In the City, 414 days after a wizard cursed the REALM…

Current Version:

The center of the marketplace had been cleared to make room for a stage. A crowd filled every available space, shoulder to shoulder, with a roped-off section of VIP risers for each of the three candidates.

The Lord Mayor arrived first, in a gold-trimmed coach pulled by six chestnut mares. “Because five horses couldn’t have done the job,” Lady Farthington joked. Or at least Elaine assumed she was joking, until the double-doors opened to allow the Lord Mayor to roll out. In all of her years living in the City, Elaine had never seen the Lord Mayor in person, and had always imagined that he looked something like his portraits. But now, she had to agree that perhaps that sixth horse had been required to pull his weight after all.

The Lord Mayor had been Lord Mayor for as long as most City residents could remember. He’d been in charge for so long that he’d lost whatever original name he’d had before his first inauguration. The Lord Mayor had become his title, like the numbered Wordler Champions of the REALM had become theirs.

Thankfully, the greedy QUEEN of the REALM was no longer able to steal the names of the chosen, or else Elaine would have lost her own identity when she’d become Wordler 406. The Gray Lady had quietly and secretly bestowed the title upon her when she’d enlisted Elaine as an ally. The City’s powerful elites would have been mortified to know of Elaine’s true background, and Elaine imagined that Lady Farthington, in particular, would have been especially mortified to learn of Elaine’s Villager blood.

“Here comes the Duke!” said Lady Farthington.

Elaine swooned. Not from the Duke Worthingshire—he was a buck-toothed rat in immaculate silk robes—but from the way Lady Farthington was speaking to her in such a familiar tone. Whatever the Gray Lady had said to her about Elaine behind closed doors had cemented her place in City society, just as Her Grayness had promised.

The Duke took his place on the stage on the Lord Mayor’s right side. For a few minutes, the two political rivals chatted amiably, though Elaine imagined each of them holding a dagger behind his back, waiting for an opening at which to strike.

Lady Morgan arrived fashionably late, or perhaps just fashionable, in a dress made entirely from peacock feathers and pearl embroidery. “She doesn’t naturally come by that plumage,” Lady Farthington confided.

Elaine nodded, though she was unsure whether she’d meant the feathers themselves or the plunging neckline they created. Lady Morgan seemed natural enough to Elaine. In her secret heart, she would have been thrilled to see Lady Morgan become Lady Mayor, but Elaine had thrown in with Lady Farthington on the Duke’s team, so no insult, smear, or slander against Lady Morgan was off limits.

The debate started with the candidates introducing themselves, except for the Lord Mayor, who stated that he required no introduction, eliciting screams of approval from his cheering section.

The candidates then presented their credentials, except for the Lord Mayor, who merely said that his credentials were already well known, eliciting even louder screams of approval from his cheering section.

Each of the candidates presented a general vision for the City’s future, except for the Lord Mayor, who said, “Four words: more of the same,” eliciting primal howls of joy from his cheering section.

“How much do you think he’s paying those people?” Lady Farthington huffed. “‘More of the same’ is what made this the most competitive election in a generation.”

“And for our next question, what do you propose to do about the City’s Villager problem?” the moderator asked of the panel.

“Live another day,” said Lady Morgan, enigmatically.

“Does that mean you intend to create a Villager amnesty program?” the moderator pressed.

“I believe I’ve already answered that,” said Lady Morgan. Her supporters cheered as if she’d delivered the clapback of the century.

“Villager-lovers,” said Lady Farthington, dismissively.

“And problem some of them are Villagers themselves,” Elaine added.

The Duke went next. “Under a Worthingshire administration, the Villagers among us certainly wouldn’t be suffered to live another day. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“Are you calling for mass expulsions then?” the moderator asked.

“Expuslions are a temporary measure at best,” said the Duke. “An expelled Villager will only sneak back across the border again and again. A policy of catch-and-release is nothing but a waste of our precious resources.”

“Then what would you do instead?” the moderator asked.

“Whatever it takes,” said the Duke, ominously.

The chant of ‘Whatever it takes’ echoed through the section of the Duke’s supporters. Lady Farthington stood and applauded, as did other members of her circle, and as did Elaine. “Whatever it takes!” she found herself shouting. She felt like a traitor to her people, but covered her pangs of guilt by screaming twice as loud as before.

“More of the same,” stated the Lord Mayor, in answer to the Villager question. This time the cheers of his supporters was drowned out by a high-pitched wail from the sky.

A disk covered in lights descended from above, and hovered above the stage. “This is a message for Gruidia Farthington. Message begins. Gruidia, you have been designated as Wordler 414. Where are you, Gruidia? Scanning…scanning…scanning…ah, there you are.”

An especially strong beam of blue light picked Lady Farthington out of the crowd, bringing her shocked expression to the attention of all. “You? You’re a Villager?” Elaine asked.

“I’m sorry.” Tears streaked down Lady Farthington’s face. “I’m so sorry to have deceived everyone for so long.”

Elaine edged away from her slowly.

“Good luck in your quest, Wordler 414,” said the voice from above. “Message ends. That is all.”

Once the colorful disk had returned to the sky, the Duke pounded his podium. “This is the chaos that ‘more of the same’ has brought to our beloved City. This is the danger that ‘more of the same’ poses to all of us. The enemies have infiltrated our government institutions and even the highest levels of my own campaign. This shall not stand. Believe me, I shall be taking swift and decisive action against this person. Guards!”

City guards took Lady Farthington into custody. All around the riser, other members of their elite social circle gossiped and slandered their former leader.

“I never liked her,” said Lady Crestomant. “She has a Villager chin, I’ve been saying so for years.”

Elaine, though she felt awful about it, joined in without hesitation. “I never liked her either.”

“So close to the election, and now the Duke will need a new event organizer,” said Lady Crestomant. “Perhaps it should be you, Lady Elaine.”

“How perfect,” agreed Lord Bollwater. “We all love you so much, Lady Elaine.”

“Lady? I have no such title,” Elaine protested. “I’m just ordinary Elaine.”

“That is true,” Lord Bollwater considered.

“The solution is obvious,” Lady Crestomant stated. “Lady Farthington obtained her lands and title under false pretenses. They’re forfeit, and the Peerage will need to reassign them to the most deserving candidate. Well, who is more deserving than our dear Elaine?”

Elaine’s head was spinning. “How could I even dream to approach the Peerage with such a request?”

“Darling, look around you. The Peerage is all of us, here within the Duke’s highest circle of support. We reward loyalty, and nobody has been more loyal to the Duke than yourself.”

On the stage, Duke Worthingshire was still continuing his anti-Villager rant. “When you select me as your next Lord Mayor, the Villagers will be rooted out of their hiding places and made to pay for all that they have done.”

Elaine felt faint. All around her, the applause was deafening.

Web3 Draft:

• Listed on OpenSea
  
• Listed on Rarible
  
• Pinned to IPFS

Revision Notes:

To be added.