High atop the Council of Five Shires' balcony, I presided over the Grand Coaserly Husting. Bustling envoys thronged the hall, their whispers laden with veiled agendas. Ma'am Drea and Ma'am Julie sat beside me, facing the assembled moot. Behind me, Ma'am Nadette leaned against the wall, a coin spinning between her fingers, her watchful gaze fixed on the probable hooded figures lurking in the shadows. The chamber buzzed with fervent debate, a cacophony both vital and frightening, for it held the power to shape the future of the realm. Despite the flurry of anxious murmurs, it dawned on me – this, with all its complexity, was my first public duty as the newly crowned Coasern of Sileland. The weight of responsibility settled upon my shoulders, the mearth and manifoldness of the gathering both enthralled and wearied me.

"Bid! Bid to the hoff!" declared Sir Ludwig, once a young spokesperson in my father's era, now aged with a sprinkling of grey in his hair. Standing tall upon the stand, he rapped the gavel twice, approaching his lips near the funnel-shaped bronze shouter to shill his voice. The moot, finally heeding his call, silenced their mootings, allowing him to proceed. "As we agin the council hearings, let us pay our heed to Her Majesty and offer a resounding applause, for ‘tis her first kin duty to grace this moot and uphold this husting of braid."

Then, as the whole of the moot fastened their gaze upon me, their lips now shut and instead their hands clapped together in unison, resounding through the great chamber. The bards trumpeted once again, and the bustling sounds of their blissome approval echoed the worthiness of my endeavours in defending the motherland and securing win. Their prolonged loudness and cheerful cheers befittingly greeted me as their sovereign.

And as the resounding applause gradually subsided, Sir Ludwig proceeded. “First, I must call upon the Main Overseer, Sir Vorn Ormungant, who shall address the rich of the Sileland. Let all of thee heed his words and pray for tidings of prosperity to come."

As Sir Vorn ascended the podium, the bards set on the side balconies began trumpeting, their harmonious melodies serving as a subtle veil for budding murmurs and slanders from certain envoys. Given its inherent nature of the moot, such forewits were to be taken beforehand.

When Sir Vorn finally arrived, his lips approached before the bronze shouter, the noises dwindled. There, he said, “Hearken, athels of the motherland, as I stand before thee today with pride and eathmoodness , to share tidings of a great triumph and the dares that lie ahead. With the blessings of the Lady of Light, Her Majesty and the heer have shent the fiends from the far northern lands, putting an end to their cruel raids and restoring grith to our holy Sileland eftsoons. Our brave heer, loyal and devoted, fought ellenly to fasten this win, and shall forever adore the amind of those who laid down their lives in ferdfare to our great cause. ‘Tis with a heavy heart that we mourn their loss, and we shall ensure that their sacrifice shall never be forgotten. Yet, my dear athel fellows, let us not forget that win comes at a cost. The logistics of waging such a great campaign have stretched our resources to their limits. The treasury, once brimming with abundance, now feels the weight of our endeavours. Our triumph came at the cost of sixty thousand harvested crops, eighty-two thousand brewed beers, and of course... two hundred fifty-five thousand gold, long dissipated in the pursuit of fastening our land's grith. After twenty years of abiding Norsian’s unyielding evest, the inevitable toll upon our great fee bides evident. Whilst our folk, hour those in the Northwestern shire, fea over their trustworthy grith, our farmers and chapmen from other shires protest over their trading taper. Our rich face the winds of dare, and we must navigate these turbulent waters with wisdom and fortitude. Therefore, I ask thee, Her Majesty and the chosen envoys of each shire, how wilt thou resolve this incoming tinderbox?”

Abruptly, the envoy of the Northeastern shire, Sir Maldric, pounded a gavel and anqueathed, “How about afterspeaking the entire Norsian lands into our own hands? There, should the Northwestern shire be trusted in every inch… without being such a trey in our arse.”

“Withsaw!” the envoy of the Northwestern shire, Sir Caldwin, pounded a gavel and anqueathed. “Norsia is known to be frigid lands, devoid of fertile soils and needless waterways. Hour since the rich wishes to build a port there, establishing our foundation of trade towards the far west, alas, our ships cannot traverse through their thick glazes. I hope that doth enlighten thee.”

