[clandrox]

Nations Of Refugia come together In a Roleplay. Nations may work together diplomatically or may end in total anarchy. Coronations, Diplomatic elections or a Dolphin named Bob any type of Scenario is welcome here.
Two Rules

• No ooc in the RP chat
• Must have a NationStates nation to take part.

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[clandrox]

The Hidden Forest Kingdom Of Subadent

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The hidden forest kingdom protected by the large barrier forest prepares for the coronation of King Michael per the third historical edict, all Kings are chosen by the tree of life, all rulers descended from the blood of the Dove giving them divine power over the trees of Subadent allowing for passage of the tree border.

King Michael Dove writes in his hand letters to each of the leaders in the region of Refugia;
Leaders Of Refugia,
You are hereby invited to the coronation of King Michael Dove to occur within a month,
 the great barrier trees will be open to you and your families if you see fit to bring them.
Warning to all who wish to ruin this grandiose day, if the trees sense your deceit they will close you in and trap you within our vast and endless forests.
Yours truly,
King Michael Dove of The Subadent Throne, Speaker of the trees and their language Wucelapan

Michael sent the letters by Dove, then returning to the dealings of the smallfolk and serfs, lord Barthö had readied Michaels carriage specifically for his trip to Dove City.

[mads]

Chacapoya City,
Chambers of the Council

A harried looking scribe burst into the Council hall, “My lords, urgent communications from the nation of Subadent!”

A hooded figure looked up from the table in the center of the room, on which a cadaver lay open.
“Well?”
“A new king in the forest nation of Subadent! My lord!”
The scribe looked around.
“Where are the other lords?”
“Well, it is a Sunday, so most likely on their own business, much like myself.”
The figure busied itself with the cadaver again, before looking at the waiting scribe in frustration.
“Oh fine. Send the Cultural Attaché, whoever it is now. I haven’t the time for this, and neither do the other Councillors. Send some flower arrangement or something along as well.”

P. G. Wintergreen, Chacapoyan Cultural Attaché, nodded and strode back out of the chamber.
Off to Subadent then. Well, it will make for a change of scenery at least.

[clandrox]

The preparations for the coronation are completely underway, servants going left and right about the castle, the smallfolk of Subadent preparing outfits for the once in a lifetime event for those of the royal blood live extended lives.

Subadents Monarch had heard Chacapoyas cultural Attaché would be in attendance of the event and had a traditional Chacapoyan room prepared for them. The stress was getting to the young king and he knew he would have to live up to his fathers' greatness which would be difficult for King Dethran had secured the alliance of Conifer and had been their speaker for 200 years before his death last year when his old age had finally caught up with him.

The Justicar of Subadent had been improving relations with the smallfolk of the known to be the rebellious towns of Subadel and Sreta, The two had been in constant war with themselves and each other and the New Monarch had enough of it finally sending someone to deal with the problem.

[Emily]

“Ha’hren Silvehn?”

It was a warm day in Alanor, mitigated by the shade of the great trees and cool winds from over the ocean. The Radhmael’s office was open to the breeze through multiple exits into the various gardens of Arlathan’s palace district. Bookcases lined a corner, situated behind a modest writing desk. Various carpets covered the wooden floor. A fireplace sit empty, waiting for a day far colder than this one.

The Radhmael herself sat at the desk, reading a policy proposal from one of her aides. She placed a marker in the document and looked up. “Savhalla, lethal’lin. Din'telsila'sathan.”

The courier was a teenage boy, Ghilen. He came from a line of the old nobility in old Alanor, before even she had lived, but she’d been closest to one of his ancestors who had attended the academy in Bel’annar’is alongside her. They had met during an open study group on life augmentations. Ghilen looked like him. He looked like a lot of those who came before.

He puffed out his chest a bit -clearly chafing about being asked to not be nervous- and strode in. <A message was delivered for you,> he said, holding out a sealed envelope.

She took it with a slight smile and thanked him. “Ma seranna.”

