Fantasy A Crown Unbefit (Main)

[The One Called X]

Eleanor Talaris

Landholder of the Kegel Freeport​

Eleanor blinked in the face of Viceroy Estelys' admonishment, nodding a little to show that she understood. She shook the woman's proferred hand, though she was slightly confused- handshakes were usually between men, were they not? But it made sense, Eleanor supposed- she was a Council member, after all, so she must've been used to conducting herself in a way that would persuade men to view her in the same light as they did each other. All the same, Eleanor was glad to have met her- she seemed quite nice.

"Oh, yes! The capital is such a lovely city. I only wish it weren't so sad." She sighed a little. "And I'm coming to realize how much there is for me to learn." Her eyes brightened a little, as an idea occurred to her. "I understand you must be terribly busy, my lady, but... well, you are the king's Viceroy, so you must know about governance, and... would it be possible for you to teach me? Uncle Frederick has been so kind to me, but there's so much that must be done in Kegel that between his duties as Magistrate and taking care of the Freeport he hasn't any time to help me learn. He has been running the Freeport nearly all by himself, and I feel awful that I can't help."

Eleanor ducked her head. It was a little embarrassing, to admit how useless she'd been in the past weeks. She looked up at the sound of a child's voice, and caught the eye of the little girl. She smiled a little, and waved.

Penelope Burns local cryptid

 

[The One Called X]

Frederick Talaris

Chief Magistrate of the Realm​

Frederick watched with interest from the corner of his eye as the Duke of Grenspire swept his little wife away from the Countess. Interesting. The snatches of gossip he'd heard and the Duke's seeming reluctance to allow his wife to remain in the Countess' company weren't much, but he did have a hunch about the pair.

As the Countess inserted herself into he and Peter's conversation, Frederick allowed himself a smile. He had no illusions about his relationship to her- they were useful and entertaining to one another- but there was always a certain joy in finding a kindred spirit that one was not actively feuding with.

"Ah, Countess Marvell, direct as always. My colleague and I were just discussing my dear niece, in fact." Frederick paused for a moment. He had no issue with Olivia interacting with the girl- she could do as she liked... so long as she did not attempt to interfere with any of Frederick's plans. Then again, he doubted that she'd be quite that ambitious. And besides... Eleanor was currently talking to Estelys. Frederick was not to worried yet- Eleanor was bored by governance and frightened by talk of the nastier side of politics, and wouldn't be likely to deepen that association. Still, it couldn't hurt to introduce the lure of glamour and womanly fripperies in the form of Olivia, who was far less likely to try to enlighten the poor stupid girl. "I would be delighted to introduce the two of you. The young lady would certainly be happy to have a feminine companion- I am sure she is tired of being talked at by an old man." He shook his head. "And you flatter me, my dear Countess. You know as well as anyone that I am a simple scholar. We can't all take to politics as easily as you do."

Clock Poe

 

[Chordling]

Chordling and Rhakun​

"Just fine," Lillian replied, perhaps too quickly. She forced herself to smile. "I hope your journey was pleasant. Will you be staying for long?"

Francis was slightly taken aback by what seemed to him as tension coming from the duchess, but he decided to withdraw from asking about it: his reasoning being that some liturgical feelings could be a little too personal to inquire and politeness could be hard to pull out in the face of grief; he didn't know much about the relationship between the Riddles and the Chancellor. Maybe, in due time and confidence, some details could come clear to him.

"I'm glad to hear it," ]he added in regards to the first mention, "and I'll be staying at the capital for little less than a week, I believe. Some things need to be addressed before I officially relocate to Mivencross."

"Are you considering possible nominations for our next chancellor?" Was it too soon? Immediately, she felt a wave of regret crash over her. The chancellor had just died for heaven sakes. To think of the next replacement was just sickening, but that was their political responsibility. "I can hardly imagine it will be an easy decision to make."

Francis took a deep breath as if to think the question through.

"All things but easy" Francis said with a soft chuckle upon exhaling. He then darted a glare around as if to make sure nobody but Lillian was around to listen. "If it were my choice, Duke Atwald would be my pick. However, I'd understand if he rejects the position; there's more to lose in time with his daughter than all the renown of the court could repay for. Do you have any favorites of your own, your highness?"

"I'm afraid I have not given it much thought," Lillian admitted. It was more difficult for her, not only because of how recent the death was but merely because she did not know enough about the other provinces. "Although, the Duke of Tyvenna is an agreeable choice," she added after some thought. The Duke's devotion to his daughter made her happy. It reminded her a lot about her relationship with her own father. Sometimes, it even made her jealous, but she knew she could not hold a grudge against a young child she didn't even know. That would simply be unfair.

From the corner of her eye, Lillian spotted her sister moving towards them. Tears seemed to be moving down her cheeks and it appeared that she was doing her best to stifle her cries.

"Forgive me, your holiness," Lillian bowed before departing to comfort her sister. "It was a pleasure to converse with you."

Francis felt endeared at Lillian's motive for leaving. He let his arm relax a bit and gave a quick nod at her agreement of Atwald; he was more familiarized with the powers of the capital, but most, he considered, were either too busy or too dangerous to have the charge with Dusilia's temper out of the frontiers and and air of regicide within them.

She's a good sister, he thought: Reminiscing a bit of Elizabeth.

"Until we meet again." He said, gesturing departure with a bow of his own "if you consider it fit, tell Lady Meredith that I think she has been very brave; she faced today what many who are older often choose to avoid."

It was a few moments later that he heard through the echoes about the Cardinal's arrival. Almost reactively, he headed back to the vestry to prepare for the procession without turning back.

