The Silence that Crowned a Queen: Qu’Ellar Dull’Ssom changeth her face

By Eleawen Galathiel

Ah, gentle readers… The wind doth carry the lies of men, yet the forest doth whisper truth – and upon this 17th day of October, ’twas silence itself that proved the greatest gossip. Without a drum, without a trumpet, without so much as a whiff of rumour in the taverns (and verily, in Durakiss rumours fly faster than wind in the rigging), the guards of Oloth did change their faces. So discreet a replacement that even the harbour sparrows saw naught.

Who, if not mine humble self, did notice that the very shadows had changed their dance?

A new ruler had seized the reins of the sunken city – and only the highest personages were privy to the secret. And if I did tell thee that I know what thou dost hide… wouldst thou believe me? For upon that selfsame day, upon docks bathed in autumn light, was crowned Liz Auvreen, and the city of Oloth did meet her new name: Qu’Ellar Dull’Ssom, the House of Liberty. A name, in sooth, far sweeter to the ear than a legacy best left unspoken… and rightly so.

The crowd was mighty – faces never afore seen in Arche Terre, the curious, the merchants, and of course envoys of the great cities: Her Majesty Queen Jula Marin Maeviir and her husband King Alak Averruncus Maeviir Marin of Durakiss, Seneschal T’riss D’Mylyl, Edward Wilkinson for Port Elysium, Sebastian Luna for Lomidar, Illiana and Tia Nerha for Sambrune. An assembly fit for a play – and verily, I have seen Durakiss’ court or Sambrune people improvise memorable ones.

In her speech of investiture, the new sovereign did trace the deep contours of change, refusing with firm resolve – and the patience of a well-honed blade – to bear the disastrous ledger of the former rule. Above all she did insist upon the neutrality of her city-state: doors open to treaties and to free trade. In short: « Come and trade, but leave thy swords at the door. » One hath known darker ambitions within the caverns of Oloth.

Thanks, doubtless, to the vigilance of the new guards, no mischief-maker did mar the ceremony. Scarce any, I should say: one human man did seek to insult Queen Jula Marin in the basest and most contemptible manner. The crowd did frown, the guards did frown harder still, and the insolent fellow did learn that sore losers make poor poets. Men change not… but regimes, verily, they do.

A crown set down in silence weigheth heavier than a crown won with drums – for Erevan knoweth: the greatest changes do walk in a rogue’s slippers.