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Some mess-ups are unavoidable in a project like this, and names are hard to keep track of, even with notes. For example, the protagonist currently has two names: Gerard and Gerald (and "Gerry"), of which I used the latter one.

I say we forgive Miguel and vote based on his first entry alone, and just roll on with the competition.

I also suggest that, unless the story already has a distinct end, the organizer should write a short finisher when the competition closes.

Gerald stirred, thought he would have preferred the oblivion of unconsciousness to the scene he found himself in. He was strapped to an old wooden chair, probably leftover from some renovation to one of Bobby's places, in some dingy storage that had corrugated steel walls and that smelled of blood and smoke. Trains rumbled and blew their horns somewhere not that far away, but their noise was drowned out by two distinct sounds: a grown man weeping and a small child sobbing.

It took all the effort in the world to get his eyes open. Perkins was there, on his knees, cradling the dead woman he so loved. Next to him were three men, Jerry, the guard, and two others. Gerald couldn't remember their names. His neck cracked as he turned his head. There was a table nearby, his things were on it: his wallet, gun, papers, and the ring. Grace's ring, the one she'd taken off, the one he'd held on to.

“Fucking Gerry!” -Perkins bursted out, sobbing.

“Why!?” -he demanded, his voice trembling, barely in control. Gerald pondered his answer, his options, but his mind was a blur of random thoughts, that eluded his grasp. Only the thought of getting out of here and saving his kid mattered. He had to focus! He had to clear his head! He had to get free!

“Uncle Gerry?” -came the frail voice of a child and it broke Gerald's heart. The things he must have seen by now, poor kid. Gerald opened his lips to answer, but Perkins did the talking in his place.

“SHUT UP YOU LITTLE FUCK!”

He moved fast, standing up, letting Grace's body fall to the cold concrete floor like a sack of potatoes, as he turned, stepped towards the kid and smacked him in the face. He slumped down, and one of the burly guards, a black man with a slick bald head and black shades, stepped forward to hold his slender frame upright. Gerald winced and wanted to look away, but couldn't. There was blood on his face now.

“Bobby...” -Gerald tried to speak, but talking made his sides hurt like hell. He wondered how many ribs he'd broken tonight.

“SHUT UP!” -came the standard response from Perkins. He turned once more, this time to face Gerald, and closed the distance in five strides. His hands had blood on them as he grabbed Gerald by the hair and pulled his head back.

“You - LIED - to me!”

There were tears in his eyes, and something else, something darker and more malevolent.

“What else did you lie to me about!? HUH? Grace was mine, MINE! And you took her from me...”

Perkins let go and stepped back, wiping his face, leaving streaks of blood across his sweaty brow.

“What else, Gerry? Was everything a lie? Is the boy a lie, too?”

It took Gerald's hazed mind a moment to realize what Perkins was talking about, but as the realization set in, his insides turned to ice. He was talking about the kid, about little six-year-old Carl, the sweet little boy who had called him uncle, and now stood there, shaking and shivering, swallowing his own blood.

Perkins was shaking with rage now, gone were the tears, replaced by smears of blood that painted his face into a vivid image of hate.

“DID YOU FUCK MY WIFE!?”

There it was. A misconception that was now too late to correct.

“Bobby, I... No...”

“Don't talk to me, you sick FUCK!”

A swing sent Gerald tumbling sideways, crashing onto the cold floor. He could feel the chair give, the bindings on his hands loosen, but the crash blew the wind out of him. He felt like a fish on dry land, gasping for a breath that just would not come.

“You think I'm blind, Gerry? You think I didn't notice it in Grace's eyes. She was afraid of something. I always thought it was the business, the booze, the drugs, but it was the truth all along. She was afraid I'd find out!”

Bobby swirled in place and planted the sole of his boot right in Gerald's face, cracking his nose.

“YOU FUCK!” -the words rang in Gerald's head as he struggled to stay conscious. Perkins fell silent, and for a moment all Gerald could hear was the trains. The fluorescent lights gave a flicker whenever one passed close by.

“You'll fucking pay...” -Bobby whispered. “You'll both pay. I won't stand for this.”