“Even still,” Sir Maldric anqueathed, his wild thoughts seemingly coalescing into his wild body. “We couldst use our mages to blast their way through the far west. I mean, 'tis simple to melt those frozen cumbers, art I right?”

“Aye,” nodded Sir Caldwin. “However, the glaciers stretch over thousands of metres from the Montanyan riverway, so to stickle that we can use our mages to cast an immense blaze before the way of our ship… well, how about if thou canst foreset thine idea into practice by thyself? After all, 'tis thine and thine truly, indeed.”

The rest of the envoys, but not Sir Maldric, shared a howl of chuckle across the hoff, a testament to his idea being a farce.

"Indeed, as it is," cried Sir Maldric, then fastened his gaze upon me. "Thy Majesty, I hereby foreset a daring quest to expand our dominion throughout the lands of Norsia. Through the method of ship blazing alone, the Silerreich shall establish a flourishing commercial port at the edges of the far west. There, we can broaden our prospects and rekindle the flames of ead once again."

Truth be told, I found myself agreeing with Maldric's proposal, though a chilling memory flickered in my mind—a snowstorm that once ravaged the northern lands of Sarne. Hundreds of men perished from the unforgiving cold, and countless crops were frozen and lost. As I listened to Sir Maldric and recalled his people's hardship, I could not help but marvel at his apparent immunity to the raw power of nature. It seemed as if he had never felt a shiver in his entire life, explaining his unwavering optimism towards the 'ship blazing' proposal. A bold plan indeed, and I fought back a burst of nervous laughter.

After a few moments composing myself, I sighed and asked, “Dare I ask, can other envoys thwear with his foresetting?”

Ma’am Jodie, a silver-haired envoy of the Southwestern shire and also a fellow matriarch of House Saphlia hailing from the Martburg city, giggled—stifling from her cackling temptation, “Must this man mastered his talents on ‘ascending cold mountains, yet obtaining naught upon his hands’? Shall I bid a thousand fortunes upon him. Pray, wilt we be amused?”

“Verily, I can but say,” chuckled Ma’am Ceril, an envoy of the Central shire, as she playfully crossed her arms, attempting to suppress her mirth. Alas, in the face of such amusement, she yielded to its inevitable burden.

“Sir Maldric,” spoke Sir Likard, an envoy of the Southeastern shire, with a tone of truthfulness and manship. “Pray, take no offence, but it seems that the folk of thy shire might need to lean towards a different candidate—one who can truly perceive the realm through a lens of sooth and evensorrow with the feelfold hardships of our folk. Hour since thy lands art, dare I say, a sunderright to strategic paradise.”

Whilst bantering over Sir Maldric’s ridicule, I asked Ma’am Drea, “What dost thou ponder?”

“Truly, ‘tis,” giggled Ma’am Drea.”‘Bathed in Lady Fortune's tender grace, hath basked in the embrace of blissome serenity, unmarred by the scars of battles and crisis throughout its storied stear. That is to the people who live among the plains of Sone,’ as the saying goes.”

“Aye, I know,” I sighed. “But all I need is an idea that dow the resolve here.”

“Oh,” moaned Ma’am Drea, rubbing her chin as her mind was filled with endeavouring wonders.

Whilst waiting for her answer, I turned my eyes towards them and declared, “Foresetting overruled! Thou hast failed to learn from countless tales of snowstorms around the Northwestern shire. Pray, try to grasp thy thoughts on that in towardness, Sir Maldric."

Then Ma’am Drea ultimately uttered it, “How about if we extend our trade to the far east? Across the shore where merchants wilt barter goods, hour that may be noteworthy to outsiders alike.”

“Goods… that may be noteworthy?”

Then, all of a sudden, Ma’am Jodie pounded a gavel twice and spoke, “Thy Majesty and our noble envoys, may I dare to present?”

Her voice cried of wits, her words bearing a hint of audacious ettle.

“Thou must speak thy mind,” I anqueathed.

“Aye,” she replied. “I shall proceed then.”

Then she clapped thrice, and two ladies in grey habits appeared out of the entrance hall, carrying two vials atop the cushion, each filled with different colours—one was as red as blood, and other was as blue as deep waters.

“Behold our quintessential products that will benefit our patrons to come across… their taste of heaven.”

