Lore/Story The Throne of Gavel-Chapter 1

Previous chapter: https://forums.wynncraft.com/threads/the-throne-of-gavel-prologue.302426/
Appendix: (Highly recommended read before starting the series) https://forums.wynncraft.com/threads/the-throne-of-gavel-table-of-contents-and-appendix.302423/

Before I start, I’d like to thank everyone who has remained (relatively) patient in waiting for this chapter, as well as those who have chosen to support this project. The amount of positive feedback the prologue received blew me away.
I’d also like to mention Enderae for editing the first draft and suggesting some minor improvements. This current edition wouldn’t be here without him.
Without further ado, here’s the first chapter to The Throne of Gavel.

Spoiler: The Throne of Gavel: Chapter 1

Raemin


She woke to the tolling of bells.

They rang from every belfry and every tower, from churches and battlements, from manors and plazas.
The bells marked the dawn of a new age.

Raemin dressed in silence as the bells continued to ring. The sounds echoed somberly through the streets of Cinfras, suddenly empty and forlorn where it had once been bustling with crowds. It was as if the city itself, that great behemoth of brick and stone, had frozen in place to mourn the death of its ruler.

Marika is dead, the city seemed to lament.

Marika is dead. The queen is dead.

Raemin picked out a black dress from her wardrobe and slowly put it on, slipping it over her shoulders and corset in silence.
The queen’s death was no surprise, Marika had already been on the verge of dying last night. It was almost a miracle that she lasted several hours more.

Raemin still didn’t truly know what to feel. Sadness still persisted from last night’s events, coiled deep in her heart like a venomous snake preparing to strike.
It was clearly there, and yet Raemin felt nothing, a blank, gaping void where there should have been emotion.

She shook her head, almost as if trying to dissuade herself. She couldn’t dwell on this now. She was needed today, regardless of her feelings. Emil needed her. The Valorians needed her.

She sighed and stared out beyond her window, overlooking the sprawling city of Cinfras far below. Merely a red hint against the distant horizon, the sun was beginning to rise, slowly clearing away the last remnants of the cold autumn night.

It was time to meet Emil.


A deafening silence echoed through the room as Raemin made her way towards the throne. Cloaked in darkness, the room’s marble pillars were looming shadows in the dim light, towering over her almost menacingly. The throne itself, seated upon a marble pedestal, was an armored tyrant, draped with a cloak of scarlet and gold.

Raemin stopped at the base of the pedestal and gazed upwards, clasping her hands behind her back nervously. “My liege.”
The throne seemed to stir as a shadow detached itself from the face of the throne and stepped into the light.

Dressed in scarlet and black, Emil Valorian stood hunched over the throne in front of her. A tall, solemn figure in the weak morning light, Emil’s pale facade clashed with his blond and black-flecked hair. He beckoned at Raemin to step forwards and slowly sat back down, clasping the throne’s armrests with firm hands.

“Raemin,” Emil greeted, his tone almost absentminded. “Come, take a seat.”

Of course, my prince.” Raemin replied. She slowly sat down at the base of one of the room’s pillars.

Emil snorted. “No need to be so cordial, cousin,” he said, standing up and slowly circling around her. “You’re early here today.”

“I thought I would be needed here following last night’s events,” Raemin responded.

A shadow seemed to flit over Emil’s expression. The prince sighed slowly and fell back upon his seat, resting his head on his hand.

I still remember when she died this morning,” Emil began, abruptly breaking the silence. “She did not deny her fate. She did not waver, did not break there on her deathbed, staring into the reaper’s grim face.”

He paused. “My mother seemed to even be happy in her final few moments. At peace, finally satisfied with her life and legacy."
"And what will mine become? Another king to be lost in the records? A shadow of my mother?”

Raemin put her hand on Emil’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll be as great as she ever was,” she reassured him. “Everyone knows it. Your council loves you.”

Emil laughed scornfully. “They say they love me because I am Marika’s son. They are a flock of vultures, descending and feasting on the corpses of the slain.”

“Your council is not as corrupt as that,” Raemin said. “They serve you with their lives.”