 

[Poe]

“And you always know how to flatter a woman, Frederick,” Oliva smirked as he regarded her. Now this was far more her speed. There was little interest to be taken in grief, but she knew that even in situations such as these, Frederick was always scheming, always working through some theory in his mind. He was a dreadfully unattractive little man and Olivia knew better than to show allegiance in any way to anyone, but he rightfully regarded her as an equal. Even Laurence did not see the use in her unless he was gazing up at her entangled in sheets.

Her father had once told her that she possessed a sharper tongue and a quicker mind than most men and he used to enjoy watching her engage with those who traveled to Cadrif for summers along the shores. It was the one thing he had begged her not to lose in his absence and she had clung to it like a second skin. It was all she had in this world, as her residence was filled with very little in the way of companions or family. “Of course,” she smiled on the topic of Eleanor, “most women are bored by the aspect of conversing with men, let alone old men.”

No, she would not work against Frederick for the sake of a young woman she held no relationship with; however, Olivia was not one to deny a possible connection. Someday, it could benefit her, and that was how Olivia lived her life –one moment at a time, gathering what she could for when she needed it. For what exactly? She did not know, but there was much to come on the horizon. She held no real ambition of her own, but the aspect of the game enticed her. There were secrets afoot, doubts spreading, and Olivia wanted nothing more than to know what she could. But, she was more inclined to get information from Laurence later, than Frederick now.

Surely, the man would not show his hand so close to the situation.

“And we both know that you are a simple scholar, just as I am a countess. What terribly boring lives we lead,” Olivia sighed, sipping her wine contently, “I was interested to see your niece’s current company. Estelys is a brilliant woman, and judging by our relationship I was certain such a woman of her intelligence and tact would be quite the intimidation.”

“Though what do I know,” Oliva smiled and took another sip of her wine, “I am but a simple countess. I am sure the Exalted Cardinal would agree in the gall of my even being here.”

Tag: The One Called X Mention: Coin Penelope Burns​

 

[Clock]

Peter Cowden, King's Steward​

The Countess of Cadrif may have saved Talaris from Peter's barbs, but she also saved him the trouble of having to endure his more dire companion's lectures on Lady Eleanor's path in life. It helped that Olivia Marvell was splendidly easy on the eyes -- he had assumed the uproar about her divine beauty was exaggeration induced by far too much drink. While he could not compare her beauty to a heathen goddess, there was something about her severe blue eyes that he found attractive. But, he was surprised to notice, that beneath the golden waves of hair and self-assured demeanour, the Countess was very much a... child.

"No doubt Talaris has told you a many great tales about our enduring friendship. My lady, you will not find a more solid bond in this entire world, the heavens, and perhaps even hell." Peter spoke sincerely, but his words were undoubtedly a caricature. He smiled, too, a rare sight that took years (he was only twenty-eight but conniving and plotting hastened the aging process) off his face. Talaris and the Countess started to converse and Peter was satisfied remaining on the sidelines. He preferred listening to speaking, anyways.

It gave him time to think. The Countess of Cadrif. An interesting woman, at least one of the few he knew to speak that much. Many noblewomen were content to let their husbands do the verbal exchanges. She had no husband. It would only be matter of time before men began brandishing steel in the noble fight for her hand. Peter frowned, a thousand wild thoughts turning in his mind. A brazenly beautiful woman in the capital, with both men and coin at her will, and yet lacking in the desire to find a husband. What is your ploy, Countess? Surely, you are not at the capital to keep old man Talaris company.

Or maybe she was. He had no idea where her inclinations lay.

The One Called X Poe

 

[Penelope Burns]

Brianna Estelys, Viceroy of Du-Catal
Brianna had to catch herself for a moment, when Eleanor asked her question. It was so blunt, she was so utterly trusting of a complete stranger. Brianna felt flattered, but also a bit nostalgic. She remembered being just like Eleanor, so young and eager to think the best of people. Breaking that part of her was probably going to be the most depressing part of mentoring her. But it opened up dozens of opportunities and, Brianna admitted to herself, it felt good, keeping Eleanor safe from the clutches of her uncle and Peter.

"One moment, dear." Brianna said to Eleanor, and called for one of her servants. When she was finished speaking to the serving girl, Brianna sent her on her way and returned to her conversation with Eleanor. "If you remember what I said to you a moment ago, you would know that your question ignores that. I need a student who can follow simple instructions, and you don't seem to fit that-" Before Brianna could complete her thoughts, she was interrupted by a small girl speaking slightly above the volume of the crowd. When she saw the girl and Alastair, she offered them a smile, and waved them over. "We will continue this discussion at another time, Eleanor." Brianna said as she turned to greet Kiva and Alastair. "Hello Alastair, and hello Kiva! I wish we could be meeting again under better circumstances."

A few moments later, as greetings are exchanged, Eleanor would watch a servant fall into her, and slip something in her hand as he righted himself. "'Pologies, milady," he offers Eleanor a bow before scurrying off.

The One Called X local cryptid

 

[The One Called X]

Eleanor Talaris

Landholder of the Kegel Freeport​

Eleanor bit her lip hard, looking down at her folded hands. Lady Estelys' dismissal stung. She understood the need for some caution, but she had assumed that she could be forgiven for trusting a friend and colleague of Uncle Frederick. She was aware that she had been asking for quite a lot, but it was still a little hurtful. Uncle Frederick, on the few occasions that he grew frustrated with her, said similar things, and so she was awfully self-conscious about the fact that she wasn't terribly smart, not about things that mattered. She knew about history, and music, and dancing, and needlework. Things that everyone thought were frivolous and useless. She wasn't any good at politics.

She stood up when the Viceroy called out to the man and the little girl, swallowing around the sudden tightness in her throat, when a servant stumbled into her. "Oh!" She gasped, reaching out automatically to steady the boy. He took her hand, pressing a slip of paper into it. "It's- it's quite all right," she said, as he hurried off. She frowned, confused. What had he given her? Why not simply deliver it as normal?

