Fantasy A Crown Unbefit (Main)

[Coin]

A CROWN UNBEFIT
Title and Overview​

With Winter came an omen delivered from the church's most Exalted Cardinals.
“Thedosia shall descend from its heavenly stupor.”

With Spring, storm and squall beset the earth, runneth mud as blood.
An artifact, unremembered by the dirt it lay, had become revealed by the rain and taken by the king's men under the veil of night.

With Summer came the grasp of greed, come to dethrone a lord vanished from his house.
The king of Thedosia had gone into hiding, his obsession with the relic beyond his desire to reign -- an open invitation abroad and within.

The throne of the kingdom of Thedosia shall soon be vacant, a chance for pawn to become king.
​

In the year of our Graceful Lord 1211, the rule of King Atwald IV of Thedosia falters to a curse most unholy. For months the king has hidden himself in his private study, away from even his innermost circles. Meanwhile an emergency regency has been established, composed of his closest of advisers, dukes and duchesses of the Eight Houses, jointly reigning in their liege's absence. However as the king's council may try, rumorous tendrils of their lord's deterioration reach not only the noble and holy estates, but even to the lowliest of grain farmers and shepherds as precious days trickle away.

Though the king has legitimate heirs to the throne, misfortune has also befallen his sons in the clash of battle and the pestilence of illness. With rapidly disintegrating royal authority, new claimants to the throne bud like the flowers of Summer with each passing day. After the rule of Atwald the Scholar will surely come to an untimely end, the succession to kingship will certainly not go uncontested.

To the west, the neighboring kingdom of Dusilia looms over the throne ripe for the picking. To the north, the Gromsvanir heathen horde press their advance into wealthier lands. From every frontier border, packs of unsightly beasts threaten the very reign of man. Factions and alliances form and clash within Thedosia, grasping for the crown. The peril which plagues the land clouds the destiny of Thedosia with the fog of uncertainty.

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[Coin]

A HYMN OF BLADES
Confirmed Cast​

• The King's Court
• Clergy
• Ducal Rulers
• Meddlers

• - Brianna Estelys, Advisor to the King and Viceroy of Du-Catal by Penelope Burns
  
  - Frederick Talaris, Chief Magistrate of the Realm by The One Called X
  
  - Peter Cowden, Steward to the King by Clock
  
  - Willhelm Varis, Royal Court Physician by Knight-Errant
• - Matthias Vittori, Exalted Cardinal of Thedosia by Penelope Burns
  
  - Theodore Syvel, Lord Inquisitor of the Realm by Grey
  
  - Francis Roham Jaggers, Bishop of the Diocese of Mivencross by Rhakun
• - Laurence Vittori, Duke of Grenspire by Coin
  
  - Orwen Crawleigh, Duke of Gesir by Jabroni
  
  - Alastair Atwald, Duke of Tyvenna by local cryptid
  
  - Lillian Riddle, Duchess of Mivencross by Chordling
• - Eleanor Talaris, Landholder of the Kegel Freeport by The One Called X
  
  - Olivia Marvell, Countess of Cadrif by Poe
  
  - 'Bloodhound', Captain of the Red Walker Mercenary Company by YumenoTsukishiro

 

[Coin]

GIVETH, TAKETH
Plot Power​

Become the new Chancellor: No Candidate

 

[Coin]

CHAPTER I
Towards Thy Grave

Theme || Funeral Canticle
​

The eighth month of the year is customarily heralded with the trumpets of celebration at Yhark Disan, the capital of Thedosia. It is a time to praise the Lord as the final seeds of the planting season are strewn across the fertile soil of the land. However, none of the Lord's trumpets bellow on this day, and instead the somber melody of the church choir is sown into the midsummer air. Chimes and bells toll a dirge for the passing of another soul to be judged by God above.

The Court Chancellor, Renaud de Chalon, had passed quietly in his sleep. He was well respected and had served as chancellor to the king for many years, enough to be the most senior member of the council, but he was not old. At least, not old enough to slip quietly away with the night. In a time marked by strife in Thedosia, it did not take long for the rumors to circulate. Some say that when Renaud was found in his bedchambers, his veins had turned black as tar from poison. Others whisper of a thin crease of red across his neck from an assassin's blade behind the tall collar of his funeral garb. Regardless of the nature of the rumors, no one seemed to believe that the late chancellor had taken to sleep, never to wake up again because of God's will alone. His premature death certainly sparked attention to the streak of previous noble deaths as of recent.

First it was Janus Mercier, chaplain to the king in the late months of Spring. The presumed remains of Janus and his wife were found among the cinders of his estate. The city guard ruled Janus' death as accidental, a failure to keep excess firewood far enough away from the estate's hearth. The servant responsible had burned away as well, leaving no one to testify against the claim. Janus' funeral brought the land's many nobles together to mourn the tragic loss of a man so influential to Atwald's studies, though he had curiously suggested at a feast a few days prior to his death that Atwald the Scholar may be bewitched by a hex. A heinous allegation indeed, but it was quickly forgotten with enough wine.

Only three weeks prior, Agenor of Hoc, the most celebrated commander of royal troops against the Gromsvanir, also passed into the great beyond. He and his compatriots were hunting deer southwest of Gesir when Agenor reportedly tripped and fell into the mighty Twine River. His men claim that no man could have survived that fall, much less the murky pull of the river. No body was ever discovered, but no smaller was the funeral. Agenor's soldiers were rendered leaderless and disbanded shortly and consolidated its remnants with Du-Catal's levy.

Then came the passing of Renaud de Chalon. With the nobles of the land gathered once again, for the third funeral in a few short months, the rumors run rampant. Renaud was a fierce opponent to the unwarranted aggression of Dusilia. He was respected as the vanguard that stood firm between Thedosia and the power-hungry wolves of Dusilia. Who could possibly want him dead, and for what purpose?

For now, Renaud's casket is closed and at the head of the cathedral. The noon sunlight shines through the stained glass and bathe the altar with brilliance. A light drone of conversation can be heard over the choir and bells as the halls of the massive cathedral filter with nobility and servants. Outside, beyond the courtyard and fence, commoners peer through the tall iron bars, waiting for the funeral procession to begin.

Spoiler: DM Intrustion

Our story begins with the end of another noble. You may choose to attend or not to attend the funeral of Renaud de Chalon, but it will reflect poorly on your character if he or she does not attend and they are of noble status. That being said, only nobles and the most affluent of Thedosia are invited to the funeral, but perhaps a clever enough disguise could fool the unsuspecting...

It is currently a period of free roaming, where attendees may pay respects to the deceased and mingle with others. Inside the cathedral, one should not raise their voice much louder than a whisper. If a proper conversation is to be had, it should be in a far away hall or outside in the courtyard which has been accommodated for seating and small refreshments. Once everyone is a few posts in, the Exalted Cardinal ( Penelope Burns ) will deliver the last rites to Renaud and the funeral procession will bring the casket outside and into the catacombs of the cathedral.

Many have journeyed upwards of a week to come to the capital for the funeral, so accommodations are made for nobles to stay at capital for upwards of two weeks following the funeral. Whether this is of any importance will depend on the path the roleplay takes from now.

That's all I have to say. If anyone had any questions, please feel free to voice them in OOC or PM me.

You may now post.
( Penelope Burns , The One Called X , Clock , Knight-Errant , Grey , Rhakun , local cryptid , Insect , Chordling , Aster , Finalizer , Poe , YumenoTsukishiro )

P.S.
One final hint. Among the player characters, one of you are responsible for the death of the late Chancellor Renaud de Chalon. Only that player and I know, the rest is up for the rest of you to solve. None of your characters will know except for the one responsible. Have fun sleuthing.

 

[Rhakun]

The voices of dozens of priests echoed through the chapels while the sunlight, strong and piercing, lightened the apse. As the singing continued, some people in the formation of the choir stood, left, and were replaced by others every so often.