Perkins stepped up to the table, picked up the gun, Gerald's gun, and clicked the safety off. He gave an odd chuckle as he turned back to face his brother, kneeled down and stuffed the gun into Gerald's mouth. The taste of metal mixed with the coppery taste of blood in his mouth.

“You...” -Perkins started, but paused. His eyes were glancing around wildly, then he paused again.

“No... Not like this, not you first. You... Gerry, you did this to us, to Grace, to me, your BROTHER! You won't get out of it this easy, no, you'll have to WATCH!” -Perkins stepped back, dropping the gun only inches away from Gerald's face. Gerald watched as his crazed brother stepped up to Carl, who now seemed to be in shock.

“Give me that knife!” -Bobby snapped to one of the guards. Jerry, the guard, swung his arm to reveal a switchblade hidden in his sleeve, which he offered to Perkins. Bobby must pay well, Gerald thought, for these muscles to not even wince at what was happening before their eyes.

“I'll make my...  No. Fuck that! I'll make your little liar-bastard-son scream, Gerry, and THEN you will pay. Nobody, not my wife, not my son, not even my own flesh-and-blood brother, will get away with this!” -spittle sprayed from Perkins' mouth as he snapped at the air like a rabid dog. He lifted the blade, grabbed at Carl's hair with his free hand, and pressed the smooth metal edge against the little boy's soft cheek.

A voice boomed inside Gerald's head. It's words were senseless, but it's tone made the outrage abundantly clear. Gerald swung his arm, breaking his bonds on the cracked chair, and reached for his gun.

“One bullet.” -he thought, as his hand closed around the curved grip and his finger slid into the trigger guard. The pain almost blinded him as he lifted the weapon. Perkins' guards reacted, moving in slow-motion. The lights flickered as a train howled past the building.

The gunshot deafened him, the muzzle flash blinded him, the recoil shook him to the core, and as the loud bang cleared out of his ears, all Gerald could hear was the splatter of brains and skull fragments as they fell onto the floor. And the trains.

And where's WHAM?

I'm here, but I just got a brand new puppy-dog yesterday, so my ability to write grimdark murder mysteries is impaired.
Will attempt to get my head back into action soon. Or perhaps I will wait until the last moment and write the story finale with an awesome cliffhanger!

You gesture for the Jester to allow another audience. Perhaps the next one will prove less depressing.
A group of three DIRTY PEASANTS and a COW walk into the throne room. Oh boy...



"Hails, m' King!" -the fair-haired man greets you as the group enters.
"On behaff' o' the peasants and our representative, Cat, we come 'afore you to bestow a gift o' goodwill to ouer new King. Annabelle, the highest valued prize cow in the entire village, is now the King's private property, iff'n, of course, you accept, my King."

The cow moos.

Bah, the first post has a typo. 14 days a year is the correct number.
Also: bad news: I'll be on a trip for the weekend so no update before sunday evening!

Hell of a start, man!
If nobody minds, I'm reserving the second writer's seat here. Will post within the weekend.
EDIT: nothing reserved, will try to type faster instead!

Well, there are all sorts of people waiting for an audience, and I'm sure  you'll find more or less suitable people for all roles.
Your existing advisor will always seek to prioritize audiences based on how important they seem to him/her based on all sorts of hidden variables, such as kingdom wealth, happiness, ongoing wars, open posts in court etc.

WHAM, how does game time work, actually? Can we "see" it? Is there a clock or something that tells us how much time passes between turns?

Each day ends after a total of five major actions are taken. These actions are audiences, special events, visits to locations (for example, in town) or talking to your advisors. The passing of time is not set in stone, and you can take actions in the night if you want, although no new audiences may be granted (the people went to sleep). The changing of a day is marked by a special "turn" slide which provides you with a summary of the day's actions as well as some basic data you have accumulated on your kingdom and it's affairs.

Each "year" in the game consists of 14 days and certain days will bring special events. Taxes are paid to the Crown on the 10th day of the year and salaries and other costs are paid automatically on the 13th day of the year. Don't worry, the Jester, or whoever has been assigned as your ADVISOR, will explain things as they come up.

"Jester!" -you call out, demand in your voice. The jokester's silly hat pops into the throne room.

"Who was that SHADOWY TRAVELLER you just permitted to enter? I wish to know all about him!"