Her back was turned to the Viceroy and the two she was now greeting. Eleanor, keeping the note out of sight, unfolded it just enough to read the name at the bottom. Her eyes widened a little- it was from Lady Estelys! How strange. She paused for a split second, uncertain, before tucking the note into her bodice and rejoining the group, trying not to behave as though anything out of the ordinary had occurred. She curtseyed to the man- a Duke, she thought. "Hello, my lord." She smiled at the little girl. "My lady. I am Eleanor Talaris, of the Freeport of Kegel. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

Inside, her thoughts were racing. A secret note! How exciting! Perhaps Lady Estelys didn't think she was entirely hopeless, after all.

Penelope Burns local cryptid

 

[local cryptid]

Alastair Atwald​

Kiva looked behind her when Eleanor waved too her, looking around for whoever it was the young lady was waving at. Experience told her she couldn't possibly have been acknowledged when Alastair wasn't introducing her to someone.

Seeing his daughter's confusion was more disheartening than the funeral itself. Yet there was little he was willing to do to remedy this for her. "She is waving at you." he decided to say.

Kiva's eyes widened and she stared back up at him, grabbing his sleeve. Alastair pried her fingers off the fine fabric and set her hands in her lap. "Well, do not look at me. Wave back."

She quickly, though somewhat awkwardly waved back at Eleanor, both apologetic and excited. She became even more nervous when she realized the two women had come to speak with them. Alastair smiled gracefully and stood up, and drew Kiva to her feet as well to greet them. Her head kept turning between the women and her father. She clung to his hand. "Lady Estelys, I could not agree more. This is all quite tragic, and I know I have been rather distant lately."

He turned to Eleanor and smiled, appearing warm despite his cold eyes. It was a little odd to see a woman so tall, especially one that seemed to be pretty young. However, he was still likely the tallest one in the room. "Lady Talaris," he repeated, respectfully dipping his head to her, "I am Alastair Atwald, Duke of Tyvenna. The pleasure is mine. This is my... rather excitable daughter, Kiva."

Kiva curtseyed politely, and pressed her lips into a flat line, not sure what was appropriate for her to say now that they were here. Her leg bounced nervously.

Penelope Burns The One Called X

​

 

[The One Called X]

Frederick Talaris

Chief Magistrate of the Realm​

"My dear Lady Marvell, I for one am immensely grateful for your presence, regardless of His Holiness' thoughts. You are, as always, a bright spot in these sad times." The words were true- even if the Countess was more a relief from boredom than a distraction from sadness. Frederick supposed that he could have put more effort into reading the room, but frankly there was not much to read. Everyone there was either genuinely bereaved, or putting in an appearance for propriety's sake. Funerals were not, generally speaking, very conducive to forming alliances or gathering information- it was understood by most that conversation was to be limited to small talk and expressions of regret and condolence, out of respect for the dead.

"As for young Lady Eleanor, I doubt she knows what to expect from our esteemed Viceroy. She is rather lost when it comes to the court- she has spent all her life stashed away in Kegel. A shame, truly, that she hasn't had the opportunity to associate with others of her station until now. I can only hope that, without the baggage of previous generations of conflict, the bonds between the Freeport and Thedosia can be healed from the rash actions of my late cousin." Frederick sighed regretfully, shaking his head. "Although, as far as women of tact and intelligence go, I doubt that you, Countess, would be any less intimidating."

Frederick took a moment to eye Peter, who had stayed mainly on the sideline after his glowing description of their... friendship. He was watching Olivia now, with an air of absolute fascination. Frederick wanted to laugh. It was a sight to behold, the effect that the Countess of Cadrif had upon men. She was a beautiful woman, no doubt; but many women were beautiful. Eleanor, for one, was a comely girl- one could even argue that she rivaled Olivia in looks. She was the sort of maiden whose hand knights fought for in songs- lovely, kind, and innocent. But in the real world, there could be no competition between the two- Olivia had a woman's allure, a self-knowledge and intelligence, a way of making most men feel lost and off-kilter and desperate for her approval- the same face on a lesser woman would never have been so remarkable.

And that made this an opportunity. Peter's nascent interest in Eleanor would surely be eclipsed if he were distracted by Olivia- or, at the very least, said distraction would allow Frederick to run interference and figure out exactly what Peter wanted with young Lady Talaris. "At least, it would seem that Peter thinks so." he said, the words clearly directed at the Steward, keeping his tone light and teasing with a fatherly warmth to it. "Or perhaps he is simply too struck by your beauty to engage your wit?" He caught the Countess's eye again, hoping that she'd catch the request hidden in his next words. "Maybe now he shall pester me about you instead of about my niece."

Clock Poe

 

[Aster]

Ehern Voscale & Olissa Voscale
​

Dark maroon skirts swept across the smooth tiled halls of the church, silent save for the quiet tapping of a lady's heels. Head held high, pale cerulean eyes swept across the hall, scanning those who were familiar. When eyes met, a polite smile was shared and should the opportunity present itself, the maiden opened herself to conversation, filling in on the latest gossip and insights shared on the third funeral that month. Like many, murder was a high possibility on the ravenhead's mind. With practiced surprised and feigned ignorance, the would-be duchess tiptoed herself around the dangerous topic, collecting information as she went.

By the time she reached the center of the church where more of the notable figures stood, the sun was already high in the sky. Surprise caught her when she met eyes with her brother. The man stood out, tall but out of place in the mingling groups. A furrowed crease tainted the center of his forehead - a permanent wrinkle if the man persists in his handsome brooding. Remaining silent upon her descent, she surprised him in mischief. His reaction was less than satisfaction; save for the raise in brow, there was almost no reaction at all.

"What are you doing here?"