A third funeral mass required the kingdom's choir to reunite again and, thanks the concern of more than a few churchmen, rotation was comissioned: many participants (mostly amongst the very young and very old) had been returning to their churches aphonic and unable to preach after the ever-recurring funerals and preparations. The seemingly long hours of singing and talking took a toll on their voices and a measure was needed to prevent this, so it was decided by the planners that, for this occasion, the singers would be switching replacements by pairs of pairs after a block of songs passed.

Francis, neck to toe in choir dress, had finished his daily turn. By the end of a conveniently quiet verse, he discreetly stood up from the wings of the structure with two deacons and another bishop to head towards the vestry. They all walked a solemn, slow stride through the halls of the cathedral. When out of sight though, their hands rised to caress their necks around the larynx. Upon arrival, they all sat in silence and loosened their collars. Their service would be required again when the procession started, so they commonly believed that it was better to profit all the rest they could. A few moments in, one of the deacons served some warm water for everyone in a set of wooden cups.

Francis started thinking about the deceased man. He had never known de Chalon in person, but he was well-informed of his merit and, less desirably, of the rumors of his death. It was in his passing interest to follow the idea of a murderer, but he felt that the rite was neither the time or the place to actively pursue the notion. Being that he was also interested in being present by the Cardinal and, if possible, the duchess of Mivencross with whom he'd soon be sharing a zone with, the young bishop decided to rejoin the liturgy.

"Your grace," he said to the other bishop after some minutes had passed. He wasn't in the need to tell, but it was better for them to be informed of his whereabouts. Given the current tensions, a misinterpreted action could make matters go terribly wrong. "I'll go pay my respects to the Chancellor, if I may."

"Quite." he replied absentmindedly and, once he had drunk another cup, Francis exited the room towards the yards. Walking through the left aisle, he observed from afar as the many noblemen present acted about during the ceremony's break. Approaching the door, he had found a relatively calm spot where the wind blew and the sounds were softer. Francis evaluated better to stay within the building, so he stood there, making his mind about giving his condolences to the casket with the rest of the people going through the ambulatory's road once his ears had found some comfort from nearly an hour of listening to and engaging in canticles.

[Open for interaction]

 

[The One Called X]

Frederick Talaris

Chief Magistrate of the Realm​

Funerals, Frederick mused, were a waste of bloody time.

Of course, he had paid his respects to the dead man before finding his way to the courtyard and a cup of wine. It was important that he be seen to respect de Chalon. Anyone with eyes could see that the Chancellor had been killed. It was fascinating, really, the way the rumors spread. They'd be forgotten, soon- very few people truly cared what had happened.

Frederick was one of those few. This development could be useful, he knew. One of the only council members with more clout than he- gone. Of course, it made him a suspect... but he was accustomed to that, experienced at shedding blame like snakeskin and leaving it at the feet of an enemy.

His eyes narrowed at that thought, and he took a sip of wine. An enemy. Cowden, he thought. The boy was a picture of obedience and loyalty to most, but Frederick... Frederick had looked into his eyes, and seen a mirror. It was not a pleasant feeling. The steward was not to be trusted. He would be capable of such a thing... and it would have benefit for him. The loss of the Chancellor opened a slot on the King's council, and if one could maneuver one's ally into such a position... well. It was worth a small price.

Frederick polished off his wine, handing the cup off to a servant. Much as he would prefer to plan, he had other concerns at the moment. He did not know yet what his next move would be- so, the only option was to keep as many moves open as possible. Appearances were vital at this point in time. Both for himself, and for Eleanor.

Eleanor, who was apparently absent. He had not seen her in the cathedral, and she was not in the courtyard. She must have slipped away. Frederick's jaw tightened. The girl was obedient and trusting, yes, but she was also absent-minded, not terribly bright, and painfully vexing. It would be a feat indeed, to keep her in the right places at the right times, but Frederick was up for the task. Once he had a course of action set in his mind, he'd know whether or not her continuing existence would be necessary. For now, she was good to have in reserve.

That was, after all, why he'd hired the mercenary. He could, of course, have simply brought along some of the Talaris household guard, but the trouble with them was their loyalty. Nearly everyone in that blasted Keep adored the girl, for one reason or another. The Bloodhound, on the other hand, was famed for his lack of principle. Keep in mind, Hound, Frederick had said on hiring him, it is I who employ you, not Lady Talaris. You work for me, and you were hired to do as I say, not to protect her. You will protect her, because I have told you to- for now. Those orders may change. I trust that when they do, you will execute them all the same- no matter what they may be, or how they may contradict your previous instructions. Do we understand each other?

It was, on the whole, better to have someone close to Eleanor who was loyal to Frederick's coin rather than to the young Landholder.

Eleanor had to appear at the funeral, if she was to begin building any standing at court. Frederick did not much care to fetch her- she required delicate handling, especially now as the fog of grief began to lift from her eyes. It was a gamble, bringing her here, away from reminders of her family. Hopefully she would be sufficiently preoccupied with the separation from her nurse that she would remain distracted. Still... it was irksome, having to listen to her prattle and courtesies.

Frederick walked into the hall, away from the press of people. His exit should have been subtle enough that he could return quietly and not raise any eyebrows. He strode through the halls, in the near-empty portion of the cathedral, until he found his target.

"Bloodhound." Frederick's voice was brisk. "Lady Talaris appears to have wandered off. She's most likely in one of these halls. Would you be so kind as to locate her and remind her, on behalf of her uncle, that it is a matter of propriety that she pay due respect to the dead? Good man." Without waiting for a reply, Frederick turned his back on the scarred man and strode briskly back to the main hall. He slipped in quietly. He hadn't been gone long- it was unlikely that his absence had been marked. Excellent.

He took his place near a wall, studying the crowd.

YumenoTsukishiro

 

[Chordling]

Lillian Riddle
Duchess of Mivencross​

Death had been Lillian's most recent friend. His first visit was upon the death of the king's chaplain, Janus Mercier. Then, a loyal troop commander, Agenor of Hoc. Of course, how could she possibly forget the passing of her own father just those short months ago?

Today, they acknowledged death for taking the life of the court chancellor. Lillian wore the same gown from her father's funeral, hoping it would be the last time she would ever have to wear it. Around her neck on a simple chain, the cross of the Lord's Faith. The long hem of her cape trailed behind her as she solemnly ascended the stone stairway of the church. Her younger sister, Meredith, was just beside her in similar garments. Lillian's dress seemed more extravagant, possibly due to her status as Duchess, but both women donned matching silver belts. Shell like shapes linked together until they reached the head of a stag in the center. It was their way of representing their province, Mivencross.

Lillian felt her sister's hand nudging hers. They linked together and continued up the stairs. The holy sounds of the choir grew fuller and echoed from the walls of the building. Although soothing, the singer's angelic voices were not enough to quell the murder rumors festering inside the buzz of the noble rabble, nor did they calm young Meredith's nerves.

"Lillian, I'm not ready." Tears had already welled up in the younger sister's dark brown eyes. They were like their father's. Neither of the young women knew the chancellor personally, but he was a good man, he was a man of real faith, and in that respect, they felt connected. The chancellor was not their friend or father, but his passing certainly gave the feeling that someone special in their life had left them.

Lillian wrapped both arms around her sister. The hood of her cape fell down to her shoulders and revealed that Lillian's long set of curls had been pinned back for the formal occasion.

"It's okay," she whispered as they embraced. When they released, Lillian withdrew a small cloth from the folds of her cape and gently dotted away her sister's tears. "We're going in now. Together." She gave a small smile, hoping her sister would do the same.

The doors to the church quietly greeted them inside. Meredith still seemed nervous and Lillian herself looked slightly shook. As the youngest noble, she was also the most inexperienced and did not have many opportunities prior to this event to know every name and face of her equal comrades. Lillian's outward appearance thankfully had little effect to the soft socialization that trickled through the church. The sisters were met with kind greetings from their surrounding aristocrats as they calmly sauntered their way to the head of the cathedral.