“Potions?” I raised my brow. “What of quintessentials about it? They art common among all the guilds of adventurers. How sure art thou saying that those wouldst grant them a ‘taste of heaven’?”

“Aye,” answered Ma’am Jodie. “Potions… or rather, we called them as elixir—a work brewed with the essence of hope and redemption, designed to bestow upon its imbiber a second chance at life's tapestry. With each ethereal drop, it weaves a tapestry of renewed opportunities and cleanses the burdens of past missteps, allowing the weary soul to embrace a fresh chapter with renewed vigour and purpose. Simply put, a miraculous tool to keep thy living persistence.”

“Hate to say this,” Sir Likard pounded a gavel. “But dost thou ponder divulging our coaserly secrets of unabating guild system to potential foes alike?”

“Sir,” Ma’am Jodie closed his eyes and gave him an intimidating smirk. “The Guild system hath long existed ever since the empire was once a daughterland—Kingdom of Himel, whilst our shire was once the bordering region subjected to the Queendom of Hexia. In our land, there was once this essence called ‘Amorepart’, or thou canst nameth it as ‘sharing love’. For instance, when a man asks a witch for things they desire, a witch will offer accordingly so that their wishes will come sooth. Love unto the things they desire is a love unto themselves, and love unto themselves is a love unto others, thus love comes to know across the lands. Aye, the term that thou must mean it speaks for itself, and thanks to that, thou’st revolutionised it. Now, pray, if thou dost bethink our ‘unabating’ guild system being divulged to such ‘potential foes' alike—deemed unfavourable to coaserly affairs, then thou art also tainting our holy tradition by merely spreading a growth of misapprehension against our very own foundation, whether at this era or even ahead of it.”

“May I dare to anqueath, Ma’am Jodie?” Sir Caldwin pounded a gavel, whilst Ma’am Jodie nodded while heeding his solemn words. “I grasp the tale of thine origins, enthralled by rich tradition and practical ideals that thine ancestors hath been doing, but we cannot also ignore that some nations across the tide wilt, one day, take advantage of our ‘act of sharing love’ to benefit themselves… and only themselves alone. Shall they, one day, spread terror across the world, hour our lands by the strength they hath mustered after earning from us in exchange of their own. Just like those fiends from the north, we cannot predict their times and ways of imperilling our folk .”

“Good sire,” Ma’am Jodie gave him such a mien and argued. “I also grasp the tale of thy bloody cries and toils after the homes of thy people were plummeted by those so-called ‘fiends’, but I dost not grasp thine thoughts of bethinking them solely as ‘fiends’.

Sir Caldwin then clenched his fist and slightly glared, “What dost thou mean by it?”

“Thou hast uttered before that Norsia is a frigid land, devoid of fertile soils and unnecessary waterways,” Ma’am Jodie raised a finger before him. “In sooth, that saying alone lies the simplest yet deepest reason that sprang and bloomed their wildness, driving them to rise and fight on behalf of their survival. Survival that may need to fill their hunger and quench their thirst. Or rather, in practical sense, the lambs there art now endangered to its decline in numbers, thus their decisions to hoard the village of Sarne and town of Loft hath been made.”

“But they had begun all of the massacres,” cried Sir Caldwin. “From twenty years ago till now. Despite the reasons for their fate, their ways of peril and breed of countless deaths remain unforgivable! Dost thou not dare tempt us to pardon them for that?!”

“Aye, I must thwear upon that… However,” Whilst chuckling, Ma’am Jodie tucked her hand into the purse she carried, then took out the folded parchment so worn in time, yet worthy to show.

"Mark well, dear council, I present to thee this writ of tidings," she continued after unfolding, unveiling the parchment and perusing its writings. "According to the testimony of Sir Actlus, a former patrol captain entrusted with the defence of Sarne village, and one who survived the First Raid of Sarne, a troupe of Norsian travellers arrived at the village gates seeking trade. However, their boon was then rejected beforehand with disdain by the village chief, who scorned them as 'filthy fartings' and belittled their wares as 'bustcraft.' The Norsians took offence at this affront and retaliated by besieging the village, slaughtering its men and even the village chief, and perpetrating latsome acts upon their women and children. This brief tale of Sir Actlus was publicly disclosed throughout the Silerreich on the eleventh day of Letst-Harvst in the year twelve fifteen, merely three days before his dismissal from knighthood. Thus, to surmise that the Norsians initiated these massacres, I bid thee to contemplate once more on what could have been averted."

