As the emcee introduces the first candidate, you easily wade your way through the crowd before finding a space behind a group of brown robed folk. You notice most of them bear a small sigil of 2 thin, golden, intersecting circles on the back of their hoods; the unmistakable Vesica Pisces of the Piscean Order. Around you, a heavy fragrance of white sage and frankincense fills the air as a few Pisceans chat excitedly amongst themselves. 

"-please welcome, scion of House Devotore, former Vanguardsman of the Reach, and grandson of the current Septarch, Firenze Devotore the Third!" 

Upon a beautifully decorated floral stage, a human male, mid 30's, with tan, weathered skin, well groomed black, curly hair, and strong jawline steps to the podium in used, but polished half plate armor, dented and repaired from years of use. The most notable repair, however, is a mechanical, silver brace that begins at his right shoulder and crosses his body along his midsection, supporting a substantially withered and blackened arm. The crowd slowly quiets down as he looks out over them with an intense gaze until all that can be heard is the sound of the sail shade moving gently in the wind over the stage.

"Ophanheim!", his voice booms. “I am honored to stand before you today, here, at the Rite of Succession."

A few of his supporters cheer and holler nearby.

"And while choosing the next Septarch has always been of paramount importance to lead us into the future we deserve, recent events have made it even moreso."

He looks down for a moment before returning his gaze out into the crowd.

"As some of you may know, earlier this morning, the homestead of the First Blade was burned to the ground."

"Bastards!", someone shouts nearby. Some of the robed acolytes around you nod their heads in quick prayer and others just finding out the information look around to others for confirmation.

"We know Mars Polyphebos, veteran of the reach and First Blade of Ophanheim, is alive and recovering at Ophanheim Central hospital, thanks be the light. What we don't know is who did it or why."

"Was the Bolivar!", somebody shouts from the audience.

A murmur runs through the crowd as a human acolyte with dark hair in a long braid turns and says to another, shaking her head: "The wilds have never been safe."

"Wasn't his home on our side of the wilds?", says a thin, balding Piscean man.

"Their depravity grows daily", the woman responds.

"Bless us" says the bald man. "You know, I was shocked when the Temple had to stop offering coffin services due to the lumber shortage, but this-".

"It will only get worse."

"Pray it won't."

"Action is the greatest form of prayer, is it not?"

"Oh? Indeed, and what action have you to protect us?"

The woman nods up towards the floral stage. "Those which support him". 

Firenze Devotore III speaks steadfast. "Whoever it was. They knew about today and they wanted to send a message. A message of fear."

A chorus of boos arises from the crowd. 

"But I will not be afraid!" With his good arm he procures his sword and holds it aloft.

The crowd cheers and whistles. 

"For those of little faith who see only my name and my curse, bear witness my blade; its steel, its scars. For years, this blade has fought for Ophanheim, striking down our foes and those who would do us harm – foreign bandits, changeling assassins, Orc mages" He pauses. "-The Bolivar..."

The boos of the crowd grow louder until he conducts them to silence with his sword.

"Some may say this sword is not as sharp as it used to be, and yet…” Quickly reversing his grip he thrusts the tip of the blade down into the stage where it stands embedded firmly on its own.

Some of the Pisceans around you recoil with a subtle collective gasp.

He procures a broken wooden shield from his side and lifts it up for all to see the large splintered gap. "Bear witness my shield; its shattered state. For years, a shield has put itself between danger and the lives of myself, my brethren at arms, and all humans I hold dear. Some may say this shield had failed, and yet I stand before you now, every breath a living testimony to its purpose fulfilled."

He begins to adjust the mechanical brace to put his malformed arm into a new position and affix the shield handle onto the hilt of the sword, and as he does so, the emcee and a stagehand run up and attempt to help him in the effort. Firenze stops and glowers at the two of them, who immediately exchange glances and back off before returning to their places. There is silence as he affixes the shield to the end of the sword alone. He returns to the podium, readjusts his mechanical brace to a more neutral position again, and looks over the crowd. 

