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The Great Coup


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Aug 5, 2018

Oserian Plains Outside of Dunsgate, Circa de 1001

The coronation was to be taken on the middle of the week, on a sunny and clear afternoon. Peasants and Foreigners alike flocked in abundance to the sounds of the church bells ringing. People flooded the church, seating themselves at the pews and looking onward to the dias.
“Have you gathered the documents I sought?” Robert Frederick d’Alsaion spoke with a stoic demeanor. He lapsed his palms unto his lap as he idled in the rear pew.
“I have.” Arterius Fournier retorted, promptly reaching out with his palm. A skewed document lie within, bearing the seal of the d’Alsaion house. Robert promptly took it, and wrested it into his lap, looking up towards the dias as the rest of the populace did. “The estate is under our control. My house history lies here, as well as the names of our family. You did well to bring them to me.” Frederick would pass the document to his right, down to John d’Alsaion, who took it gratefully. “The preparations are ready then?” Frederick asked, his glower cast back upon Arterius. Once more, he replied, “Yes. Everything of value has been stripped from your estate and it has been secured. This blight will not affect your home. And should things go wrong, I have made preparations for the land we need outside of the walls.” Stated brusquely, he lowered his head and turned to slide into the pew next to Frederick.
The day continued, onwards until the would-be king strode down the isle, Pontiff at the end awaiting to receive him. The Pontiff sang the beautiful words of the One, and harmonized them in contempt to the evils of the Great Death. It was time. He called for the man who would be king to rise, and so he did. Baldwin Clements began to kneel before His Holiness, but before such an action could be performed, in rushed one of the d’Alsaion levymen, Jon de Venerra. Boldly, or rather as if crazed, he shouted at the top of his lungs to the crowd.
“Stop!” He took a wide berth from the pews, standing now at the center of the isle in the middle of the church. “You expect us to believe that a family of murderers and rapists should rule over us good people? You are sorely mistaken.” The crowd looked in shock as the rest of the d’Alsaion men rose from the pews and took up the center of the isle. Fournier spoke to the Pontiff briefly, and then made way for Robert Frederick.
“He is right. I would not allow such a being, such an impotent cuck to blight our home with his authority. The only authority you would bring upon our city and home is tyranny. I will not allow this.” Upon hearing this, Arterius ordered his two compatriots to clear out the peasantry and the civilians. The situation escalated, and a long argument erupted into swords drawn.
“I will only say this once. Bend the knee, and your tyranny will not be punished by death. I am a man of the people and I will not poison my own home with ill rule.”
Robert looked up to Clements with an inspired, yet cold glower, as Clements looked back in fear and anger. “I will not have my authority be so easily challenged. You will leave this holy place where I will then destroy you for your insolence.”
The words rang out to the church, and those outside could hear such a thing through the large oaken doors.
The men of d’Alsaion stepped away, and left in pure disgust. Seeing as there is no resolution but a fight, they took to their estate, barring the doors in preparation for the coming conflict.

House d’Alsaion bannermen in their war camp, Circa de 1001

Arterius placed his quill to the side, stamping the letter and handing it to Robert Frederick d’Alsaion.

“The document is complete. I shall distribute it amongst the structures within the city. It is time to decide the future of our home.”
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