryavir

As they rode Maksmillian had been silently taking in the landscape, he remembered visiting the Volonskyian countryside as a boy with his brother, simpler times those were but times long past it seemed. His father had always said that they were warriors by blood, cursed to live and die by the sword like the conquest born souls they were. For a while Maksmillian had believed perhaps his grandfather's vision of a peaceful north would come to fruition under his brother's rule, or even with his brother in his father’s ear while the golden himself stayed and basked in imperial culture, one which he had come to love.

Now such dreams were folly, they had been tarnished in the great eastern battles, he now sat as crown prince and his father’s heart had darkened even more. War was inevitable and the gods wherever they may have gone had forsaken both throne and people to the carnage of chaos.

“Boy!” Yelled the king, breaking Maksmillians thoughts asunder as he looked to his father.

“You look miserable, why would you feel sorry for those who would deny your birthright?” His father asked with a sneer as they rode.

“Many of these noblemen I had met when I was a boy father, while you may hold no love for those around you I do.” The prince said with venom.

“If they kneel then nothing shall happen to them.” The king said, looking back towards the city. “Those who don’t will be cut down and forgotten by history as nothing more than fools.”

The prince stayed quiet only giving a nod to his father, no matter his personal feelings on the matter he still had a duty to his father and to the realm, he would subjugate the northern kingdoms for his family.