"Some may call me broken. I'll admit, after receiving my curse, even I thought my usefulness had come to an end. In my condition, I could no longer lead a charge or hold a shield formation steady and it sent me to my darkest moments. There, I remembered my true self. Trismegricy 7-21".

A few of the Pisceans nod in acknowledgment and begin to speak the verse from memory in unison with him under their breath.

"All without exception, hallowed be thy body, but be not of the body, for it is not yourself. Know thy true self not through belongings, body, experience, or thought, but by awareness, presence, stillness, and being."

"The Vesicandela reminded me of who I truly am. That I am more than a sword, I am more than a shield, and I am more than a wielder of the two. Now I stand before you-"

He begins again, just as a robed Piscean with her dark hair in a braid whispers to a hooded, male acolyte.

"A Septarch who openly quotes the Vesicandela? Can you imagine that?"

The hooded figure turns slightly "I know! His grandfather is so much more agnostic".

"Agnostic? Pssh. He's practically antagonistic to our faith!

"Wha- antagonistic? That's a little much, don't you think?"

"Lumping us in with all those outsiders in the eye district."

"And having the largest, most prominent temple in the eye district isn't enough?"

"Why isn't it the only temple in the eye district?"

"What? The district is sacred to pilgrims from all over. Not all are Pisceans"

"The eye district is a sacred place of pilgrimage for us and it should stay for us."

"But every flower blooms from the same light. All true doctrine stems from the same..."

She gives the hooded man a tilted look.

"Wait. What do you mean by us? Who's us?", insists the robed man quietly.

"Us. Humans."

"You think I'm human?"

"You're not?"

"My mother's elven"

She shifts around to take a good look at the hooded man's face. "But your ears are round."

"Hush, you two!", says a short, portly, robed human male ahead in the crowd, turning around with a look of disappointment. "Practice your stillness and listen to our next Septarch with respect."

The two acolytes break their conversation and you begin to hear the candidate talk about their campaign promise of doubling patrols across the outer territories of the empire.

In a hushed, terse voice you hear the hooded man speak again: "I do not need 'pointy ears' to validate my heritage and I don't need round ones to validate my humanity."

"Please! Hush!", the portly acolyte says, turning around again with frustration.

The woman with the braid walks away as the candidate continues speaking.

"-militarized borders keeps everyone safer and will make our enemies know when they are unwelcome."

A few cheers go up from the crowd.

"You have beheld today", the candidate continues. " -the sword, that has served in your name, the shield that has protected Ophanheim, and the body that yet stands for justice against those who would do us harm. You have seen the scars upon these instruments as evidence of my dedication to our cause. Though I am scarred, dawn's light has shown me my soul is alight and my service is not complete. Now I shall wield a new instrument. And as I wield it-"

"-so too does the light wield me", say the Pisceans in unison with the candidate.

"And the light that wields me is a light that has faced armies head on, taken blows and still fought to the end, and knows not dispassion or complacency. Thus, I am not broken, I am not finished, and I am not afraid!"

A loud cheer goes out from the crowd.

"Now that you know what I am not, bear witness that which I represent; I am Firenze Devotore, third of my name, scion of House Devotore, former Vanguardsman of the Reach, current vessel of the Vesicandela, and if the Council of Elders, the Septumverate and the people will have me, future Septarch of Ophanheim!"

The audience erupts with tremendous applause, joined by enthusiastic cheers from the Pisceans. 

As the emcee approaches the podium and Firenze Devotore III returns to his seat upon the stage, you recognize an opportunity to traverse the crowd and listen to the next candidate speak from another demographic and vantage point, if you so desire. Or if you think you've seen enough, leave the crowd entirely and try your hand at sneaking around the castle to find a way inside.

[WHERE WILL YOU GO?]

[PISCEANS] Remain with the religious crowd (go to 1.2.1.1.2)

[VASSAL HOUSE FAMILIES] Watch alongside wealthy crowd (go to 1.2.1.2.2)

[LABORERS] Watch alongside working class crowd (go to 1.2.1.3.2)

[D] SNEAK AROUND (go to z)]