"Uhh, I was just about to admit the next AUDIENCE to your presence, my King. I know not what traveller it is you speak of." -the Jester replies, looking well puzzled. You wait for a few moments, stern-faced, to see if the jester begins to crack up at his little joke, but he does not.

"My King, are you feeling well? Are you still in the mood for an AUDIENCE or shall we take a rest for the day?"

Remember to quote the post you want to +1 for voting purposes. It makes my life soooo much easier when I tally the votes on what action to run next.

"Jester, send in the next audi..." -you begin, but the words catch in your throat as you realize your next audience is already before you.
A chill runs down your spine as you gaze upon the SHADOWY TRAVELER, which stands before you.



"Greeting, King of the land." -comes a voice, deep, yet hollow, with a bite sharp as a cold steel blade.

"I come from far away..." -the SHADOWY TRAVELLER speaks, "...to congratulate you on your timely rise to power."

You stammer out a response: "Whatever do you mean by this?"

The stranger shrugs.

"Interesting times are upon us. The word interesting is key. Before long your kingdom will be beset by dangers untold, and it will be your task to ensure your people are ready. I see a threat to the west, another to the east, a third up above, and a fourth deep below. But which threat comes first, that even I cannot say, for I deal in prophesy and vision, not in petty guesses."

The strange man takes pause.

"King of the land, know that your reign will not be an easy one. But fear not, for on the third day from now, an object will be passed unto you, which will grant you the assistance of myself and others like me. Be wise and use it well, unlike the one who reigned over this land before you, for wasting such power might see your reign come to end sooner than you think."



There is a flash of ligh, or was it darkness? Whichever way, you are blinded for a fraction of a second, and a puff of black smoke is all that remains as the SHADOWY TRAVELLER disappears without a sound.

[Kconan]

Character: Kconan (I'm partial to smelly robbers myself)
Plot: Kconan
Atmosphere: Baron
Background World: Kconan
Word Choice/Style: Kconan
Topic: Baron

Also: I'd like to know if we need to take care of "mundane needs"- do we have to provide food to advisors and staff?

No-one will starve in your kingdom, unless there is famine, but providing people and servants with quality food might not be a bad idea.

"Sir Lancelot" -you begin, finding your own voice quite regal all of a sudden. It only feels appropriate that you stand up to meet the knight.



"I hereby hire you to be a HERO of the realm, and your loyal knights to assist you in all endeavours. Your first task is to send a delegation of your men to explore the countryside, so that we can scout our surroundings and learn more of the land and it's people."

Sir Lancelot nods, looking pleased, and his knights' cheers reverberate in the grand throne room.

"As you wish, my King, a delegation of five knights shall leave immediately to scout EAST. I will report to you with any findings as soon as possible. Should you ever wish to provide me with further instructions, you need but SUMMON me."

Sir Lancelot bows deep, and leads his men out of the throne room.



As the knights leave, the Jester appears before you.

"My King, now that we have a HERO with military experience, he has been automatically assigned as the MILITARY ADVISOR of your kingdom. Should you hire more heroes, you can appoint another HERO to take on this job instead.
It seems that Sir Lancelot has send out an EXPEDITION of five knights to the EAST. However, he has personally remained in the castle, since you ordered him to send a delegation instead of ordering him to explore personally. This means the expedition will be less effective and may be in more danger than if they were accompanied by a HERO.

It seems that Sir Lancelot has ordered five of his knights to guard the castle.
It seems that Sir Lancelot has ordered tem knights to patrol the town, keeping the peace and protecting the common folk.

If you wish to change any of these postings, order more expeditions or anything else to do with Sir Lancelot or his knights, you may SUMMON him at any time to hear your commands.

Since we do not heave a treasurer, I shall hereby notify you that our treasury now holds only 15 gold pieces. That is just 1500 silve pieces. Or just 150000 coppers. Doesn't sound so bad when you count coppers, now that I think of it."

The jester counts his fingers several times over, giggling softly.

"Oh, there are more people seeking your AUDIENCE, however one audience seeker and his retinue just left the castle grounds for some reason."