"Look," Meredith subtly pointed as they passed a clergyman who stood a good distance from the casket. Lillian turned her head to see who her sister had spotted. Rhakun . Could she believe her eyes? She barely believed the rumors that were still circulating around the entire church. Lillian couldn't help but wonder what his thoughts were about the chancellor's death. As a member of the church and as a Dusilian himself, he would have likely known the chancellor much more than she did, at least.

Before anyone could tell that her sister was staring, Lillian gently guided Meredith closer to the casket before they officially parted ways. Slowly, she wandered back towards the bishop, and for the first time, she came face to face with the man of Faith.

"Your holiness," she greeted. Her voice remained low and soft, barely loud enough for her listener to pick up. Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something else but no words were actually formed. In her mind, Lillian had a collection of conversations she wanted to have with the Bishop, but this was a funeral. The procession was likely to begin at any moment. Questions might have to be saved for later. Small talk would have to suffice for now, despite how much Lillian desired to converse with Francis about her father, Mivencross' debt to Grenspire, his roots to Desulia, and the chancellor's death, among other things.

 

[Penelope Burns]

Brianna Estelys, Viceroy of Du-Catal
Viceroy Brianna Estelys looked upon the remains of her fellow council member, her opinions in a mixed bundle. Councilor Chalon had been the acting senior member of their regency council ever since the king had been overtaken by madness, and there was no doubt that without Chalon's leadership the nobility would have jumped for one another's throats immediately. He was a trusted ally, a stalwart friend to the king, and one of the few people Brianna knew capable of keeping the various court factions in check. Brianna moved her gloved hand across the coffin, still dwelling in her thoughts. Without him there was no doubt that the more ambitious members of the duchies would act out, perhaps even offering to bring their house guards into the keep in order to 'protect the king and council.' Whoever killed him - and it had to be murder, as this was the third councilman dead this year - made an excellent choice in Chalon, as his death would likely have near as much impact as the death of the king or Exalted Cardinal.

After another minute Brianna took her hand off of the coffin of her longtime ally, and headed back down the aisle. She inspected her list of dukes and duchesses one by one, knowing that one of them was most likely the killer. Was it the pious and young Lillian Riddle, perhaps attempting to give control of Thedosia to the Church? Maybe it was Alastair Atwald, attempting to delegitimize the primary branch of the royal family so he could take control. No, in all likelihood neither of them were the main suspects. Lillian was not nearly experienced enough to know the proper contacts needed to kill without having one's name attached to it, and Alastair didn't seem ambitious enough for a project of this scale. The true suspects were the remaining three dukes: Azar Nerezza, Laurence Vittori, and Ehren Volscale Ov Fydracca. Brianna trusted none of them for a moment. Nerezza's father 'mysteriously' died one morning, similar to the late Chalon, conveniently giving him the duchy. Vittori's army had grown significantly in size over the years, and in the event that a crisis overtook the capital he would likely be the first to respond. The last of the three Brianna feared less than she did his mother, who was well known for being an ambitious old crone. It wouldn't be below the woman to begin poisoning members of the King's Council.

It would be costly, but Brianna had little choice but to pay more servants to watch those three men during their trip in the capital. If any acted suspicious enough she only needed Varis, Cowden, or Talaris to agree to imprison them for an investigation. She figured all three men would likely agree - after all, who knew which council member would drop dead next? It was in the best interests of everyone on the council to capture the person arranging these murders as soon as possible. And on the matter of council members, Talaris was at the top of her list of suspects. Brianna considered the man more ambitious than anyone else alive, and little to lose in the event that he was caught. She needed another ally to replace the one she lost, and Peter was just as problematic as Frederick. Both would stab her in the back and let her body float down a river if it meant they got what they wanted.

No, she needed an ally off of the council, disconnected enough from capital politics that they wouldn't be a suspect. Unfortunately that left fewer than a half dozen people, and most of them were in contact with or employed by the people in attendance. Her only real, reliable choice of ally was one of her fellow reformists, but she was not going to be stupid enough to sully his reputation by approaching him while the Exalted Cardinal was within half a kilometer. Brianna recognized that she would have to make her move later, and instead found herself sitting in the pews with a glass of wine in her hand, hoping someone could distract her until the unfortunate affair was over with.

 

[Coin]

Laurence of Grenspire​

Funerals were terrible affairs. They took an awful amount of gold to organize and ate up a considerable amount of his time that could be served better doing anything other than mourning the passed. Laurence wasn't even particularly impressed with the late chancellor, he thought de Chalon was a naive fool with too much hot air for the damned codger's own good. Not to mention, being the third funeral in such a short time, the taste of the events had become incredibly stale. That, and they were terribly boring.

Laurence had brought along his wife this time in addition to his personal guard. He and Sylvia, who clung to his arm while they exited the cathedral, had just finished paying their respects to de Chalon. Laurence was sure to make his prayers brief. Were it acceptable, he would have pardoned himself from the funeral entirely. His noble peers were so very predictable. Not to Laurence's surprise, the hot topic of the funeral was the nature of poor de Chalon's death, as every whisper at his own funeral hissed the work of an assassin. Presumptuous fools.

"Husband, is that the countess? Olivia?" Sylvia tugged at his arm and gestured for him to look further into the courtyard of nobles. Sure enough his wife had pointed out Olivia of Cadrif, conversing lightly with other attendees. "Shall we give our pleasantries? She looks awfully misplaced."

For a moment, Laurence's stomach did a flip and a faint grimace passed his expression as his wife singled out and pointed out his mistress. However, it seemed that she was still oblivious to his and Olivia's secret relationship. Reluctantly, Laurence gave his wife a nod of approval and followed her lead to meet the countess. Quietly, Laurence prayed to the Lord that their encounter would not turn sour.

"Lady Marvell," Laurence called out in greeting as he approached, much louder than the contextual chatter and a feigned smile upon his lips. "It is good to see you, countess, though I wish it were under better circumstances. Dreadful business what happened to Renaud, may he rest in peace. My Sylvia here was keen to notice you in the crowd. You've met my wife, Sylvia, yes?"

"Oh husband, you are so forgetful," Sylvia let go of his arm with a pat to greet Olivia with a hug. "We met yesteryear at the harvest celebration, dear Laurence. She was my only company while you and your marshal talked each other to death about soldiering and war. We women are beyond such savagery."

"Dear me, you will have to forgive my insolence, countess. Any friend of my wife's is a friend of mine," Laurence gave a shallow bow.

"He is quite the charmer, is he not, Olivia?" Sylvia teased as she politely folded her hands in front of her. "I trust your travels from Cadrif were not too troublesome?"

Poe

 

[YumenoTsukishiro]

Bloodhound wondered if anyone from Grenspire would recognize him here, in this pit of vipers they call a cathedral. There was the duke, his mistress, and a sizeable number of clergymen. Anyone of them would happily drag him to the stocks, the hangman’s noose, or the executioner’s block. Dungeons were too lenient a punishment for him, for a crime he never committed. But such was the peculiarity of history. Truth was rarely absolute, and falsehoods all too easily become facts.


As per orders, and instinct for survival, he stayed in some remote part of the cathedral, keeping out of sight. He was content in watching people pass by and wither beneath the steadiness of his steely gaze. Their eyes always wandered from the twin swords strapped to his back, to the pair of studded leather vambraces, to the scar slashing across his left eye and down to the side of his mouth. He ran a hand down the jagged flesh, noting with relish the way their gazes dropped to the floor faster than a heretic. This was proof of who he was, who he had become. History had made him a villain, and so a villain he would be.