“And what do you know of politics as a girl of fifteen? Every man and an woman on that council is corrupt to their very core. Without the power of a crown, I am a mere puppet, to be manipulated for their own gains.”

A knock echoed from behind the door and the guard entered, bowing before Emil.“Your Majesty,” the guard announced. “Your advisor, the Lady Kanara Dendroft, wishes to see you.”

Emil sighed. “Let her in.” The guard nodded and swung open the door with a resounding creak.

As always, Kanara was an imposing figure, tall, stern-faced, and commanding. Her deep black hair, knotted in an intricate braid, lay stark against an ornate green dress, dappled with black designs.
The advisor bowed quickly and made her way to the foot of the throne, briefly smiling at Raemin as she passed.

”Prince Emil,” Kanara said. “The council begins in three minutes. It’s best if you are prepared.”

Emil shook his head and nodded resignedly. “Of course.” He scowled. “Dendroft, call them in.”

“Very well,” Kanara replied. “I shall inform them.”

One by one, they filed in, lined by the throne in a silent, somber procession.

Amara, a solemn ghost-like figure in her plate armor, her flaming spear flickering softly in her hand. Her face was as stony and impassive as ever, and yet her eyes glistened wet with tears beneath.

Besides her, Arthur Talor stood with his head bowed and hands pressed together, muttering a prayer beneath his breath. The young priest looked to Raemin and nodded in greetings before resuming his prayer.

As always, the Carstrells were there as well, this time dressed in black finery. The Gylian lord stared gloomily at the floor, nervously fingering the comet-shaped brooch upon his chest.

Kanara stood nearby at the foot of the throne, grimacing. The Dendroft advisor halfheartedly smiled at Raemin as she approached.

The Raven stood in the corner opposite to Amara. As always, the newly appointed advisor was dressed in black. A black cloak covered their chest and legs, a black cape fluttered from behind their back, and two shiny black gloves adorned their hands. A hood obscured the advisor’s head, and beneath, they wore a steel mask fashioned in the shape of a raven’s head. The carrion bird’s two glass eyes glittered cruelly at her as she passed.

There were newer visitors as well. A fat, stout man, the Lord Treborm of Bucie wore ornate green-and-gold silk robes with a bronze turtle engraved upon his chest. A woman bearing the mountain goat of House Karrest stood stiffly in a corner of the room, with a heavy fur scarf draped across one shoulder.

Raemin bit her lip and stood to the side as Emil rose from his seat.
Dragging his robes behind him, Emil slowly surveyed the court. After circling around the room two times, he halted to a stop in front of the Raven and sat back atop the throne.

“Let us begin,” Emil decided, sitting up straighter. “Lord Treborm. What is it you wish to say?”

The fat man nodded and cleared his throat. “I received word from Olux this morning. The Orcs have gathered in Centerworld to elect a new Arrai. I advise the throne to tread carefully with their dealings with the brutes.”

“Who will be this leader of theirs?” Emil asked.

“They seem to have chosen one named Xerxor,” the lord responded. “Rai-orc of the Stonespire tribe, supposedly renowned for his strength and ferocity in battle.”

“Ferocity?” the prince frowned. “If this Arrai decides to turn his strength against one of the nearby colonies, disaster could unfold.”

Kanara coughed. “With all due respect, my prince, Lord Treborm did not show you the full picture. The Stonespires were a neutral faction in both the Second and First Orc Wars, when the Arrai-Tavargon led thirty-five tribes against Llevigar. They are known for their peaceful ways. I doubt Xerxor will move against us.”

Besides her, the Raven stood up. “Lady Kanara,” the masked lord said in a thick, grating voice. “The prince has a point. This Arrai may not have the same..interests as his kin. We should take into consideration pacifying this leader before he has a chance to act.”

Kanara bit her lip. “Your subjects in Llevigar will not enjoy the possibility of further conflict with the Orcs,” she said. “They have endured years of war with the orc tribes. Now that peace has been struck, it would be best if you acted with patience and reason.”

“Do you treat me as a fool?” Emil asked, his voice pointed.

“I treat you as a prince,” the advisor replied. “Rulers are often more bold than the common man.”
Emil scowled. “Let us move on, if we may.”