So, no maps anywhere? We have no clue where is the sea or the mountains or a river? But we conquered a castle obviously without any geographical knowledge of the area we live in...
And what about the latrines? An army has to have latrines. Are they outside in the backyard? Do we have a backyard?
Is ours a towncastle? What town?
Lancelot better carry pencil and paper with him...you know...between fights.

See first post in the thread.

You gesture for the Jester to approach the throne, and the jokester shuffles to your side.

"Jester, what do you know of this Lancelot fellow?" -you ask, suspicious of the knight.



“My King” -the Jester replies “Sir Lancelot and his men are as straight and true as a knight can strive to be, and each of them can best any lowlier knight in single combat with ease. The Lancelot family has served this kingdom dozens of times and always with dignity and honour. Alas, the previous king, you know, the evil one, demanded them to put dozens of peasants to the sword for failure to comply with tax laws, so Lancelot turned his back on the King and fled into exile. It was around this time that you yourself began to gather supporters to overthrow the king. Lancelot declined to help you, as it would have been dishonorable to turn on a previous master, even if said master had taken a dark turn.

My King, if ever you wish to employ a band of men who will serve you loyally and truthfully, this is the man. However, if you ever plan to take a more, shall we say, drastic measures to keep the peace, then, while they will not turn on you, they may abandon you. Their service is only available to you for as long as your honour as King is untarnished."

“Jester!” -you call out. “I think our coffers need filling and what better way than to make new friends and learn more of the land now that I rule over it. We need to hire an expedition at once!”



“My King” -the Jester replies “In order to send out an expedition, we need to have hired one or more HEROES. Alas, I see several suitable candidates out in the hall, awaiting their audience with the King, and I am sure many of them are here to offer their services. Allow me to present the first candidate!”

Since sending out an expedition without men seems a bit daft, you decide to nod and approve the audience.

Plate and chain clatters as nearly two dozen men in gleaming steel armor stomp into the throne room. All of the men wear helmets and crests of families whose names you do not recall, however the leader of the group seems somehow familiar to you. Maybe you've met him once, long ago. The man kneels clumsily in his heavy armor, before righting himself to speak.



“King of Grimdark...”

The Jester winces visibly and pipes up to interrupt: “My King, we might wish to renaming of the kingdom at some point! Just a thought...”

The jester slinks aside.



The knight before you continues without missing a beat: “...I am Sir Lancelot. My family line and the families serving us have been sworn to offer our service to the crown, and for that purpose I have come to present myself.



For the price of five gold coins a year, I, Sir Lancelot, and my 20 knights, will offer our services to the Crown, serving as guards and doing your bidding for as long as thine rule is just and fair.

As you can see, the last part of our contract severed our ties with the old king, and we were forced into exile, but now, as a new king has risen to rule the land, I feel we can offer ourselves to you once more.

What say you, King of Grimdark, will you allow this old HERO and his men to SERVE you?”

Maybe it's time for an AGS chess tournament!

Seconded

-------------------------



"Jester, I wish to know more of these guild leaders you spoke of."

“Well, my King!” -the voice of Mr Jester shrieks gleefully as he taps his feet. “The guildmasters are the very same people who helped you reclaim your evil brother's throne! The supplied you with men and equipment as well as finances and all of them, I believe, like you very much. However, now that you are king, they are no longer your allies and friends, but loyal subjects, and thus I believe they will wish to re-introduce themselves properly. Shall I present them?"



You nod to yourself and call out to permit the masters of the three guilds enter. The three men are dressed in fine clothes and seem regal enough. Right behind them, practically bouncing with energy, comes a  young girl in dirt-encrusted boots and pants and a straw hat, pitchfork in hand. You wince at the display, but decide to wait this out and see if there is a sensible explanation to this.

Before any of the three men so much as have a chance to bow down to you Kingship, the farm girl bounces forward and gives you a gleeful smirk.

“Howdy! Name's Cat, ‘n I'm here to represent th' farmer's un'un! Since we helped you overtthor... Overttthrf... Get ridda' th' ol' King, you promised us farmfolk that we all coulds have respent... umm, reperent... representas... Heck it! Well, ya'll know! We had a talk ‘n a vote ‘n a wrestle ‘n it seems I got elected for th' job so here I am. If'n there's ever ‘nything ya'll might need to know about us common folk, ah'll be glad to tell ya'll about it!”

