I dont Know yet

The week before the Conclave is never easy. It never has been. The clamour on the Hill was intense, as four great houses flock to the Castle-on-Kingdom-Hill to join the incumbent Contells in the capital. The heads of houses, heirs, heiresses, guards, servants, all of them, all on the HIll. The capital was not built for Conclaves, thought Jerhys. It was too loud, too crowded. He preferred the quiet of the Castle’s corridors than the din of the commonfolk  he must endure on his daily travel to the Conclave, which was away from the King’s Keep. Jerhys often wondered why the Conclave was outside the castle, down away from the lush gardens of the Hill and instead amongst the peasants, although he was thankful that his journey didn’t venture into the Shade, where few people were lucky to return from alive, especially those who weren’t gifted swordsmen.

Jerhys never liked swords, always preferring poison or a dagger to finish his work. He had always wondered as to why swords were so popular. A sharpened metal stick was so, messy. He often wondered why songs were written about the man who can swing a stick harder, as opposed to the cleverer or better man. He found it so primitive. But, then again, he thought that of almost everything. Smiths, carpenters, farmers. Almost everything was beneath him. Jerhys was one of few who liked the Conclave. He relished every opportunity to allow himself to show off his intelligence, to allow him to reveal how much he could change, because, after all, he was incredibly clever. He could win battles, coordinate merchant ships at the dock, and balance the finances of the Kingdom all before the first day of the Conclave was at an end. However, the high lords would inevitably spend the first day quarrelling about their harvest, and the petty matters that occur all too often in the lands far off from all relevance and use to the King. Philip IV, of House Contell, was the thirteenth King of the Contell rule, and this was only his second Conclave under his rule. The first, a dull affair by the standards of his father, was only a half year after his coronation on the Hill. The Drouns had supposedly won that one. They were a tiresome lot, the Drouns. They were uninteresting, to the point where Jerhys regarded them as the house equivalent of a brick. Rigid and safe. They cared more for ensuring their House’s ongoing existence than gaining power or gold. Cautious. Cautious was the word that fits best. Caution was an overrated concept. The thrill of the chase ultimately overpowers the lack of one.

Jerhys was a well dressed man. Always immaculate, he worn nothing other than the finest cloaks and garments in the Hill, which were all finely embroidered with Jerhys’ personal seal, that of a quill and ink bottle. Everybody knew his seal. It was everywhere, from the wax of the many scrolls he sends to merchants, to the furnishings in the taverns he owned. He, despite being known by many, was not well liked, and he felt all the better for it. Less distractions, which was exactly what he did not need, especially today, where he had to be courteous to the nobility that was the King and his Council, which would test his patience even on the busier days of the year. The Council was held in the Castle, which meant that Jerhys would not have to venture amongst the commoners today, something which he was grateful for. He started his journey towards the castle, walking at a fast pace to further reduce his chances of being accosted, albeit by his servants or other people in the Kings service. His walk was short, as he had only to cross a courtyard and pass through a gate to reach the Keep, within which the council would take seat.
Two members of the Council were already sat when Jerhys entered the Council’s hall, Ranton Beckett and Killian Mest. Beckett was a smart man, as though his every movement and word served a purpose. He was Lord of the Landsfolk, a position which required Beckett to provide justice and care to the commonfolk of the Regency Lands, and bring any issues of considerable size to the council, of which there are over the three days that conclave is held.