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Royal Elevation: House Blakely

Pinned to the major Government institutions and the Regalian Tavern Notice Board:

"His Imperial Majesty, The Crown Cedromar the First bestows onto Ser Roland Blakely, of House Blakely the title of Count of Hayrington, a Marcher Count on the border between South Anglia and North Dragenthal near the western coast, and all associated pedigree with the title. Roland Blakely shall be first of his name, raised Count, and all his male heirs shall bear the title associated. Accompanied within this title's feudal fief are the Baronies of Madelley, Heathporrington, Broctonn and Macclestford.

To the Title belong the following feudal possessions:

  • Whittlechurch pop: 1221
  • Buntardley pop: 1711
  • Shifenfall pop: 511
  • Ellesham Port pop: 2881
  • Ruffingford pop: 181
  • Heskeltington pop: 7188
  • Lythiantam pop: 8111 (Is the capital of Hayrington)
The following wares are accompanied with the feudal title:
  • 5000 sheep
  • 2000 pigs
  • Fishing rights on the North Brissiaud Pass
  • roughly 1720 Acres of forest woodland
  • Two sloop transport ships
The Crown commands this privilege by royal decree within the divine right granted by the crown, to pass said authority onto those deemed worthy of royal authority in feudal service to the Imperial Crown. Let it be known to the people, that Count Roland Blakely the First is to carry this privilege and duty for the virtue of selflessness, defense of the weak and fighting for the cause of Unionism in the trying times of the Lo occupation, saving numerous lives which were very important to the state."

With this passage made, House Blakely is now raised to Nobility.
 
At first glance, Roland thought the notice was a warrant.

This wasn't an unfamiliar sight to him. The nature of his profession and temperament often led him into legal trouble; often the kind of trouble that could only end in a lengthy stay at some royal prison or at the end of a noose in the town square. By the second time he was wanted for arrest, he had summed up a escape routine. He would stow away upon a ship bound for some major city, hiding in a crate until he could bribe a sailor to help him blend into the crew or cargo. From there, it took a small voyage before he left at the closest foreign port to start his life anew. His routine was mechanical.

But Roland had changed since.

In his time in Regalia, he foolishly laid roots. He made friends, he bought property, he allowed himself to fall in love, and he aged. When he closed his eyes, thoughts and hopes for a future replaced the short-sighted indignation that fueled youth. The sellsword had settled, and he began to detest change.
He decided, there and then, that he was making a stand. What he found and fought for in Regalia was worth more than whatever miserable life awaited him beyond the sea. Everything from the pride of his accomplishments, the gentle affection of his friends, the heat of petty politics swelling around him, to a certain pair of pine-green eyes that he longed to fall asleep looking into.

With indignation and pride burning in his chest, Roland stepped forward and unpinned the notice from the board.

And he found himself no deeper or more shallow in the hole that he already stood within. The hole simply had castle walls surrounding it now.