He heard the man approach and knew who he was without looking. Frederick Talaris had the weight of ambition, the kind that toppled kingdoms and backstabbed without remorse. Bloodhound listened to the new orders in silence, content to let the man walk away towards whatever politicking he had up his sleeves. He was actually happy for an excuse to wander around the cathedral, away from the funeral filled with fake tears and staged grieving. Funerals to Bloodhound were a simple matter of putting a man into the earth and honoring his memory. All this hypocritic fanfare made him uncomfortable down to his stomach.


So he did as he was told and went down the hallways at random. He had no particular destination in mind. His instincts were enough to guide him across the richly-decorated cathedral, with its magnificent paintings, golden chalices, and intricate tapestries. All paid for with the hard-earned money of the painful... mingled with his own coin, earned with blood.


While he walked he thought back to his first meeting with Frederick. The old man was clear enough in his terms. Protect the Lady Eleanor, except when her death would be more profitable. For a while the weight of Frederick’s coin lay a little heavier on his mind. Then he remembered that money paved the way for the Lord’s will. If the girl should die, so be it.


Finally he spotted the Lady wandering about an empty hallway. Already he could see how a potential assassin would make short work of her. It wasn’t hard to play the servant, pass by, and leave behind a knife through her guts. The woman, as he’d come to know, was stupidly carefree. You’d think the Landlord of Kegel would take better care of herself against threats to her well-being. No wonder her own uncle easily plotted against her.


Bloodhound's first thought to call the Lady, but he came up with a better idea. Holding his breath, he stepped towards her, silent as a shadow. This was one of many lessons he had in store for poor, little Eleanor. When he was close enough, he spoke with all the subtlety of a wolf.


“Your uncle requests your presence, Lady Eleanor.”

The One Called X

 

[local cryptid]

Alastair Atwald​

"Kiva, darling it is very important that you stay close to me." Alastair cooed, unable to bring himself to scold his daughter for running off when there were so many people and things to look at. She only allowed to venture out of the estate grounds once a week, and even then her activities were limited. "Someone who was very important to these people has died, this is not a time to play." He gently reminded, fixing the bow beneath her chin.

"Sorry, Papa." She said, looking up at him with big hazel eyes that were colored exactly like her father's. Her hair was dark, nearly black and curly, pulled back by a ribbon. She was nearly ten, though she looked closer to the age of five or six. She had heavy cirlces under her eyes, and her lips were nearly as pale as her skin.

"It's alright, sweetheart." Alastair stood up, standing nearly a head taller than most people. He cradled her tiny hand in his own, his fingers laced with fine metals. Despite his height, he was an elegant man, with sharp features and clean skin that made him appear more feminine than most men his age.

He pushed open the door of the small conference room and into the hall, looking to the side to see Bloodhound approaching Lady Eleanor several yards down the hall. He protectively tightened his grasp on Kiva's hand at the sight of the man. He coaxed her to walk in the opposite direction.

"You walk too fast." Kiva complained.

Alastair stopped. He had intentionally been walking slower, but apparently it wasn't slow enough for her. Was she feeling weak? "I'm sorry." He said instead, picking her up and cradling her against his side, "You are a bit too old to be held like this." He carried her back to the sanctuary.

"I will be too old when I am too heavy." Kiva argued, petting his hair without thinking much of it.

Alastair smirked and clicked his tongue at her, but he didn't say anything. He respectfully moved past the alter and sat her down at one of the benches. He straightened and fixed his hair a little, his face quickly becoming serious again.

"Are you sad, Papa?" She asked.

Was he? He felt sick, maybe, and scared. The people at this funeral were capable of terrible things. Most of them looked like vultures to him, while others appeared grossly insincere. He didn't want his daughter to be around these people, he didn't want her to grow up to be one of them like he had. "I am." He touched her hair and sighed, looking around the sun soaked room.

 

[Poe]

Olivia had grown tremendously bored before she even laid eyes upon the casket. Funerals were fickle things, strange in the way that they functioned as a social event where conversation was limited to words of grief and polite nods of agreement. A good man. Nod. A terrible tragedy. Nod. Such a constant stream of passive words and Olivia grew tired, so tired in fact that she was convinced by her second round about courtyard that her head was no longer screwed onto her neck properly and was probably flopping about much like an invalid. It did not help that her long, corn silk locks were tied back in an intricate fashion as she could not, in any way, hide her expression. She looked pleasant enough, pleasing to the eye as always and prepared with startling detail, and she kept her expression appropriate, even if she wanted nothing more than to excuse herself from the whole ordeal. But a funeral was too delicious an opportunity to pass up.

Especially when the circumstance of the death was so widely, yet silently, speculated. Olivia could almost smell it in the air – the overbearing questions of who, what and why.

She was no stranger to grief, certainly, but she wondered if anyone at the funeral could say they were.

Little did she expect to have her thoughts interrupted by a sweet, wholesome voice. It was entirely ordinary, sweet as a woman’s could be, but Olivia did not need to turn to know it was Sylvia. Accompanied by Laurence, nonetheless. A smile touched her lips, gentle and beautifully upturned as the woman pulled her into an embrace. It was certainly a jolt of interest to the gathering, as she could see the twinge of fear and uncertainty in Laurence’s eye. My Sylvia, he emphasized. It was always interesting to Olivia the way he could make his choices, but still feel an echo of guilt in his heart. He certainly did not always call his wife as such, but as the world was concerned Olivia knew not of the inner workings of their marriage. “Men,” Olivia agreed with Sylvia, sparing Laurence nothing more than a passing glance, “they are such strange and simple minded creatures, are they not?”

“It is certainly a pleasure to see you both,” Olivia smiled back, “It can be a terribly lonely affair, attending a funeral by oneself.”

Olivia did not often travel with more than she could stomach. It was a tedious journey from Cadrif and she could not manage such insolent and naïve conversation for long. Instead, she enjoyed spending her time moving about freely. “You have found yourself good company,” Oliva replied, “and no, certainly not too troublesome. It is a long journey, but I have made it so many times it feels rather natural at this point. And you, Sylvia? Do you make this journey often?”

It was a tongue and cheek comment that slipped right over Sylvia’s head. She had no idea of the intimacy of her relationship with Laurence, but the comment was for him. Olivia knew too well the way Laurence slipped off without comment and left his wife in Grenspire, but to an unknowing audience? Olivia was simply being sincere in worrying about how taxing the entire journey was for those who did not make it often.

“I only ask because you look radiant after such an arduous journey from Grenspire,” Olivia added with a smile, “Surely your husband takes excellent care of you.”

Coin​

 

[Clock]

Peter Cowden, King's Steward​

Something about the dour atmosphere of a big man's funeral never failed to put a smile on Peter's face. A metaphorical smile, though, for a literal one would just be ghoulish. That is one obstacle down. He did not personally hold a grudge against the Court Chancellor; de Chalon was a pleasant enough man, who had treated Peter as an equal and not a fresh-faced pup lost in a world of political intrigue as some other lords were wont to. No, de Chalon's name would not even make an appearance on the first page of Peter's "Foes" book. However, he was in there, and now his name could be crossed out.

So, it would not be a stretch to assume that Peter was satisfied and sated, like a fat cat heavy with milk. He made a mental note to have more funeral blacks tailored -- the court was reaping death and as the King's Steward, he had to make an impression. It helped that black suited his tastes.

With a sombre look on his face, masterfully crafted to mimic the appearance of a man who had lost a friend, a mentor, Peter made his rounds. He greeted distant lords, spoke of the late Chancellor's righteousness, praised the man to high heavens. Their silver beards would shake with laughter as he relayed tales of the Chancellor's antics. Inevitably, the conversation would turn to the king and why Peter, you must be close to the glorious king. Where has our Lord been, holed up in a castle? And Peter would give a vague shake of his head, construct an excuse, leaving to engage in pleasantries with another party.