“Of course, my liege,” Kanara agreed. “I have another pressing matter I fear must be discussed. A large merchant caravan was attacked by Freelancer bandits on the very border of the Great Forest two days ago, Your Majesty. Over ten liquified emeralds were lost and two merchants, both honorable men each, died.”

“And what do you expect of it?” Emil asked. “The wind spirits are always unruly. How can that be changed?”

“They may be unruly, yes,” Kanara responded, “but they have rarely dared to attack in such a coordinated manner. They must be growing bold. Perhaps a show of force, hiring soldiers to protect these large caravans, can deter them.. and other threats.”

Emil chuckled sardonically. “Of course. These were Dendroft merchants, were they not?”

“They are Gavellian merchants, with all due respect. Regardless of their alignment, having such things happen would still cripple our economy.”

“Very well,” Emil forced out. “Your caravans will have ample protection.” He grimaced. “But you shall make no more demands of me. I have expended enough today.”

“You are wise, my prince,” Kanara said, smiling.

Emil snorted, turning to readdress the council. “Let us move on. A more important matter awaits us.”
Kanara seemed to tense where she stood.

“All of Gavel mourns the death of my mother, the former queen,” he began. “As a gesture of respect for her noble legacy, I have decided to hold her funeral sooner than expected.”.
“I shall give you eight days,” Emil decided. “The coronation three days afterwards.”

Kanara folded her arms across her chest, studying the prince inquisitively. “If I may, prince, is it truly wise to hold your coronation so soon? Let us not act too hastily.”

“Hastily?” Emil asked. “I act in necessity alone. Gavel needs a king, not a mere prince, if it wishes to transition smoothly. “

“You offend your vassals,” Kanara replied, her tone sharp and carefully pointed. “Your lords and their Houses are the most dutiful and capable of your servants.”

“I do not doubt that they are capable when they wish to be,” Emil said. “But the Great Houses often act in their own interests. And when both Llevigar and Lexdale host Valorian wards, is it not prudent to ensure Marika’s last wishes are truly fulfilled?”

The room abruptly fell silent, pausing almost as if the council held their breath as one. Seconds passed, each edged with tension. Raemin held her breath as Kanara stared at the Valorian prince.

Kanara rose to her feet, her expression abruptly darkening. “This is a grievous accusation,” she slowly enunciated, staring intensely at Emil. “The Valorians have always trusted in their allies. Your mother was renowned for being admired by both her vassals and her fellow Valorian brethren.
Unity is what keeps a kingdom intact, my prince.”

Something seemed to flash briefly through Emil’s eyes as an unreadable expression made its way past his cold facade. In moments, the look was gone, replaced by a furious glare.
“You will not lecture me on the ways of my house, Dendroft. Your words are bold for a house who schemed and bargained their way to the seat of Llevigar.

Kanara remained perfectly calm. “The queen’s son you may be, but you are not yet your mother.”

Emil’s face reddened. “If I may, Your Majesty,” Raemin interjected before Emil could respond. “The Lady Kanara has a point. Would it not be wiser to allow our guests some time to recover?

Emil glared at her.

“I’m sure the princess only has good intentions, mi’lord,” Kanara responded quickly.

“This is enough,” Emil growled, slamming his fist upon the throne’s armrest. “I will give you twelve days, Dendroft. No more.”

He gestured at the Raven. “Crow, send a letter to Lexdale and Llevigar. Sivelle and the Dendroft ward will swear their fealty to me on the morning of my coronation.”

The Raven nodded. “I shall see it done, prince,” he rasped.

He stared at the council expectantly. “Are there any other matters to be discussed?” He smiled forcibly. “No? Then let the meeting be adjourned.” His expression hardened. “Dendroft, you will stay.”

The advisor paused and then bowed hastily. “The council is concluded,” she announced, rising from her seat. She bowed to Emil and made her way towards Raemin’s seat.

Kanara caught her hand, gripping it firmly. “Be wary of what paths you tread while at court next time. Tensions are rising, and this place can be dangerous while in unrest.”
Raemin nodded. “I understand, m’lady. Forgive me.”

