If ye seek the fabled polling place of olde, then ye have come to the right spot. But know ye this! The legendary House of Polls can only be entered by the purest of heart and intention. Many have sought it, only to lack the spirit to proceed. Follow these riddles and clues, and ye shall find this lost palace of democracy.
Be ye ready?
Firstly, solve this riddle to move on to the next phase of thy quest: A picture is worth a thousand words and the right to vote. Answer this and ye may unlock the first stop of thy journey.
If ye answered “photo identification,” then ye be correct. Hath not this document? Then follow the directions below.
Ye must seeketh out a stronghold of the Department of Motor Vehicles. What once were many in location, hath now been shuttered, reduced to a scattered few spread far and wide, and for this thy trip may be long and costly. Therein, ye shall meet the legendary and surly Bureaucrat, but beware—he can only be approached between the ninth and seventeenth hours, provided he be not partaking of his midday meal or enjoying his days of rest. Should ye be able to withstand this test of will, and pay the required coinage, ye shall uncover the first key, the fabled picture-identification card. But be ye forewarned! Thousands have been driven to madness in this quest, and the Bureaucrat hath neither time nor patience for thy shite.
Hast ye obtained the key of identity? Splendid, now ye may progress to the next phase of thy journey, but only if ye can answer these questions three:
Hast thou run afoul of the local magistrate?
Hast thou failed to pay thine debts in due time?
Dost thou live in a precinct that supported the wicked Lady Hillary of House Clinton?
If yea be the answer to any of these, then thy journey ends here. But if not, rejoice! For onward on thy quest ye go.
Only those who hath thine own carriages shall be permitted to travel the road to the polling place. The Duke hath ruled that carriage-sharing runs afoul of the King’s law. If ye don’t, ye must go by foot or taketh the public carriage, which comes only on the first quarter of the hour and only before the sun sets.
Hast ye made it this far? Congratulations! Ye hast arrived at the House of Polls, but thy journey is not over yet—ye must prove that ye is worthy to enter.
Volunteers of the Grand Old Party hath been dispatched to insure that only those who can show proof that they reside in this precinct may set foot inside. Question them not, for they may be armed.
Ye must wait in line with the others who hath made this pilgrimage, and that line may stretch as far the eye can see, for the few remaining staff of the House of Polls hath little time nor knowledge of the devices of voting, and very few of these devices function. But fear not—the less fortunate of pilgrims might depart before casting their ballots to return to their toil!
Should ye be able to provide the staff with proof of identity, ye must confirm that ye hath not been purged from the master list. If that hath passed, ye may file a grievance with thy local council, but mind ye—the office is closed for the day and can take but only a few phone calls at a time. So if this be the case, thy quest endeth here.
Rejoice, tired peasant, for if ye get past the withered gatekeeper, then ye may casteth thy ballot for a candidate of thy choosing.
But hear ye this—records of thy ballot are not kept by the local archivist and may not count for reasons decided by the maester of polls. Accordingly, whilst thy vote may represent the will of the masses, the winner shall only be decided if he declareth victory in the more populous provinces.
Congratulations, weary voter, ye hast made it this far and hast cast a ballot. Now hurry ye back to thy toil, as thy master hath only given ye an hour, and two hath already past.