He knew these men. He knew these women. Better than they would expect, much more than they would be comfortable with. Peter held their secrets close to him, locked up deep within his mind. Oh, Lord Gundul, we are at a funeral and yet you sneak off like a thief at night to see your mistress in the capital. Did your wife not bear your child just yesterday? I hear it was a stillborn. Yet, you insist on staying. Duty, you screamed until your throat went raw, duty keeps me at Du-Catal. Or is the taste of your mistress' tongue that keeps you here?

But walking past the heavy-set man, Peter simply offered a cordial smile. He had little interest in unfaithful lords at the moment. No, there was a bigger game at play and he was bent on putting his piece into action. Across the funeral hall, he spotted Talaris, standing rigid and straight as a pole. Peter changed the trajectory of his walk instantly, sliding in the space beside the man. Talaris. Estelys. Varis. Cowden. The king's puppets. He wondered that, as the men on earth danced, which puppeteer commanded their strings. Which puppeteer laughed at their strategies, their ambitions.

"Lord Talaris, I do have to file a complaint with you. We work in similar positions, close to the king and yet I have seen very little of you as of late. Considering the circumstances, I might be tempted to misconstrue your intentions..." He paused, his eyes dancing with a bit of dark mischief, but his face still as heavy as de Chalon's casket, "Have you been avoiding me, old man?"

It was no secret their relationship was strained. How could it not be? Nobody got so close to the crown -- close enough to taste it -- by being a friendly, bumbling country fool who thought that love conquered all.

"In a time when the king's men seem to be falling like flies, old friends such as you and I must stick together. Oh, and is your wonderful niece Eleanor well?"

The One Called X

 

[The One Called X]

Eleanor Talaris

Landholder of the Kegel Freeport​

Eleanor knew she shouldn't be here. She was supposed to be with the others- with her uncle. He had emphasized to her how important that was. Uncle Frederick was so kind to her that way. He knew that she'd never been to court before, and didn't know all the intricacies of how a lady was to conduct herself. Eleanor bit her lip, her brow furrowing as guilt twisted in her stomach. Uncle Frederick was terribly patient with her, even when she was slow. She didn't mean to be. She just forgot things, and got nervous, and got overwhelmed sometimes.

Like with the funeral. She hadn't known Renaud de Chalon at all, but everyone seemed to agree that he was a good man and an excellent Chancellor, so of course it was sad. The rumors about his death were unsettling, and the way some people seemed almost eager to discuss the gruesome possibilities was dreadful. And it reminded her of the last funerals she'd been to, for William and Father, and she'd been afraid that she'd just sit down in the middle of the floor and weep in front of all those strangers if she stayed a moment longer. So she'd slipped away to an empty hall to try and think about other things and collect herself.

She was beginning to feel less awful. She fiddled with the fabric of her sleeve- black, of course. It was a beautiful dress, and it was a terrible pity that it was to be worn at such a sad affair, but that was all right. She could have it altered a bit, and embroider something cheerful onto it, and wear it again. She was wearing her mother's necklace- a filigree crow on a slender chain, a reference to Kegel's crest. Her hair was loose, with a few strands held back from her face with a purple ribbon. She had wanted to put her hair up, in a more womanly style, but Uncle Frederick had talked her out of it. The girl who had done her hair was nice enough, Eleanor supposed, but Margaret would have been better. She had desperately wanted to bring her beloved nurse with her, but her uncle had pointed out how difficult the journey would be for the older woman, and so Eleanor had reluctantly agreed to leave her behind.

Eleanor's throat tightened a little. She missed Margaret terribly. She started to think of patterns to embroider on her dress, to distract herself. Flowers would not suit a black dress. Or perhaps they would, if she used white thread, or even red or purple-

“Your uncle requests your presence, Lady Eleanor.”

Eleanor gasped, spinning on her heel to look up at the man behind her. How had he... he was so close to her, and hadn't made a sound. The Bloodhound was a very big man, and it seemed impossible that he could have moved so silently. Her hands tightened where they were clutching her skirts, and her breathing was harsh. He was very intimidating. She would have preferred to have been accompanied by her household guard- old Jonah, who was always so kind to her, or Michael who was nineteen and handsome and gentle, or even surly Richard- but Uncle Frederick had reminded her of Kegel's status, and that their guard might not be welcome in Thedosia's capital. Eleanor dropped her eyes from the mercenary's scarred face, her hands rising to fiddle with her hair. She was uncertain how this man was truly any better.

"I-I'm sorry, sir." Her voice seemed pathetically soft and tremulous. "You startled me."

She lifted her chin, trying to sound more certain. "You shouldn't sneak up on me."

YumenoTsukishiro

 

[YumenoTsukishiro]

Bloodhound felt immense satisfaction at seeing the look of shock on the young lady’s face, and the way she tried to fold on herself in nervousness. Yet it quickly soured when in one blink he was brought back to a different cathedral, wearing priestly robes, and staring down at another lady who had held his world in her hands. The memory hit him unexpectedly like a punch to the gut. Felt like it, too, and it showed in the slight downturn of his lips and the frost in his eyes. He willed the memory away, focusing on the present, on the young lady with chin upturned, trying her best to be assertive. That at least made him feel better, and he managed to turn his frown into a sneer.


“If I could sneak up on you, then so could anybody else, my lady,” he spoke, voice gruff like an old bear. “And in a place like this, it’s dreadfully easy to get close to you and do bad things.”


As if to prove the point, he placed his hand on the knife hanging on his hip. He made his actions deliberate, drawing her attention to the dark wood engraved with symbols of nature. “As much as possible, you shouldn’t wander around alone. Your uncle paid me good coin to keep you safe. I intend to see my job through, whether you want it or not. My lady.”


Though he had to give her credit. She had some backbone in that carefree body of hers. His sneer softened into a smile. Remembering her penchant for looking pretty, he decided a compliment was good enough a reward. “That’s a beautiful dress,” he said, sizing her up with an appreciative eye. “It would be a shame if the people don’t get to see it.”

The One Called X

 

[Rhakun]

Francis squinted a little at the sight of the huge amounts of wine that were being served during this recess. He hadn't had a cup in years; the memory he held of the flavor was twisted with distant images of Grenspire's valleys and towers as he counselled a soldier or two after Sunday mass. He couldn't help but flick his tongue as he recalled and compared this distant remembrance with the unrefreshing taste of hot water he had just had. His temper was relaxed; breathing in, browsing his knowledge of the scripture. What did it say of red liquor?

"Drink no longer water, but use a little wine for thy stomach's sake and thine often infirmities."​

And isn't grief a malady that many would avoid with diseases of the body, if given the chance? It serves the occasion of many today. Not mine, but misery loves company and it would be kind to oblige. I must say this is a tolerant verse from a tolerant Lord, he thought, however, drink dries the throat and an orator can't afford that luxury.

Francis wasn't specially fond of alcohol, but it was often in his interest to explore his relationship to things. Once his notion for the event was settled, he started observing the people inside; particularly, the ones who held a cup. His eyes could spot a few of the familiar faces of Du-Catal. High near the casket, the Viceroy seemed to look distressed and anxious; he could empathize with what he thought was her concern: three kingsmen had died and she could be most certainly at risk. He thought about sending some correspondence her way as a declaration of support later in the week. After seeing her place her hand over Renaud's bedding, Francis thought that, if not political, Brianna could use some moral support.

Turning his sight to the doorway, he saw the Chief Magistrate enter the church. He was known to his circles as a conveniently generous and approachable negotiator, but not by any account of kindness or virtues. He gave Francis quite a bad feeling and it added to it that he routed through the offsides; as in hiding. The bishop found himself judging the righteousness of comissioning a deacon or even an episcopal guard to keep a concealed eye over him, but as he discerned on whether it would be unpolite to surveil a guest or not, a calling from his side diverted his attention.