“Do not apologize,” she said. “You may be young, but you are still a Valorian. You will learn to govern in time, just as your great-aunt did.”

Emil rose from his seat. “You,” he pointed at Kanara vehemently. “You defied me. You spoke against me in my own council, with the eyes of the kingdom upon us. Do you know what you’re doing, woman?”

“My liege,” Kanara said. “I was merely trying to offer advice. You could very well benefit from it.”

“So you insult me even now,” Emil roared, breathing heavily, “Learn to shut your damn mouth for once, will you?”

“My prince-” Kanara said. “Is your rule so easily questioned? Are words from one far below your status enough to make you doubt yourself?”

“You will be quiet or I will lop off your head and ship it to Llevigar,” Emil demanded. “Now leave. Get out!”

Kanara bowed and walked away, her expression impassive. She turned to Raemin briefly. “Good luck, princess.”

“Thank you, Lady Dendroft,” Raemin replied nervously. “I wish the same for you.” She quickly stepped aside as Kanara swept past her, closing the door behind them.

“Insolent fools,” Emil fumed once Kanara had left. “All self-interested, selfish and greedy to their very core.” He pointed into the distance. “Have you seen the Carstrells? They are but the newest pair of ravens come to feast on my mother’s legacy. My mother owed forty liquified emeralds to their late lord. Now they come to beggar me for her debt.”

“Talor is no different. A young boy, yes, but one sent by the church to try to gain my favor. And Kanara.” He spat. “The worst of them all, conniving and deceitful. She tries to manipulate me even now, hiding her machinations beneath a veil of advice.”

“You are the heir,” Raemin said. “You don’t have to listen to what they say. You have the power to make your own decisions.”

“No, sister,” Emil replied. “Without a crown on my head and oaths of fealty from the barons of each Great House, I am no king. They know it too. They exploit it.”

Emil sighed loudly and rested his head upon his sleeve. “You are young. There is no need for you to be involved in this struggle. Return to your chambers, will you?”
Raemin bowed and turned away. “I’m sure your councilmen still have good intentions,” she spoke softly. “You do not have to isolate yourself from them, cousin."

She heard Emil laugh scornfully from far behind her. “You truly do choose to see the best, do you?” he said as she closed the door behind her. “Perhaps you might still be right.” He chuckled. “Perhaps you are.”


Raemin’s chambers were nestled in a tower in the very corner of the keep. The princess stood, leaning silently over one of the room’s two balconies.

The mourning bells had halted to a stop, leaving only a lingering silence behind. The city seemed shrouded in an overpowering sense of foreboding unrest, yet unable to move or even breathe in the wake of tragedy. Raemin pinched at her fingernails worriedly.

The crown prince and his most trusted advisor, at odds with another. Two of the strongest Great Houses in Gavel. The tension seemed to boil, cracking at the city’s seams, preparing to detonate in a dangerous explosive burst. And she was caught in its very center, unable to act.

A knock echoed from the door behind her and Raemin jumped. She abruptly turned around and stopped, breathing heavily.
“Who is it?” Raemin carefully opened the door, leaving it ajar.

Draped in a faded gray cloak, Arthur Talor stood outside, his face partially obscured by a heavy cloth hood. The young Bovemist priest smiled shyly and stepped towards her. The priest waved in greeting. “Raemin?” he asked softly.

Raemin’s heartbeat suddenly jumped to a crescendo. She quickly ran towards him, clutching his arm white-knuckled.
“What are you doing here?” Raemin questioned. “Why are you here? These are my chambers! You could get hanged for being here!”

“I know,” the priest whispered, putting a finger to her mouth.

He took her hand, clasping it softly. “It’s best if we’re quiet, then. Now, follow me.”
Arthur reached into his satchel and pulled out a folded burlap cloak. He slipped his own hood on and continued down the hallway.

Raemin almost laughed at the absurd idea. And now he sneaks into the keep to see me? It was such an innocent gesture, sweet but nonetheless foolish and dangerous.
Yet somehow, even against her own reason, she sighed pensively but followed after him, donning her cloak.

“Where are we going?” Raemin asked as they descended a staircase.