She pauses after delivering her line, glances over her shoulder, then seems to remember herself and gives you a curt little bow. You simply sit there, speechless to see such behavior in a royal court. This isn't quite what you had expected from your first day as king.



“Oh! King! Iff'n you ever want to talk to me, ask about anythin'g or somesuch, just holler and SUMMON me! Buh-bai!”

With that the girl turns around and skips out of your courtroom, the two-pronged pitchfork swinging from side to side. As the sounds of her booted steps grow distant, the three remaining representatives gather their wits and make their best efforts at smiling.

The first to step forward is a tall man sporting a spiky-blonde haircut that makes your gleaming bald head jealous, as well as a fancy purple set of robes.



“Greetings, My King, my name is Dennis of the Frostsea family. With the trader's guild in turmoil after the change in leadership up here, it has fallen to me to take on the task of leading the TRADERS GUILD. We handle all trade in the town, from running the marketplace for local goods all the way to trading with foreign nations. Additionally, of course, we ensure that trade taxes are paid in full to the Crown's coffers.

We are currently not trading with other nations, however, as the writs of trade were lost with the previous guildmaster, but I am certain I will be able to re-establish trade as soon as we re-establish contact with the other kingdoms and tribes.

Should you ever wish to know more about our trades or to make requests or demands of me and my guild regarding prices, taxation, tariffs or anything of the sort, simply SUMMON me and I will heed your call, Sire.”

The man bows down, you notice his hair is unaffected by gravity, and steps back in line with the other two.

Another man steps forward, this one sporting a set of black official's clothes over shimmering white silk. The man gives a deep bow, then slowly straightens his back. He has a very official and businesslike look to him.



“My King, I am Mandarb, and I am the leader of the guild of Craftsmen. My assistants and myself manage all of the craftsmen in the town, including weaponsmiths, armorsmiths, toolsmiths, potters, wood-carvers and the like. You could say that whatever Mr Dennis here trades, we produce, well, except for foodstuffs, which fall to Miss Cat's area of expertize. If ever you need us to produce something specific or special, you may approach us freely and we will do our best to provide. I will also seek your audience if we ever need assistance with anything.

At this time production of all goods is balanced and running smoothly. There are no shortages of raw materials.

If you ever wish to speak to me for any reason, you may SUMMON me at any time.”

With another no-nonsense bow, the man steps back.

The last remaining representative steps up and bows deep, a theatrical swagger in his every move. You notice a finely crafted ornate hilt of a dagger glinting in his belt.



“My King, I am Construed of the Grimm family line, and I come to you representing the builder's guild! We handle all construction work in the town and should you ever wish us to expand or improve the town, you may count on our services! You see, for example, right now we are drawing up plans for the new city wall! I believe that in a few short years we could upgrade the run-down palisade into a hundred-meters tall stone fort covered in inch-thick gold plate to awe and amaze our friends and enemies alike! I assure you, you will see that we can make anything true!

Simply SUMMON me to commission a structure of any shape or size, I am sure we will succeed in pleasing you, my King!”

The man bows, then steps back.



Having made themselves known to you, the guildmasters prepare to take their leave, unless you wish more of them. Mr Jester is already eager at the door in case you wish to admit another AUDIENCE from amongst those waiting to present themselves to you outside of your throne room. You can hear the clattering of armor plates outside.

-------------------------

The strange Jester's words catch your interest and you gesture him to return. He does so via another set of cartwheels, which land him right where he started.

“What is this KEY you keep singing so merrily about?” -you ask.



The Jester produces a large silver key and gestures at it.

“In days of old, or so I'm told, this key unlocked a dungeon.
Within was held a fair princess, but a warrior a bard and a ranger broke her out, so the key's purpose was undone.
However, the tale goes, that the same key could also unlock a secret chest!
Within was hidden a powerful potion, which would keep the princess refreshed.
Alas, the chest is lost and the potion is thus gone.
Stolen by a dragon, it's guardians were left mere ash and bone.”

The Jester bows deep and looks mightily happy about having delivered his tale.

"My King, it seems that there are people seeking your audience, shall we grant them?" -the Jester asks as he pockets the key once more.