Olissa frowned. "How nice it is to see you too," she corrected, reproach unabsent. One could not blame Ehern for his surprise. Olissa rarely attended funerals. They were dreary events and its lack of glamor and fun did nothing to lure the pleasure-seeking babe out. Unlike her, Ehern failed to see the point in capital intrigue. He had a duchy to govern and that was enough on his hands as it is.

"Right..." he cleared his throat, glancing around the hall before addressing his half-sister in a lower voice. "Don't take me wrongly, Olissa. I'm just surprised mother let you out." His explanation was justified and the drop in volume, wise. Few knew of Olissa's birthright. The truth of her origins was long buried underneath the rumors of being a bastard, a child simply picked up by the previous Duke out of pity and goodwill.

"She doesn't know. Her grip has lessened tremendously since last winter. Something good must've happened," Olissa answered, opening her fan with a flick of her wrist. She fanned herself lightly, keeping the accessory near her mouth. Blue eyes flashed in warning, "Or something bad. She cares little about me. It is yourself you should be worrying about."

She sighed before looking away, pale optics meeting one of the members of King's Court. Peter Cowden, if she remembered correctly. He seemed to be conversing a few other individuals of high standing, some which caught her interest more than others. "You should make the most of things, Ehern. You see those nice ladies standing over there?" A snap of her wrist closed her folding fan. It tilted momentarily at Eleanor and the others around her. "That's Eleanor Talaris. You remember her from last summer don't you? And the man besides her? Alastair Atwald from Tyvenna. Find out who's the child he brought with her. Invite her over to tea if you find it fitting."

A slender hand tapped the tall Duke's chest, pushing him gently towards the crowd's direction. "I'll see you then," she smiled sweetly, before leaving to politely greet Peter and the two at his side. Federick Talaris and Olivia Marvell were both active players in the kingdom's game of politics. Sending Ehern to talk to them would be leading a dog to a pack of wolves.

She made a mental reminder to herself to keep him an arms length away from them, albeit what she was doing would only draw them nearer.

"My lords, Countess Marvell," Olissa greeted, giving a short curtsy in greeting--one neither too low to denote her status nor high to show disrespect. "Surely you three do more than grieve our loss together. It is not often to see everyone gathered like this," she commented, easing herself into an introduction. "Forgive me for my rudeness. I am Olissa from House Fydracca."

Mentions: local cryptid Penelope Burns The One Called X
Interactions: Clock Poe The One Called X ​

 

[Jabroni]

Orwen Crawleigh
Duke of Gesir

He found his eyes wandering toward the Cathedral's apse. The foundation is strong, he reflected. These were smooth, evenly concentrated blocks which would take the backs of four men to bear. Quality stone such as this was rarely unearthed in the crownlands and had to be imported. "There is no greater success than excess," his father used to say. Undoubtedly, the Church must have spent a fortune in tithes to produce this building marvel. Back in Thedosia's hayday: when one man ruled an empire and the Lord's Faith knew no boundaries.

Orwen redirected his gaze back to the casket. He, his wife and three sons knelt before the altar, blessing themselves. They all wore conservative colors, the principle of which was black. Orwen's garb consisted of a long charcoal robe over a violet doublet. His sleeves and collar were embroidered in Gesir's house flower. Nightshade. What business did a flower have in a place like that? Nothing grew there. It was an infertile, rocky darkness. Some hardly ever saw the light of day let alone bask in the sun's rays. "Some" referring to miners, captives from Gromsvanir and other unfortunate souls. Whoever placated that cursed symbol knew very well what he was doing. A practical joke, perhaps. More likely it stood as testament to man's very nature to consume. Nothing grew there. It was simply extracted.

With that in mind, Orwen suddenly found himself in a state of unease. He could feel eyes on him around the procession. Could any less be expected? He made the perfect suspect for this heinous crime. Ever since that nasty business on the Twine, he'd received visits from no less than six court investigators and justices. "A hunting accident", they called it. Everyone knew that was complete flummery, and those more discrete simply chose not to discuss it for the nonce. For that, he was grateful.

Orwen ushered his family to their feet and led them toward the front pews. There were some familiar faces among those in attendance. Duke Alastair with his thick mane sat patiently beside a frail little girl. How old was she again? There was something a bit off there. He remembered some talk about trouble with the succession, but talk was cheap. Information cost quite a deal more, and in this case it wasn't really worth investing. Alastair made for a capable foreign minister, a small caveat most well-to-doers never gave him credit for. Aside from de Chalon, he was the reason Gesir's worries with Dusilia were all but none.

The current Viceroy and young Lady Eleanor were positioned just behind them, and off to the side a small pocket had formed. If he hadn't strained to look through the dimness, he would never have made out the Chief Magistrate. The others were obscured from their backs, but he instinctively knew the exquisite blonde was no other than the Countess of Cadrif. A figure like that could never be mistaken.

Orwen chose not to strike up conversation just now. His family was already seated, and he wasn't particularly one to mull around and politick. Furthermore, the Exalted Cardinal had taken the floor, which typically meant a long-winded liturgy was about to take place. Oddly enough, he found these to be tolerable if not mildly inducing. Perhaps it was the student within, always eager to absorb a lecture.​

 

[Poe]

“Yes, a shame truly,” Olivia remarked with a bit of a smirk, “A funeral seems ideal for societal association, does it not?”

Frederick’s intentions were his own and Olivia knew better than to misconstrue those intentions. Whatever his plan, she cared little, but it simply seemed interesting to her that he would allow the girl to make her debut at the funeral of the late Chancellor. “You speak so highly of me,” she remarked and took a sip of her wine, “Do be careful how high you build expectation, would you? I am afraid shortly I shall not have the height to reach them.”

