January 10, 9:00 a.m.
Rhydin Courthouse
Glenn had finished work on the last of his major holiday projects the previous night, and had rewarded himself with an ale at the Red Dragon Inn. Of course, his quiet, pleasant evening with his drink and a volume of poetry was interrupted by the entrance of a pirate, but while he was beating a hasty retreat back to his barn, he spotted a lone newsboy, selling copies of the Oracle. It had been a cold night, and the boy looked like he needed the money a lot more than Glenn did, so the carpenter had purchased a copy of the paper and tipped the lad an extra silver for his troubles.
While most of the content had left him feeling indifferent or exasperated, the lead story on the front page, as well as the section in the middle, had piqued his interest. Apparently, if these stories were correct (which Glenn had little reason to doubt they were), there was an election coming up, for the governor of the realm. He'd read the interviews with some of the candidates, and the question and answer segments with the others, and he...was intrigued. Does this election mean anything, or is it just something to keep the citizens in line? he thought. Back home, government was pretty much out of the common citizens' hands. Oh sure, there was a legislative branch, and citizens got to elect members to one of the lower houses of that branch. But the higher house, the house that had more power, consisted entirely of the nobility. And the nobility, by and large, was selected by the Duke or Duchess of Blackbridge. And everyone knew, but few people mentioned it out loud, that the Duchy took his or her cues from the Archbishop of Sol, the head of the Church of Sol in Blackbridge. The leaders of Blackbridge usually stayed out of their citizens' affairs, but the government did what it could to keep itself in power and to keep information they deemed ?blasphemous, sacrilegious, or otherwise inappropriate? out of the hands of the people, although this behavior was usually not extended to those merchants visiting the country. This led some citizens to grumble about being ?second-class citizens in their own homes,? but none dared to grumble too loud, lest the wrong ears hear those words.
Who knew if things were different in Rhydin? There was only one way to find out. Glenn wasn't certain who he was going to vote for, but he wanted to vote. Unfortunately, he didn't know how voting worked here. Where was he supposed to vote? What time did they allow people to vote at? What choices did he really have? He made a beeline for the Rhydin Public Library, and after convincing the librarians who were about to close the building for the night that he was not, in fact, a thief, he figured out where he needed to go next. To the Rhydin Election Commission, headquartered in the Rhydin Courthouse's basement.
***
After Glenn completed his morning chores, and ate a quick but refreshing breakfast of peanut butter and apple slices between two pieces of brown bread, he headed north towards the city. Once at the southern edge of Rhydin City, he hailed a carriage to take him to the courthouse.
Glenn had been by the courthouse a few times last year, when he'd been working his old job, so the large crowd standing outside the otherwise nondescript building was surprising to him. He knew it had been out of commission for a while, and it had reopened just before he had struck out on his own, but this was far and away the most people he had ever seen there. Elves, dwarves, humans, drow, and all other manner of species were patiently lining up (with the help of the watchful eyes of a pair of City Guardsmen) into a queue that seemed to go out the courthouse's front doors and onto the sidewalk. As Glenn approached the line, he heard snatches of conversation, spoken in countless tongues, most of which he didn't understand. He could occasionally pick out the names of candidates that he had read about when he heard them, but little else. Fortunately for him, the man at the end of the line appeared to be human, and about Glenn's age as well, although he was taller and muscular and was wearing the outfit of a longshoreman. Glenn mustered up the courage to tap the man on the shoulder.
?If you're askin' if you can cut in line, answer's no, bud.? Glenn vigorously shook his head no.
?No, no, no. What's the line for anyways??
?You stupid or something? This's the line to register to vote in the pri-pri- the first election. Tomorrow through the 15th. ?
?The primary?? Glenn asked.
?Yeah, that's it. Everyone and his mother's here to register. Gonna be a while before we're up, bud.? Glenn sighed loudly, and steeled himself mentally for the long, boring wait.
Rhydin Courthouse
Glenn had finished work on the last of his major holiday projects the previous night, and had rewarded himself with an ale at the Red Dragon Inn. Of course, his quiet, pleasant evening with his drink and a volume of poetry was interrupted by the entrance of a pirate, but while he was beating a hasty retreat back to his barn, he spotted a lone newsboy, selling copies of the Oracle. It had been a cold night, and the boy looked like he needed the money a lot more than Glenn did, so the carpenter had purchased a copy of the paper and tipped the lad an extra silver for his troubles.
While most of the content had left him feeling indifferent or exasperated, the lead story on the front page, as well as the section in the middle, had piqued his interest. Apparently, if these stories were correct (which Glenn had little reason to doubt they were), there was an election coming up, for the governor of the realm. He'd read the interviews with some of the candidates, and the question and answer segments with the others, and he...was intrigued. Does this election mean anything, or is it just something to keep the citizens in line? he thought. Back home, government was pretty much out of the common citizens' hands. Oh sure, there was a legislative branch, and citizens got to elect members to one of the lower houses of that branch. But the higher house, the house that had more power, consisted entirely of the nobility. And the nobility, by and large, was selected by the Duke or Duchess of Blackbridge. And everyone knew, but few people mentioned it out loud, that the Duchy took his or her cues from the Archbishop of Sol, the head of the Church of Sol in Blackbridge. The leaders of Blackbridge usually stayed out of their citizens' affairs, but the government did what it could to keep itself in power and to keep information they deemed ?blasphemous, sacrilegious, or otherwise inappropriate? out of the hands of the people, although this behavior was usually not extended to those merchants visiting the country. This led some citizens to grumble about being ?second-class citizens in their own homes,? but none dared to grumble too loud, lest the wrong ears hear those words.
Who knew if things were different in Rhydin? There was only one way to find out. Glenn wasn't certain who he was going to vote for, but he wanted to vote. Unfortunately, he didn't know how voting worked here. Where was he supposed to vote? What time did they allow people to vote at? What choices did he really have? He made a beeline for the Rhydin Public Library, and after convincing the librarians who were about to close the building for the night that he was not, in fact, a thief, he figured out where he needed to go next. To the Rhydin Election Commission, headquartered in the Rhydin Courthouse's basement.
***
After Glenn completed his morning chores, and ate a quick but refreshing breakfast of peanut butter and apple slices between two pieces of brown bread, he headed north towards the city. Once at the southern edge of Rhydin City, he hailed a carriage to take him to the courthouse.
Glenn had been by the courthouse a few times last year, when he'd been working his old job, so the large crowd standing outside the otherwise nondescript building was surprising to him. He knew it had been out of commission for a while, and it had reopened just before he had struck out on his own, but this was far and away the most people he had ever seen there. Elves, dwarves, humans, drow, and all other manner of species were patiently lining up (with the help of the watchful eyes of a pair of City Guardsmen) into a queue that seemed to go out the courthouse's front doors and onto the sidewalk. As Glenn approached the line, he heard snatches of conversation, spoken in countless tongues, most of which he didn't understand. He could occasionally pick out the names of candidates that he had read about when he heard them, but little else. Fortunately for him, the man at the end of the line appeared to be human, and about Glenn's age as well, although he was taller and muscular and was wearing the outfit of a longshoreman. Glenn mustered up the courage to tap the man on the shoulder.
?If you're askin' if you can cut in line, answer's no, bud.? Glenn vigorously shook his head no.
?No, no, no. What's the line for anyways??
?You stupid or something? This's the line to register to vote in the pri-pri- the first election. Tomorrow through the 15th. ?
?The primary?? Glenn asked.
?Yeah, that's it. Everyone and his mother's here to register. Gonna be a while before we're up, bud.? Glenn sighed loudly, and steeled himself mentally for the long, boring wait.