Once her words were ultimately uttered and heeded, a hush fell upon the council chamber, with even Sir Maldric and Sir Caldwin left in awe, their mouths agape with wonder. My eyes then turned to Ma’am Drea, wisest and astutest among the maidens, hailing from the town of Hansch in the Southwestern shire. She looked serene, as if she comprehended every nuance of Ma’am Jodie's discourse.

“Hast the council made sense?” continued Ma’am Jodie, then faced towards me and dropped a curtsy. “Then pray, may I proceed with my elucidation in relevance, Thy Majesty?”

“Any needless withsaws art weened to be overruled,” I cried, then nodded towards her. “Thou may proceed.”

“As Thou wish,” Ma’am Jodie curtsied once again, then asked. “Now where didst I stop?”

“Elixirs,” I said. “What of it? And how wilt it note the rich?”

"Oh," proceeded Ma’am Jodie. "Concerning trades, Thy Majesty, or rather, we hath crafted these potions for so long that our depots around our shire art almost full of it, thus afraining whether these art worth our gains or not. Should we extend our trade to the far west where the land and the people there remain a mystery to our eyes... and risk our convictions till they draw a smile, then good results wilt come over time... and our bond between us and them wilt be as firm as two lovers sharing their slumber."

“Interesting thought,” commented Sir Likard. “But how dost thou find such a man, ambitious to navigate beyond our reaching waters?”

“Fret not, good sire,” Ma’am Jodie smiled. “I haveth known men and women who dream to explore wonders, particularly those doughty travellers who have journeyed to the farthest reaches of Tal River.”

“Tal River?” gasped Ma’am Ceril. “Thou didst not gall the mere between the Silerreich and Hexia?”

“Once again, fret not,” chuckled Ma’am Jodie. “We were once their subjects in the past, so ‘tis not a shock to us.”

“Thy shire must hath some good consuls there, I must say,” commented Sir Likard. “Furthermore, dost thy land hath a sufficient place to establish our port facing west?”

“Indeed, there could have been,” Ma’am Jodie frowned. “But alas, the road lies cumbered by a prior avalanche, hendness of the treacherous valley rocks. Hence, it would be deemed unnecessary to establish our endeavours there, for ‘tis fraught with peril and impracticality.”

“I see,” nodded Sir Likard. “Very well, nonetheless, I must thwear with thy foresetting.”

“Commended,” nodded Ma’am Ceril.

“If that is up to thy desire, then aye… I shall say,” said Sir Maldric.

“As long as it behotes to ead throughout the rich,” sighed Sir Caldwin, perchance his doubts bided flooding around his mind. “Very well, I have no withsaws to that.”

"Boldly gladdened, indeed," chuckled Ma’am Jodie, her eyes fixated on mine. "Thy Majesty, I doth foreset a quest to append these elixirs, the Elixir of Sangui and the Elixir of Vis, onto a list of exsends. Brave merchants, should they dare to embark on such a journey, wilt be sent forth on a long voyage to the far east. Upon their return, we may rectify our prosperity once again."

Kenning my soom, I asked Ma’am Drea, “Art thou witted of that?”

“Aye, Thy Majesty,” smiled Ma’am Drea. “Yet Thou must prioritise raising funds for farmers to expand their field and for the workless to act jointly first. Dismiss the heers and guild edicts for their rest, for we shall establish our cost wisely.”

"Verily," I nodded, then rose from my seat and boded, "Thy foresetting hath been granted! Thou hast put forth a resolve to alleviate our plight, yet we must contrive further. I stightle that our first priority shall be the revival of our tillage. Every farmer and the workless shall receive a reasonable thirty gold coins each week or fifty silver coins each day for their toil. Taxes for athels shall have a whoonly wooker, whilst taxes for churls shall lessen to a meting not exceeding their lord’s livelihood. Those who dare to be unruly shall face haft, and those who commit graver misdeed shall face the gallows. Dost thou all understand the edict?"

“Thy will be done,” all envoys bowed their heads upon me.

"May the sitheship heed my words, and thus, the doomern is adjourned!"