The message was a simple one, inviting her to leave the ancient forests of her homeland and travel across not only the land she was on, but a sea beyond that, to the island nation of Subadent. The new king was to be crowned. She’d met the Prince before, at some regional meeting of the minds or another. She liked him, liked his nation. Subadent seemed to regard nature as highly as Alanor, but in its own way. They did not live beside the trees for a long and peaceful eternity, but then again neither did her people. Her thoughts turned darker. Not anymore.

“Ha’hren?” came Ghilan’s inquiring tone. She looked up and gave him a smile. <Not to worry,> she replied, <the burden of memory is sometimes heavy.

<Please summon our minister of travel, and the ambassador from Refuge Isle,> she requested. <I will need some further instruction on the usage of travel runes.>

[mads]

So this is why oversea travel is so unpopular
P. G. Wintergreen hung grimly to the handrail on the passenger deck of the Clairvoyant. Ever since the Council had outlawed most forms of motorized transport, the two main options for long distance travel were ships or magic, and no one had magic save the Council.
The cultural attaché knew he could have requested to be transported to the island of Subadent but, after what had happened to the previous unfortunate to hold his position, he knew better. 
No, it's a sailor's life for me, I suppose. And perhaps a sailor's death if I'm unlucky.

"You know, they say there's elves out there, in those forests." The captain of the ship, a grey and harrowed woman, had stumped up behind him, "Now, I don't know if that's true, but I've always avoided that island if I could." She nodded to the massive, far off mound on the horizon known as Refuge Isle. "No boats ever leave, no planes fly out, hah! Not that planes fly out of Chacapoya anymore, eh?"
"You should know not to criticize the Council's decisions! They choose for our best, and the best of the world around us! Besides, everyone knows elves aren't real. There's just regular people living there, not magical beings of light and forest bullshit." Wintergreen looked the captain up and down, noting the various scars and tattoos covering her skin. Seafolk were always a superstitious sort, especially those that came close to dealing with the nations elsewhere in Refugia "I will remind you I am on a mission from the Council themselves, in the name of our great ruler. Please refrain from sacrilege in my presence perhaps?"
The captain shrugged and wandered off, waving to some trader of sorts across the deck.
Soon we'll land in Subadent, and I'll be face to face with a king, ready to represent the will of the Council, their mighty instrument, their strong right hand, their sword and shield! He nodded smugly, before another wave rocked the boat, bringing about another bout of nausea.
Moments later, wiping his mouth, P.G. Wintergreen, Chacapoyan Cultural Attaché, stared off towards where he knew Subadent to be, imagining the celebrations soon to come.

Wait, where did I put that flower arrangement again?

[clandrox]

The Young King had received word through the trees that the tree-loving nation of Syl Alanor would be in attendance of the coronation.
*Better Brush Up On my Elven for their arrival, I expect it will be by travel rune for the fact that the nation is quite far.*
The young King could see his crown on the throne that he will take properly within a few weeks, It was nerve Wracking and was causing unease within his stomach, the court physician looked over him for fears of a disease but the old magic indicated that it was nothing except his nerves getting the better of him.

Deangelo had arrived for his brothers’ coronation and greeted him warmly “Siel La Femis”  Michael returned a lot more bluntly “Siel Femis, y net siet mi La.”

The prince who had renounced his claim for faith laughed at his brothers’ remark and knew that his formality made his brother ever more uncomfortable, it was laughable how the soon to be coronated king could not stand to be called it. The two princes had both been present at their fathers’ death, the first coronated king Dethran who had died from old age which by Subadentian leader standards is extremely rare considering they live extended lives up until between 500-600 years.

Word had reached Michael that the seas were allowing the passage of the Chacapoyan Cultural Attache, Michael had thought they would come by travel rune but it matters not just that they may arrive later than originally thought. Michael looked at the great tapestries and the painted walls of Subadents history and there he sees his fathers coronation but above the kings crown was old Subadentian ‘Isla’ Hope, Michael knows that he has to live up to his father and that he must be prepared but he does not know if he can give the people the hope that his father gave them.

‘Castellan please deal with any smallfolk meetings today I am feeling unwell.’ it was a lie but Michael just needed to be alone for a little while.