Frederick quickly moved the conversation to the topic of Peter Cowden whose gaze Olivia had noted quite some time ago. She glanced to him now, his eyes gleaming with intensity though his façade was relaxed and almost pleasant given the situation. She did not miss Frederick’s comment, either, and his intention for her to distract the steward. It did not take much thought for Olivia to determine that his request would not be met so easily. The man had a hard face, lines aged though he could not have possibly hit thirty years, but there was a pleasant curl to his smile and a youth in his eyes despite the intimidating gaze. No, Peter Cowden was not the kind of man to be easily manipulated and seduced. Not that Olivia was in the business of seduction, it just seemed to be an occupational hazard of sorts.

Men like Peter Cowden were three steps ahead of men like Frederick, and the poor old fool did not even realize.

“Certainly not too struck,” Olivia said finally, her blue eyes finding Peter’s as she spoke openly to Frederick, “I do find that it is often the men of less intelligence who rather recklessly engage in wit. The most engaging company are the men who take a moment to listen. Words are quite useless if one cannot properly hear them.”

There was a moment of silence between them, Olivia’s eyes still on Peter, before the tension was cut by the introduction of a new voice. Oliva turned to see a young woman, beautiful and slender, step into their conversation with a polite bow and presumptuous thoughts. Her words reminded Olivia of her first engagement with society, but the woman seemed to illustrate Olivia’s point perfectly. “I would tread carefully, darling, insinuation does nothing but reveal naïveté.”

Olivia’s words were curt, but an honest lesson was to be taken from them. What her intentions were, Olivia did not know, but surely the girl had more sense than to throw herself in the lion’s den without a more tactful way to engage. There were too many unanswered questions to speak so boldly. It did remind Olivia, however, of the image of the three conversing. Perhaps it was time to step aside and engage otherwise, though she was entirely certain there was very little in this church in the way of engaging conversation.

“It has been a pleasure, if not entirely too short, Olissa,” Olivia said finally, taking a sip of the last of her wine, “My lords, I must take my leave, I do hope we might speak later when the air is lighter. I look forward to it. You as well, Olissa.”

Olivia offered a lovely smile before she turned and stepped back out into the openness of the church.

Tag: The One Called X Clock Aster​

 

[Grey]

Lord Inquisitor Theodore Syvel
​

Respect being due, Theodore had not mingled nor moved thus far, and neither would he until the rites were concluded. Appearances must be maintained - and he was content to watch, for the moment, the insipid orbits of his erstwhile peers. That any would show their hand was ridiculous, but he had no doubt the murderer was here draped in finery and pomp. Did his robes of office worry them? Would guilt betray any of them?
The necessary evidence is rarely in short supply to bring damned souls under his jurisdiction.
It chafed to be confined here when he'd sooner be searching the deceased's chambers, but his agents were abroad in the city and while the rumouring made finding good informants nigh impossible, he was confident something useful would turn up.

As Bishop Locksley found, shortly before the flames consumed him, sometimes all it took was a stablehand in the right place at the wrong time.

​

 

[Clock]

Peter Cowden, King's Steward​

The steward almost snorted at Talaris's blatant attempt at diverting Peter's attention from his theatrical niece to the Countess. Talaris had many admirable qualities bestowed on him by the gods themselves -- God, Peter corrected himself lest he be labelled a pagan, among other defamations -- but subtlety was not one of them. The Countess seemed to revel in the old man's wit -- or lack of. But, when she addressed Peter with that silver tongue of hers, he met her gaze without flinching.

"Can I truly be blamed, Talaris," he said, patting the man's shoulder in a way fashioned to annoy him the most, "For losing my tongue in the Lady Marvell's presence? I very much doubt I am the first man and I will surely not be the last. Not when our species continue to think with our..." Peter trailed off, realizing suddenly that the conversation was veering towards the taboo. This was a funeral and matters of the libido were simply out of place. The Chancellor would not be pleased, but he was dead now, and a dead man's words held no weight. Besides, he had vowed to never hastily pursue a woman born with a silver spoon on her tongue. He had been taught that lesson at only sixteen, as a blacksmith's apprentice caught in bed with a lowly noble's daughter. As his luck would have it, her brother (who Peter was convinced was the ugly bastard of a giantess) would be the one to kick down the door. Peter's eyes were shut tight for a week after that.

But, he mused drily, it had been worth it.

Peter was still transfixed on Olivia when Olissa joined the odd group. The spell was broken and he could not say he was entirely displeased. The pagan heroes were always led astray by fair maidens. Their stories ended in tragedies, broken hearts and lost loves. His would not.

He nodded a farewell to the Countess and turned to Olissa with a graceful smile and a practised bow, "Lady Voscale, it is too bad we meet on such a solemn occasion. The Countess is taking her leave, and I would not blame you for wanting to part, as well, but perhaps I could convince you to join our company? I cannot say if Talaris will stay -- the man is in such high demand, being the King's Magistrate," Peter waved his hand dismissively. This was Talaris's signal to dismiss himself. Peter made the point clear with a slight pat on his esteemed friend's shoulder. Twice in one day; no doubt Talaris would spit in his food for the disrespect!

But, there was little even Peter himself could do when he found an interesting man or woman. Like a leech, he would attach himself and suck their soul dry and void of all useful information. And the Lady Voscale was a particularly tempting host -- along with her heir of a brother. She was of his age too, but from a different world altogether. Syvel was being run by a boy king and when it would inevitably fall, she would have the best seat in the house.

Hmmm, Peter thought to himself, I should go into the business of prophecy.

The One Called X Poe Aster

 

[Coin]

Laurence of Grenspire​

Dear Matthias and Laurence never saw eye to eye, even if the two were of the same blood. Publicly they respected each other as Thedosian elite, but even so, just barely. Matthias saw Laurence as overambitious, Laurence saw himself as opportunistic. Laurence saw Matthias as no more than a gilded mouthpiece, and frankly, Laurence had no idea what his cousin thought of himself as. Laurence needed no mortal idol of God to worship when the Lord's favor shone so brightly on Grenspire and the Vittori house.