He turned his gaze and took his caller's image in; a pale woman with clear blue eyes, her hair pinned and her garments consisting of a hooded, dark gown and a certain intricacy. Above all else, Francis sensed traces of loss in her expression, but conviction and resolution in her posture. After peering the stag in her belt, Francis recognized the elder daughter of the deceased Duke of Mivencross. He spotted a younger girl in similar garments farther in the cathedral and took the last confirmation he needed in: the Duchess' sister. He smiled at the surprise, thinking it both convenient and pleasant. She seemed to be the only head of a Duchy to show a legitimate concern for de Chalon so far and, amidst the sure-to-happen political pushings, this was, on the very least, refreshing to his temper.

"Ah! Lady Lillian," he said, slightly bowing his head. "It is a relief to see the faithful's resilience in these troubled times."

Briefly, Francis saw her mouth halfway open in silence as he straightened up. He understood: There was much that each other needed to say; a lot to settle and discuss. Still, not enough time this noon; if anything, the chance to be on friendly terms was at hand. Something easier to do in the halls of a conmemorative, social ceremony than in the negotiating table of state and church.

"I see young Meredith is here. Are you doing well?"

Chordling

 

[The One Called X]

Frederick Talaris

Chief Magistrate of the Realm​

Frederick let his eyes wander slowly over the crowd. Nearly everyone who could be expected was, of course, in attendance. Lord Atwald had even brought his bastard daughter. Frederick never could wrap his head around the amount of public attention the Duke lavished on the girl. He was not a fool, so why make it so obvious that the frail, sickly child was such an obvious weak point? Why not stash her away somewhere? It wasn't as if she could inherit, should she even survive that long.

The Countess of Cadrif was in attendance, and... well, that was interesting, were the rumors to be believed. He had met the young woman a few times, and she was one of very few individuals who he could almost consider an equal. Vittori, now... he was ambitious, to be sure, but he was also an arrogant fool. Doubly so, if he had truly taken Lady Marvell as his mistress. Did he truly think that he could emerge unscathed from a dalliance with such a woman? Did he really believe that she wouldn't turn on him for her own gain? Frederick hoped that when it happened, he'd be there to see it- it would be a thing of beauty indeed.

And then, of course, there was Brianna. Dear, honorable Brianna, who would certainly be eyeing him with deep suspicion over the Chancellor's death, and half-convinced that she was next. Frederick was almost a little offended by the thought. He would never go quite so far as to arrange her death, at least not until the Atwald dynasty and preferably half the kingdom came crashing down around her ears, and he had looked into her eyes and smiled and offered his deepest sympathies.

"Have you been avoiding me, old man?"

And of course, there was Peter. Frederick felt some of the ennui melt away, alertness returning. He always enjoyed talking to Peter Cowden. Make no mistake, he loathed the boy- but he could not help but have some respect for him. Peter was the only true equal he had on the Council- the only one who played the game and was honest with himself about it. Frederick was a liar- they were all of them liars- but he could not abide those who lied to themselves to soothe their consciences. The were all monsters, in one way or another, and to convince yourself otherwise was the only form of cowardice that mattered.

He schooled his face into a mask of avuncular concern. "Avoiding you? Of course not, my boy, of course not. These are trying times, in very many ways. I'm afraid that between the troubles in the capital and assisting my beloved niece, I have simply been busier than anyone ought to be."

Granted, some of his time had been devoted to things better left unmentioned, but on the whole it was true. Frederick's eyes narrowed when Cowden asked after Eleanor. He had scarcely met the girl, and yet had taken an interest in her that was, to Frederick's perception, frankly unwholesome. He knew the boy had to have something in mind with regards to her, but he could not yet see what.

"Lady Eleanor is doing as well as can be expected. She has never been to the capital before, and requires some help to adjust. She is a very loyal and tractable young woman, and I am fortunate to have her full trust and respect. I am doing my best to keep her on the right path."

Clock

 

[The One Called X]

Eleanor Talaris

Landholder of the Kegel Freeport​

Eleanor's eyes widened at the man's words. They were in a church- what danger could come upon her in a church? And besides, who would ever want to do such a thing? She had never done anything to anyone that would make them want to harm her. Her gaze followed his hand to where it rested on the hilt of his knife, and in spite of her thoughts her eyes widened and her heart sped. She was suddenly very aware that compared to him she was very small and weak and defenceless, and she could no longer meet his eyes.

She looked down at her feet, peeking up through her lashes. She felt her face flush when he complimented her dress. He looked almost as though he could be kind, when he wasn't sneering or frowning. "Thank you, sir." She bit her lip. She should be gracious to him, even if she thought his behavior and words were rather... rough. "I am grateful for your protection and concern for my safety, my lord. I only had to step out for a moment to... to collect myself. I'll take my leave now, if it please you."

She curtseyed neatly, and took care not to appear hurried as she returned to the main sanctuary. It wouldn't do to look as though she was fleeing his presence- that would be terribly rude.

She quickly located her uncle, who was conversing with another man. One of his fellow Council members, perhaps? She faltered for a moment, debating whether she should interrupt their conversation. He had sent for her, after all, but she didn't want to be a bother.

Her eyes darted around the room, until she noticed the woman sitting alone- the Viceroy, she believed. Perhaps Lady Estelys would be kind enough to keep her company until Uncle Frederick was free. She would very much have liked to meet the sweet-faced little girl on one of the other benches- she must've been terribly bored, poor thing, and Eleanor had always been fond of children, who were so much easier to talk to than adults- but she was there with her father, and it was much easier and less nerve-wracking to initiate conversation with a woman than with a man.

Eleanor carefully made her way through the crowd, feeling awfully out-of-place and gawkish. The relief she felt at reaching Lady Estelys was perhaps irrational, but she felt more at ease being in the presence of one of her uncle's colleagues. "Pardon me, Lady Estelys?" She said, taking a seat near the woman and keeping her voice low. "I am Eleanor Talaris. I- I think you know my uncle, Frederick? Or- really he's my first cousin, once removed, but it's more comfortable to call him my uncle." She looked down at her hands. "I apologize for bothering you, but my uncle is occupied and... and I'm afraid that I haven't been properly introduced to most people here."

YumenoTsukishiro Penelope Burns

 

[Penelope Burns]

Brianna Estelys, Viceroy of Du-Catal
Brianna needed another drink. The wine she had brought into the building was not to her liking, though it wasn't like she'd been given a choice. It took three different contracts and half a dozen servants to get the wine into the church in the first place. It had been meant for some wedding set to take place between two unknown courtiers in the next week, but this event was far more important, and had the added benefit of being able to drink in sight of the Exalted Cardinal himself. Watching him redden with rage at seeing alcohol under the Church's Holy Roof might be worth the headache and poor taste.

After another moment or two with her thoughts, Brianna heard a girl speak up beside her. At first Brianna was wondering if the girl was some nun or apprentice, but once introductions were made it took everything to keep her eyes from widening. This was the niece of Frederick? She was a child, only a few years older than the king's youngest daughter. This was not the environment meant for the girl, and unlike Alastair's little Kiva Eleanor was open season for the sharks in the capital. A dozen other thoughts went through Brianna's mind - was the girl a spy for Frederick? How aware was she of the power struggle going on in the capital? Was she the one arranging for the councilors deaths? The last thought was merely paranoia, but it didn't hurt to be alert.

Regardless, Brianna might have been given an opportunity - the girl was young, impressionable. Brianna had a chance to influence the girl's line of thinking, keep her aware of who the threats were and who the potential allies were. But first things first, she needed to be taught the rules of their high society. "Don't give anything away too quickly, miss Talaris." Brianna began, referring to Eleanor's lack of knowledge of the people within the building. "Keep everything to your chest. Some may not know who you do and don't know, and the rats within this room will not hesitate to use that knowledge to target you." With that settled, Brianna turned and offered her hand to the girl. "My name is Brianna Estelys, my dear. I'm the Viceroy of the capital here, and the king's former adviser. Are you enjoying your time at the capital?" Brianna kept things formal and precise. The girl very obviously needed to be taught the way of things, otherwise she'd be eaten alive more quickly than a piece of meat in a den of wolves.