“You’ll see,” the priest responded. Just directly ahead, the hallway stopped and wound back towards the castle’s interior. A large painting of Remikas hung upon the wall nearby, casting out grasping shadows in the dim light.

Arthur inspected the painting ahead and tapped at its surface cautiously. Eventually, he reached beneath the painting and pushed it upwards. Behind it was concealed a narrow passageway and a staircase leading further below. Arthur motioned for her to enter.
“These passages lead to various points in the citadel," Arthur explained. "There’s also one that takes you to the Bovemist church’s old basement. Apart from the Bovemist order here, few know about them. Go on, I’ll be there after you.”

Raemin slowly climbed in, adjusting her skirts. Briefly checking around him, Arthur followed immediately afterwards, pushing the painting upwards after her.

The two descended the staircase in silence, their steps echoing softly against the cold stone floor. Raemin clasped Arthur’s hand tightly.

Eventually, the stairwell gave way to a long, narrow chamber. The slow whir of rumbling machinery echoed through the room, creaking and humming.

Raemin shivered in the cold air as Arthur led her through the passageways. Minutes passed as they made their way through the tunnel. “Why were these built here?” Raemin asked.

Arthur shrugged. “We don’t know. We suspect it was a section of the sewers that got closed off and blocked. Hear that? The castle’s boiler room should be straight above us.”

“And the painting? Someone must have used this after it got closed at one point.”

The priest frowned. “Many things happen in the castle that we don’t know about, princess.”

Eventually, Arthur stopped at an intersection, motioning for Raemin to wait. An old rope ladder hung against the tunnel’s left wall haphazardly, climbing into a sunlit opening above. “I dropped this the last time I got here,” the priest explained. “I’ll pull you up.”
Arthur climbed to the top and knelt down, extending a hand towards her. She grabbed it tightly and ascended the ladder after him.

Raemin gasped in awe. The two emerged in a sunlit pavilion covered with thick green vines. An old cobblestone path, now cracked and bursting with flowers and moss, wound its way across a lawn overgrown with flora. In shades of blazing red and soft pink, deep blue and bright yellow, flowers of all shape and size bloomed wildly from the garden’s walls and sides, reaching for the sunlight with their petals exposed. Nestled in the garden’s farthest corner, ducks and swans dabbled and fed in a small pond, diving among reeds and water lilies.

“I thought you would enjoy this-after all that happened last night, at least.” Arthur said. He smiled. “These are the citadel’s gardens-or at least they were once. After the gardens were switched to the front of the castle, these were left to grow completely unhinged.”

“And to think they left this abandoned,” Raemin replied, smiling. “This is beautiful.”

“You should see them at night,” Arthur said. “The primroses come out only at sunset.” The priest pointed at a thick cluster of white buds near one wall. “I would show you…but I have to be at the church by then.” He bit his lip as if in afterthought. “I apologize, princess.”

“There’s no need for it,” Raemin answered reassuringly. Arthur nodded and fell silent.

They sat there for some time, silently relaxing in the warm glow of the sun. Raemin smiled and took Arthur’s hand. She rested her head against the priest’s shoulder.

Sitting there besides Arthur, bathed in soft sunlight, Raemin almost forgot everything. Within those few precious moments, the coronation, Emil’s quarrel with Kanara, and even her great-aunt’s death seemed to slip through her fingers like grains of sand.

And yet how long could it last? Months? Weeks? Days?
It was almost a miracle that it had been a year since they had first met. And to think that in only two years, she would be betrothed to a wealthy lord or lady and shipped off to a distant castle to strengthen the Valorian line. She would most likely never see Arthur again- and if their relationship still persisted, it could suffer catastrophic results.

Raemin sighed. “I have something to tell you.” She let go of Arthur’s hands. A heavy weight seemed to hang in her heart, crushing and trapping her hopes.

“Say what you need to say,” the priest replied worriedly.

“I’m not sure if we can do this for much longer,” she reluctantly said, slowly forcing out the words. “I’m needed ever more often in court now, with my great-aunt’s funeral-and Emil’s coronation. It might not even be safe anymore.”