Their subtle antagonistic relationship never was the cause for physical ire, but Laurence couldn't help but smirk at the response he managed to egg out of the Exalted Cardinal.

"My, your holiness," Laurence began. "Those are rather bold words from the holiest of God's elect."

"Please don't," Sylvia whined, squeezing his arm gently, "Laurence."

Laurence placed a firm hand over his wife's grip and continued, "What happens to our blessed Flock when all the shepards are dead? Heaven forbid that you and I were to perish -- but what will become of Thedosia when we that are chosen to lead the Lord's people are no more? Surely you do not expect a mere lamb to rise to the shepard's mantle, Father."

Thedosia was being strangled. The Gromsvanir pull the noose from one end, and Dusillia prepares to drop the very floor beneath. Laurence would not simply stand idle, waiting until it was his corpse in the coffin. When the Grom tread his mangy boots in the streets of Grenspire, it would spell the end of Laurence, but when the golden spurs of Dusillian knights clack along the streets of Du-Catal, Thedosia would be no more. To let Thedosia fall because of frivolous politics, to spurn God's own kingdom, Laurence would not allow. War was to be answered with war, not the burning of sage.

"The King is in not in wellness to summon a commander and the regency thins by the passing days," Laurence lowered his voice, eyes drifting to the late chancellor's casket. "You can call for crusade, Your Holiness, and I can protect our people, our Flock. You and I both know that it is only a matter of time until the burning of sage will end and the drawing of swords will begin. I know when the time comes, you will not make the wrong choice and let our enemies strike the first blow."

Laurence's demeanor was unchanging, stalwart and confident as he loosened his hand over his wife's. A distant grin even pulled at the corner of his lips as they mulled in momentary silence, "I shall not delay your duties any longer, Father. The dead await to rest. Come, Sylvia, let us find our seats."

"Yes, husband," Sylvia whispered.
Penelope Burns

 

[Penelope Burns]

Exalted Cardinal Matthias Vittori
Matthias raised an eyebrow at his nephew's outburst. Did the boy truly believe Matthias cared so much about things like blood? Had Laurence forgotten where Matthias had been raised, or how his branch of the family had been strangled until they could no longer afford their meager barony? As far as Matthias was concerned, his only ties to nobility were through Laurence, a man who was either homosexual or sterile. Once Laurence got himself killed Matthias would be the last influential member of their family, perhaps forever.

"I speak bold words because I am an honest man, Laurence. And honest men need not fear reprisals from speaking the Lord's Truth. The next Exalted Cardinal may not be one of noble blood. You, Duke Vittori, should be well aware of the precedence set there. Saints Josephine and Nikolas are both long beloved and well remembered defenders of the Faith, yet they came into this world penniless and destitute." Once his rebuttal had been offered, Matthias offered a respectful nod to his nephew and Lady Sylvia, before preparing for his primary duty of the day.

As the conversations around the room died, Matthias made his way to the podium overlooking the church. He felt weak as he climbed the steps, relying far too much on his cane for his own good. Unfortunately he was not in a position to overlook the crowd and determine who recognized his weakness, but he knew the more perceptive snakes of the bunch wouldn't overlook it. Once he reached his position several steps above the rest of the church he watched the latest arrivals hurriedly take their seats, barely keeping down his scowl as they hastily made their way through the room.

After the last arrival took her seat, Matthias opened the Word of the Lord to the eighteenth verse of the fourth chapter of the book of Saint Lucien. He cleared his throat as loudly as his body would allow, and began. "Today we have gathered from a variety of professions and social classes to commit to memory the life of a powerful figure in Thedosian life. Renaud de Chalon, longtime Chancellor to the king and loyal servant of our glorious country, has passed in his sleep. He leaves behind a mountainous legacy as a peacekeeper both domestically and in foreign matters, with decades of experience as the king's primary diplomatic representative. Renaud was a titan in his position, and will be an enormous challenge to replace."

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Matthias looked into his book, and continued. "As Saint Lucien the Gatekeeper tells us, 'We the righteous need not fear death, for we have an eternity to look towards within the Holy Kingdom of the Lord.'. And he speaks the Truth of the Lord. I have heard dark whispers in the cathedral, fearing that the chancellor's death was an act of murder. In truth any righteous believer of the Lord's word has no need to fear death. We, the Chosen to lead our flocks, must be courageous and resolute in these dark times, and not allow ourselves to be consumed by panic and terror. This act is merely the next in a long line of terrible tragedies for the Kingdom of Thedosia, and we must look beyond the immediate and focus on the future of our Good and Holy Kingdom. Thedosia needs our strong and faithful leadership to guide this troubled land out of the darkness, and into His light." Matthias drew his gaze across the crowd, attempting to gauge interest, only to stop at Brianna. The woman was grinning as if she'd won some battle, and that look was all it took to distract him from the remainder of the nobility.

By the time he'd realized he was only staring at Brianna, Exalted Cardinal Matthias took a breath and pretended the pause was on purpose. After that, he continued. "We here in these halls have come to pay our respects to a fallen friend, ally, and leader of Thedosian politics. Renaud de Chalon will not soon be forgotten by those of us in this room, and he has been honored with a place in the Royal Garden for his efforts towards protecting Thedosia. May he rest in peace, and may whoever follows be just as quick witted, inspiring, and loyal. In the Name of the Lord, amen."

Once his speech was finished, Matthias slowly made his way down the steps, towards his makeshift office. He had no intention of stopping to greet anyone, not even his most loyal followers.