The One Called X

 

[Aster]

Ehern Voscale || Duke of Syvel​

Funerals were always a dreary sight--or so the young duke had expected. Based on previous funerals he's attended throughout the short span of twenty-five years, the one constant which remained were melting candles and mahogany coffins. Even in the castle, Ehern could spy that much. The smell of burning wax brought a heavy wave of nostalgia. Funerals were no stranger to the Fydracca family.

In fact, in the past ten years more than a handful of his family members, his father included, had perished under the hand of death. In the past, guilt threatened him to give in and the sight of dead bodies always caused a stir in bile; now he was simply numb with ignorance. Every death which occurred added the invisible death count on his mother's head. He would watch her as she quirked rouge-tinted lips upwards underneath her black-laced veil and silently, chant the Lord's Prayer to himself -- not for his mother's sake but for his.

Like all "important" funerals, Ehern had came dressed and prepped for the occasion. The journey from Syvel was nothing short and throughout his ride there, he was given plenty time to think. By now, he was more than aware that the funeral was nothing as simple as a gathering for one to pay their respects.

No, it was an opportunity and gods knew what could possibly go down.

Luckily for him, his mother had chose to feign illness due to her ailing age, leaving him to attend the funeral on his own. Over-confident in her son's abilities and loyalty, his darling mother had failed to see the cut strings of influence on her beloved puppet. The culprit was her step-daughter; although, no one would know that except Olissa herself. Manipulated by the person he least expect, the young Duke would foolishly continue to believe that he had "woken up" purely on his own.

Upon arriving at the ceremony, neither too late nor too early to rise suspicion, Ehern paid his respects; taking care to inspect the dressed corpse while he still could. A part of him was relieved to see that there was no trace of his mother's doing (faint purple spots on the neck, so small that one could mistake them for an insect rash; Ehern knew better) and yet that relief was quickly replaced with another entirely unpleasant thought: If it wasn't Vidia who murdered the Chancellor, then who did?

 

[Coin]

Laurence of Grenspire​

The audacity of Olivia's comments served only to make Laurence absolutely livid. Certainly there were rumors of his relationship with the countess and if she continued to make such bold remarks in public, it would only take a sharp ear or two to give weight to the gossip. Though he certainly was fuming on the inside, Laurence's demeanor was one of entirely feigned cheerfulness.

"I -..." Syliva began, but was swiftly interrupted by Laurence as he seized her by the hand.

"I try to keep dear Sylvia away from Du-Catal," Laurence said with a chuckle, pulling his wife back to his side as if to keep her away from Olivia's virulence. Laurence was thankful to the Lord that Sylvia was still ignorant of his relationship with the countess, praying that the veil would hold. "I'd wish not for anyone, much less my own wife, to spend as much time as I at Yhark Disan. Politics are such a terrible thing for a woman like her to have to endure."

Syliva gave Laurence a meager scoff and a playful slap on his chest, "Oh please, Laurence, you know full well that you don't bring me along because you don't want to appear vain to the other vassals. See how he mistreats me so, Olivia? I am rather jealous of you, actually, it must be so liberating being so independent."

Laurence could have retched right there from the unsettling bile in his gut. A combination of guilt, anger and shame had him searching for a path to retreat, any means of escape. By the grace of God, Laurence did not have to search far at all as he spotted Matthias, the Exalted Cardinal and his distant cousin, in the courtyard as well.

"A thousand apologies, countess," Laurence squeezed out one more false grin for the sake of his disguise. "You must grant my pardon. I must bid our welcome to his holiness, Matthias. Would you care to stay and chat, Sylvia?"

"Hmm?" Sylvia let out an almost saddened hum after spotting the Exalted Cardinal as well. "Ah, it would be rude for me not to join you. My regrets, Olivia, perhaps you may join us this summer in Grenspire? It would be an honor to host your company in our home."

"Yes, quite," Laurence nodded, praying Olivia and his wife would quickly forget the offer. If Laurence could not suffer through four minutes of idle conversation, he was certain to perish in four weeks of hosting the countess. "Farewell Olivia, God be with you."

After a quick bow, Laurence nearly dragged his wife all the way to the Exalted Cardinal. The last thing he wanted was for her to make idle conversation with any other unsavory characters in attendance.

"Will there be enough sage to burn, Matthias?" Laurence called out from behind the Exalted Cardinal as he and his wife approached. "Hello, cousin. The Lord blesses us with the opportunity to meet again, but I wonder, will there be any sage left to burn in all of Thedosia when it is our turn to be judged by God? Surely you and yours grow weary from the funerals?"
Poe , Penelope Burns

 

[YumenoTsukishiro]

And as soon as it appeared, the spark vanished, replaced by much quivering. What he saw was enough to satisfy Bloodhound for the moment. Lady Eleanor wasn’t entirely a lost cause as she first seemed. Protecting someone proved trickier if the person in need of protection unknowingly invited all sorts of danger towards herself. Perhaps when they were over and done with this dreadful affair he could arrange something with Ophelia, his Vice-Captain, back at Kegel. The woman had expressed interest in the well-being of the young lady, more than the job required. Bloodhound didn’t mind. Even if she ended up disobeying orders, not even Ophelia could stop him if the Lady Eleanor outlived her usefulness to Frederick.


As much as he wanted to follow her into the bowels of the cathedral, he felt more concerned for his well-being. A notable handful of individuals could easily recognize him; the Inquisitor, even more so. He didn’t fancy a heretic’s fate beneath a bloody blade, and the last time he bumped shoulders with Theodore he got a fancy new scar across his right cheek for the trouble. At the same time, he still needed to keep an eye on the Lady Eleanor, if only because Frederick’s coin jingled happily if he did his job right.


So he reached a compromise. With careful steps, he maneuvered towards the back of the cathedral, staying out of sight as much as he could. He found himself a spot well-hidden near a pillar, yet still offering a good view of both Frederick and Eleanor. The older man was conversing with none other than Peter Cowden, the Royal Steward. You couldn’t find two peas in a pod more similar than those two. Probably why they hate each other so much. And Eleanor sat next to Brianna Estelys, talking amongst themselves, with the younger lady still looking like a lost lamb. Bloodhound held the Viceroy in high regard, for there were very few people who wielded the sword of diplomacy as marvelously as she could. He preferred the steel kind, of course, but there was something to respect in a woman of words.


Amusingly enough, he also saw Laurence Vittori of Grenspire looking terribly uncomfortable in the company of his wife, Sylvia, and his mistress, Olivia. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, so they say. Most men would envy such an arrangement, but things became more complicated the higher you get in the political hierarchy. Bloodhound suppressed a smile watching the man forcibly extricate himself from the volatile situation, dragging his unknowing wife along. Despite this moment of humor, he still had to act careful with Laurence around. The Duke wasn’t one to easily forget treasonous criminals in his duchy, and though Bloodhound had discarded his old life and changed himself to live a new one, he had little doubt that given enough time, Laurence would see through his disguise and have him done away with.


He eased into his spot, waiting for someone to start with the grand speeches. In the corner of his vision he saw the Duke Alastair with his bastard daughter, Kiva, sitting on a bench near the altar. Once upon a time, the Duke came to the Red Walkers with an offer to bolster the troops of his duchy in preparation for any invasion from the West. Bloodhound would’ve taken him up on his offer for no other reason than he’d be far away from Grenspire, but Frederick Talaris had faster contacts. Who knows? Maybe Bloodhound could still discuss terms with the man after Frederick was done with him.