She swallowed. “I suggest you stay away from the city’s politics for now. I’ll be safe here, but I’m not so sure about yourself. Besides..if anyone finds out…”

Arthur fell silent. “I understand,” the priest said, his voice faltering. “I have..plenty of duties as well.”

He removed his hand from hers and slowly stood up. “Princess,” he stated, bowing briefly to her. “I must take my leave now. The church expects me this afternoon.” Arthur nodded and quickly strode off.

Raemin’s heart sank as the priest disappeared past the garden wall. She clutched her dress nervously, fiddling with the silky fabric.

What would she do now?

A bell tolled in the distance, the sound echoing through the city’s corridors. Startled, Raemin stood up and gazed up at the distant citadel above her. How long had it been? She gathered herself and climbed down into the passage, clutching her dress as she descended. Eventually, she returned to the intersection and slowly tossed the rope ladder further into the darkness.

“What was that?” a muffled voice asked.

Startled, Raemin pressed her back against the wall behind her, holding in her breath. She carefully glanced at the wall behind her, trembling in the cold of the tunnel.

Like a pair of specters haunting the shadows, two figures stood in the darkness, each cloaked and hooded in heavy black fabric. Their voices were muffled and faint, completely unrecognizable against the slow hum of the machinery around them.

The first figure cleared their throat. “There you are. Why did you call me here, of all places?”

“I..needed to find someplace…secure,” the second voice responded. “There are eyes and ears everywhere in the city.”

The first figure was silent.

“They know,” they abruptly stated. “They plot against me.”

The second voice remained calm. “And how do you know this?”

“You saw it as well, didn’t you?” the first figure questioned. “Besides, I have…this. Concrete proof of their conspiracy.”

Raemin heard the distant rustle of papers as the first figure procured a small rectangular sheet from their cloak. The second figure stepped forwards and scanned it.

“This is truly disturbing news.”

“Disturbing is not the least of it,” the figure growled. “This is dangerous. It will unravel everything.”

“What do you plan to do?”

“I should have them all killed,” they continued, their voice harsh. “A moment more, a second more, and they will have what they want.”
“I advise patience. This crisis will not be so easily averted. By doing so, you shall subject yourself to their retaliation.”

“Patience,” the voice spat. “What would patience do? I have practiced patience for too long, and to what end? Look. Look what patience has done here.”

“You do not want to draw suspicion upon yourself,” the second figure drawled. “To move now would place you in a dangerous position, to be picked on by your enemies. Let them plot. Let them continue their machinations. And when they leave themselves unprotected, believing themselves to have won their game, you will strike.”

How long?” The first figure stepped back, receding into the darkness.

The second figure tapped their foot against the floor.
“However long it takes. This is a dangerous road we travel. We must proceed with caution.”

The first figure abruptly turned around warily.
“Are you sure this place is secure?” they questioned. “I swear I saw movement. Could one of their eyes be here? Watching?”

“I assure you, this is the safest we can be in the city.” The second figure paused and slowly turned towards her, tilting their head. Raemin’s heart began to pound as the cloaked stranger slowly made its way towards the wall where she hid. The figure investigated the tunnel, pacing along the corridor’s length, before turning back and disappearing into the inky darkness. “Nothing,” they reported.

“We’d still best move,” the first figure warned. “Nowhere in Cinfras truly is free from their gaze.”
“Very well,” the second figure replied. Both disappeared into the darkness within seconds.

After a few minutes, Raemin gasped in relief, inspecting the corridors nervously. Her palms were ice-cold, beaded with rivulets of sweat.

They know.
The voice still echoed through her mind in perfect clarity, familiar yet hovering just beyond recognition.

And then, you will strike.

What did it all mean?

 

resevoir 10car

 

THE CHAIRS OF A SMALL WOODEN HAMMER IS OUT LETS GOOO

 

Bump 10char

 

Bump

 

i still dont get this

 

Which part do you not get? I can explain to you.

 

all of it

 

chair = throne
a gavel is a small wooden hammer
Why he wrote it like that I have no idea.

 

ah ty

 

FOR I AM RAE AND I RAE

 

Bump 10char