Coin
Chordling
Poe
The One Called X
Aster
Clock
Grey
Jabroni
local cryptid
Rhakun
YumenoTsukishiro

 

[Rhakun]

As the Exalted Cardinal spoke, the clergy remained in a respectful, listening silence. It was in the opinion of many priests that Vittori's advanced age might start becoming a problem for his position, but he was nevertheless well respected and cherished by most members of the church; his trajectory was one held in value. However, seeing him come down the stairs brought a hint of decadency to the Francis' eyes alongside a deep sorrow for the old man. Hinting at the head director from one of the choir's seats, the bishop suggested with cross signals that the singing started. It would be most dignifying for Matthias, he judged, than to have everyone stare in silence as he climbed down the sanctuary.

It was so that the music resumed and, little by little, the procession began. The casket was surrounded by four men who held it up and, once the march's head was ready and the regalia decorated the front, the movement out of the cathedral took place. Franics took the slow formation of the line as a chance to observe the naves a second time: Many seemed glad to go, others were still deep in sorrow and, asides from the people who were clearly there because of a reluctant sense of compromise, most emotions ranged along everything in between. He took a deep breath as he spotted a couple of lowkey nobles tumbling wine across the aisles' rugs, repeating to his nerves some words of the Prophet:

"Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."​

Francis couldn't spot Lillian or Meredith in the crowd, but Brianna's hair was always easy to catch. He saw her talking to Atwald and his daughter; the young girl seemed everything but relaxed in the presence of the Viceroy, but it was nevertheless an adorable picture to Francis' judgement. Not too far from her, a young woman whose identity he was ignorant of seemed noticeably excited at the holding of a small piece of paper. If she had been trying to be discreet with it, said effort was barely noticeable. He locked his gaze on her for a minute with playful curiosity, interrupting it only after sending a wink her way when he thought their stares crossed.

If anything, he thought, it would divert her anxiety and keep whatever was in that note private.

The walk outside was relatively quick, but the doors to the depths were always slow to open. Francis kept reflecting on the possibility of murder and, if for his own curiosity, the thought of clearing things up for the sake of common knowledge seemed like a worthy cause. A more professional opinion whithin the discipline of medicine and care might serve his construction of an hypothesis, so he made his mind about calling one of the important faces of Du-Catal to his aid.

"Holy knight," he said to an episcopal guard that was standing by the portal, placing his right hand on the man's chestplate "I must request you with bringing one man to my presence: the King's Steward... Cowden, I believe. The church must parlay with a kingsman before the Chancellor is laid to rest. Ask him to meet me; the sooner the better, but if not this evening, another day will suit."

"Peter Cowden, your holiness? It is noted." He said. Time later, the man marched into the inside of the cathedral until he spotted the Steward and approached him from one side.

"Your excellency, sir." The guard said, unsure how to approach the hub of nobles in a casual matter, but firm and dignified nevertheless. "Bishop Jaggers requests to meet you on behalf of the church. If it is to your commodity, you'd be needed either this evening, or another one to come. It is --" he paused, the sudden catch of well-known Frederick made him doubtful to disclose a lot of information, but he considered that stopping at this point could be considered impolite. "regarding the Chancellor."

The One Called X | Clock | Aster

 

[Chordling]

Lillian Riddle
Duchess of Mivencross​

Meredith's tears silently rolled onto Lillian's shoulder as they stood before the chancellor's deathbed for one last moment. It was hard for her to imagine how anyone could think that a man who looked so relaxed and peaceful could have been murdered.

Their moment had come to an end when Lillian spotted the exalted cardinal and others making their way towards the podium. Lillian and Meredith found seats towards the back of the crowd. She could spot the bishop just a short distance away. The exalted cardinal began to speak, and Lilian's sorrowful gaze focused towards him. His praising words only reminded Lillian of how truly sad she felt about the chancellor's passing. It seemed odd to feel so strongly for someone she barely knew, but perhaps the all of the combined sadnesses from the previous deaths were finally catching up to her.

'We the righteous need not fear death, for we have an eternity to look towards within the Holy Kingdom of the Lord.' she silently mouthed. Word of the Lord. Verse 18. Chapter four from the book of Saint Lucien. Lillian had it memorized from a very young age. An encouraging set of words for Thedosia's most recent events. As he continued, the cardinal's at least revealed new motives for Lillian. Lillian still did not like to believe that the chancellor's death was an act of murder, no matter what the rumors said, they would not convince her. She wouldn't be surprised, however, if did try to murder for hierarchy, now that the chancellor was gone. When she had been coronated as Duchess, it was her promise to God that she would do whatever she had to do to carry out his will to the people of her nation. Protecting the crown from sinful hands was part of that promise, and in quiet prayer, Lillian swore that she would do whatever it took to see that through.

Lillian had wished to praise the exalted cardinal for his kind words about the chancellor, but he had quickly slipped away from the podium, and out of sight. Then, from the corner of her eye, the duchess had spotted the king's advisor, Brianna Estelys. From what she could recall, they had never formally met before. Upon seeing her, there were matters that Lillian had remembered she wanted to discuss with the advisor. They did not deal so much about the king himself, however, she found them equally pressing. With swift, soft steps, Lillian approached.

"Lady Estelys," she bowed. "Would you be so kind to meet me in the capital tomorrow? There is a business matter that I would like to propose."

Penelope Burns

 

[YumenoTsukishiro]

Red Hound Walking
---------------------------------

A hush settled on the Cathedral as Matthias Vittori, the Exalted Cardinal himself, stepped up to the podium to deliver his comforting words to a grieving crowd. There was an imposing greatness in Matthias, though as with everyone old age had weathered it down like a tireless river erodes a rock. Bloodhound saw it in the way Matthias depended on his cane to walk straight. Once he would’ve held himself with the highest show of respect for the Cardinal. Matthias had played a role in shaping him up to become a truly good priest. Now he only felt pity, and no small amount of contempt.

