The caravan passed through the mining communities in the southern outskirts of Delphi Nova. Everyone involved felt relieved to feel the warmth of the sun against their skin. And clear air with views far into the distance, not obscured by snow and ice.
The whole journey had felt like a trip to the afterlife or another world of some kind. It had felt surreal, almost intangible or unreal. The fact that they returned to Delphian lands without Melda's body was the only concrete proof they had to convince themselves that the trip had in fact taken place at all. The Islandians were a strange, otherworldly people who spoke a weird language, believed in strange, inhuman gods, wore the skin of beasts and practised exotic rituals. Leaving the dead in mountain caves was only scratching the surface of the differences.
In the distance Melodas Melodopoulos, Basileus of the Delphians and the Siamese felt himself gladden at the familiar sight of the Notre Dame and the Royal Library. He was home.
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Melodas entered the royal palace, reinvigorated to have returned to his kingdom and his home. The palace was not his normal residence, but he would become accustomed to it before long, he was sure.
Phrenios, son of Phrenos approached Melodas, and, after exchanging the requisite formalities and pleasantries he finally got to the main point: "It's done. Come see."
"Oh?" Melodas asked.
"Yes," Phrenios looked exhausted but exhilarated. "The votes are in. We have the First Synedrion."
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Melodas stood before the assembled Councillors and Synedrian candidates. There were many candidates running, but they had all aligned themselves with the most powerful, charismatic or well-connected figures. Whichever of these candidates could demonstrate they had the support of the most Synedroi would rule.
"Kirillos Christides," Melodas declared. "I hereby commission you to serve as my Chief Minister for a period of ten years. As my Chief Minister you will form and lead my government. You may do so in any legal manner you so wish. Your actions will be judged in ten years hence by this Council. If you have ruled well, perhaps you will be returned as my Chief Minister for a second term. If however the Council judges you harshly, you will be peacefully removed from power until such time as you can convince this Council of your suitability to again head my government. To those who would aspire to be my Chief Minister, perhaps next time will be your time. I am placing great faith in all of you, my First Synedrion. I hereby vest in you the power required to run the kingdom. Chief Minister: I await your advice on how the kingdom should proceed."
((Although it's not actually my fault, I feel apologies are in order for Bazil and 1889.
Bazil because you're probably burnt out already from 20 consecutive turns, having led 40 of the last 60 turns. However you can run my government however you want, and if you need to delegate duties to other players then go for it.
1889 because it was luck that really wasn't on your side --- there were a number of occasions where ties occurred, and random.org decided the odds weren't ever in your favour.
Maybe the new Chief Minister will call upon you to serve in his government. But I feel legitimately horrible about the harshness of this outcome.
Gurra I don't feel bad for at all --- despite not winning you're in striking distance of the leadership next time, despite your radical pro-Siamese agenda.
))
))
Colosseums for happiness because we have only +1.)