The One Called X Coin local cryptid Penelope Burns Poe

 

[Poe]

A smile found Olivia’s lips, the first she managed all morning. Perhaps to the world his façade was stoic, but Olivia knew that look in his eye. Laurence was terribly boring company in the presence of his wife, but there was something behind the man that revealed itself slowly under the pressure of guilt and shame. Deep down, there was a part of Laurence that was a bit cunning and calculating, even if he had no spine to speak of, really. He pulled away Sylvia with a snap, as though Olivia would infect her with doubt, but Olivia held no disdain for the woman. She simply had no interest entertaining a man in front of his wife and she enjoyed watching Laurence squirm under the reality of what he done especially when he attempted to engage in wordplay with her.

“And God be with you,” Oliva muttered under her breath as Laurence dragged his wife off, the smile never leaving her lips. And your barren wife, she hummed in her own mind, but held her tongue. They took their leave and Olivia made her way inside. She saw the wine upon her arrival, but certainly could use a glass and more mentally stimulating company. With Laurence all but forgotten, she retrieved a glass of wine and took a few sips as she surveyed the current company. She recognized a great number of people, both from her travels and through lines of gossip that were easily accessed with a few well-chosen words.

Olivia caught wind of Frederick in the far corner with Peter Cowden, an unfortunate sight indeed. While Olivia had never met Peter in person, she had heard a great deal from Frederick about the man. It was certainly not the most veiled attempt at a serious conversation, but then again Frederick was a strange little man. He worked as the puppeteer to his young niece and spent his time plotting with what he assumed was the utmost precision. If nothing else, he was a reliable source for information in the kingdom. Anything Olivia ever needed to know about anyone was easily accessed through him and she had worked for quite some time to develop an understanding.

They were not allies, but their relationship was certainly symbiotic. They more than benefitted from one another, though Olivia was skilled at giving away just enough to accomplish her means.

“Why gentlemen,” Olivia hummed as she walked towards them, glass in hand, “Might I suggest at such an affair where the cause of death is uncertain, one might be better off remaining out of the shadows of the cathedral. Especially with such stature between you, certainly you do not want to raise suspicion.”

“Frederick,” Olivia regarded him with a smile, “It has been some time. I see you have brought Lady Eleanor this morning, a bold move though I am sure you have meticulously plotted out your reasoning, as always. You will have to formally introduce us. I was tempted to engage her a moment ago, but I am afraid that a funeral must be enough of a fright for one morning.”

“Olivia Marvell,” she turned and introduced herself to Peter, “We have yet to meet eye to eye, but I have heard a great deal about you from Frederick. Whether that is worrisome or not remains to be seen, but one never really knows with Frederick, do they?”

Coin The One Called X Clock​

 

[local cryptid]

Alastair Atwald
​

Kiva's eyes wandered around the room, and she got up on her knees to look at everyone, cupping her hands against the back of the benches and putting her nose and mouth against her hands, as though she was just playing hide and seek. Alastair's cool eyes watched her from the side. While usually he was much more social, he was hesitant to bring Kiva up within striking distance of these people. She was a brilliant child, and would quickly catch any unkind words, no matter how well veiled they were. His eyes narrowed in slight irritation, and he groomed a bit of his hair over his shoulder as he listened to the various conversations, some of them sounded more predatory than others.

"What happened to his face?" Kiva asked, her high pitched voice was easily heard among the other low conversations taking place.

Alastair's shoulders tightened for a second and he shot her a look. Bloodhound was about the last person he wanted to draw attention to. The man could be useful, sure, but there were few things that could redeem a man who made a profit from violence. "It is just a scar." he said quietly, leaning in and hugging her shoulder, "Do not point out things about people's appearances unless they are nice things. You know better."

Kiva looked guilty, and she sank back in her seat, holding her knuckles against her chin. "Should I apologize?"

"Goodness, no. Not to him." Alastair whispered quickly, hugging her again.

"Okay." Kiva got back up on her knees again and looked back, watching the small crowd of people talk. Her eyes fell over to Eleanor and Brianna. "They are pretty." she said, looking over at Alastair for a second to make sure that she had said the correct thing.

That caught Alastair's attention. He turned his gaze over to the two of them, though his expression didn't change much. Eleanor was far too young and Brianna would likely have little tolerance for him. "Most certainly." he agreed. He offered the ladies a brief smile, just in case they were aware of his daughter's ramblings.

YumenoTsukishiro Penelope Burns The One Called X

 

[Penelope Burns]

Matthias Vittori, Exalted Cardinal of Thedosia
Matthias ached. His bones were old and weak, his joints groaned every time he moved, and more often than not he needed to carry a cane with him in order to keep himself consistently steady. He was the oldest noble in Du-Catal, and his age showed. Despite keeping himself somewhat fit with a healthy lifestyle the struggles of age caught up with him. He tried his best to look like a strong, empowering leader of church politics, and often managed to succeed, but eventually he would be forced to reveal himself as a far weaker man than he pretended to be.

For the moment, however, he had a duty. The High Chancellor, a longtime opponent of Matthias' pro-Dusilian beliefs, had finally been killed. Poison was the weapon, of course, as it was one of the greatest weapons anyone with wealth could possess. There was no tracing it, it often required no assistance to use, and it very rarely failed. If de Chalon were more clever he might have fabricated an excuse to leave the capital once two of his fellow councilors were killed, but alas Matthias' longtime foe was not as clever at intrigue as he was at politicking.

Moving on from the deceased, His Holiness focused his attention on the nobles scattered around the room:

- Peter Cowden, an excellent steward but an ambitious and dangerous man. An ally of convenience if necessary, but nothing beyond that. He was of course conspiring with his fellow councilor Talaris

- Lillian Riddle, a woman of good and true faith. A friend to the church through and through. She was speaking to young Francis, a good man who, if Matthias had his way, might one day serve as the Exalted Cardinal.

- Brianna Estelys. Drinking wine like the heretic she was, and looking smug while doing it. They were known enemies, but they agreed that so long as she did not openly act against the Church's laws he would not bring the might of the Inquisition against her.

- Alastair Atwald, a good hearted young man, though he obviously needed to be reminded to respect the Church. To bring his bastard within the walls could be seen as an act of disrespect of Atwald was not known to be a genuine soul.

- Olivia Marvell. Another snake, though Matthias had little reason to care about her. She was invited to this funeral as a courtesy along with many of the counts and countesses of the realm, but only she had the gall to attend. She was barely worth his gaze.

- Frederick Talaris. If Cowden and Estelys had a child he would be it. Talaris had a bit of Estelys' paranoia and much of Cowden's ambition. He was dangerous, but the man was also openly supportive of the Church, and constantly sought the support of Matthias. He was an ally.

- Eleanor Talaris. A child barely old enough to show off to court. She was simple to influence, and Matthias made a mental note to keep her as close to Duchess Riddle as possible.

- Ehern Voscale. Of all the dukes Matthias knew the least of this man. His mother was known for her abilities as a puppetmaster, but she also made secrets impossible to get from their duchy. Matthias made another note to get to know the man, or send a loyal servant his way. Whatever it took to learn about him.

And finally, Matthias' cousin. Laurence Vittori, an overambitious little shit that had no right to share the family name. He was running their mutual home into the ground by increasing his troop count to an absurd degree, and their duchy would eventually go broke. When Laurence began approaching Matthias he steeled himself for whatever snide comment his cousin planned to make.

Once his cousin stopped speaking, Matthias approached his response with swift and casual discipline. "You will call me Your Holiness, Exalted Cardinal, or Priest Matthias." Once that was out of the way, Matthias turned his attention to the bulk of his cousin's statement. "Do you see a problem, Duke Vittori? One sheep or three of His Glory's flock might die, but it is worthwhile if we can prevent the loss of thousands of members of His flock in the process. I say bring the sage forward. I will burn as much as is necessary if it will prevent war."

Coin

(Note, once Coin has responded I will move things forward with his speech. Most of your conversations are likely to be interrupted or ended by this action.

Chordling , Poe , local cryptid , YumenoTsukishiro , The One Called X , Rhakun , Aster , Clock )