It proceeded almost exactly as Bloodhound expected it, especially the Cardinal’s reference to the Holy Word, Saint Lucien chapter four, verse eighteen. Lord knows the tens of times he uttered that verse to the dying victims of the rebellion that swept the Duchy of Grenspire like a consuming flame. Bloodhound could remember the hope it sparked behind the darkened eyes of the people, could feel it drawing forth the same hope within him, only to be blown away by the wind of their last breaths.

Things became interesting when Matthias himself made mention of murder. That had been on the lips of many a noble and mercenary ever since the news started spreading amongst the four winds. Bloodhound himself paid no heed to the rumors. All that mattered to him were the potential business opportunities the Chancellor’s death presented. Now, he found himself considering the likely players in this murderous tale. Peter Cowden and Frederick Talaris were the obvious suspects, given their penchant for slippery politicking. Brianna Estelys had the face of an honorable Viceroy, but then many people could appear innocent until the last moment. And then there was Olivia. She’d been in bed with several key figures in Thedosian politics. Perhaps she had arranged something as a play for power? Or maybe Laurence Vittori himself, whose drive for a higher calling might coax him into murder.

Bloodhound’s thoughts soon turned to the tools these men and women would use for their ends. Mercenaries were easy to find, and they all had enough coin for the best of them. Golgotha prided itself on their mastery of hidden blade and cloaked shadow. The Yellowjackets preferred to use their knowledge of medicinal plants to concoct the worst of poisons. Maiden’s Kiss played on a man’s base desires and turned them into fatal attractions. Any of these could’ve easily killed the Chancellor, funded by the right people. The Red Walkers had never been approached for such a job, possibly because Frederick had gotten to him first.

“Better have Ophelia send people to the other Companies, find out what they know,” Bloodhound thought as the speech concluded. He stepped back further to the side, letting the people walk by on their way out. He decided to keep to his low profile and wait until Eleanor came by. Why he felt the need to wait, he didn’t know. He could’ve simply walked to the girl and intimidate her until she followed. But there were moments when her face overlapped with a memory. He tried his best to ignore those moments. The past could kill a man as easily as a blade.

 

[Penelope Burns]

Brianna Estelys, Viceroy of Du-Catal
Brianna had not expected half of what she saw and heard during Matthias' speech. As he approached the podium his age had begun to show itself far more prominently, it looked as though the old man could barely hold himself upright as he climbed the steps. He eventually started speaking about Renaud, talking as much out of his ass as anyone else in the cathedral. Brianna had been on the council, she knew better than most how much the Exalted hated Renaud for his actions in standing between the Church and further control of Thedosia. Every word of praise out of his mouth was a lie, and she knew how smug he must have felt with his use of verses. 'We the righteous need not fear death, for we have blah blah blah,' The Exalted knew full well that Renaud was barely religious, and he certainly wasn't anything close to righteous. But to most, those who didn't sit on the council, they would see Matthias' words as wise and comforting words to the family and friends of the Chancellor, not smug satisfaction at the eternal fate of the man.

As Matthias began scanning the crowd as he so often did during his speeches, Brianna offered him a defiant grin that in reality had no power behind it. It was one of his many patterns, and her only real goal was distracting him for just a moment. When he stared at her dumbfounded for so long she was barely able to keep down a laugh, he made himself seem almost incapable of holding his thoughts in that moment. He seemed to rush through the remainder of his speech, not rambling on near as much as he had in his earlier half. Once he had quickly finished Matthias immediately made his way down the steps, and Brianna raised a toast to his back. It wasn't a victory in any meaningful way, but as long as she continued slowly undermining confidence in the Church leadership, maybe she could one day force their corruption out of Thedosia once and for all.

As the crowd cleared Brianna had plans to make her way to her fellow council members in order to plan a meeting, but she was caught off guard by the Duchess of Mivencross, lady Lillian Riddle. She wasn't a terrible woman, if it weren't for her devoutness she'd likely make a good friend for Brianna, but her faith was overwhelmingly prominent. "It's a pleasure to meet with you again so soon, my lady." Brianna began, offering her usual greetings, before taking a moment to think about Lillian's offer. The next day Brianna had a full planned schedule, what with Eleanor's either first or second meeting, her council meeting, and a few more personal discussions with other notables of the realm, but Lillian could easily be fit within that. "I will likely be unable to leave the keep for more than a moment or two, but send a time and address through one of the Du-Cilian soldiers and I'll try my best to meet you there."

Chordling

 

[Coin]

CHAPTER II
The Majesty of Lords

Theme || Inner Du-Catal
​

The lesser removed of de Chalon's kin were the last to cast their mortal graces upon the icy stone of the departed chancellor's coffin in yearning tears and lily petals, for the gravetender monks that heave the coffin into the crypt of the cathedral are blind of sight. The shutting of the crypt doors marks the end of the funeral procession and the end of a reign, for now it is common for the noble ilk to scramble for the deceased's office. The most keen of Thedosian elite know that a vacancy of such importance cannot be filled with grief and condolences. Action must be taken for the good of God's kingdom.

With the funeral over, the pampered soles of nobles depart from the cathedral to tread upon the streets of Du-Catal. Only those with urgent business return home to their thrones immediately. The most ambitious and the most powerful remain within the walls to conduct the business of lords. With the nomination and election of the next chancellor on the horizon, even the lowliest of barons have a voice in the candidacy. Though the king's regency (and to a lesser extent, the king's vassals) have the final word to the elected position, the weight of minor nobles is not to be underestimated.

The colors of many ancient noble houses fly over Du-Catal, but it is only feigned unity. The kingdom is on the verge of fracturing. The agendas of the most powerful houses drift and the tension mounts. Outsiders poise to strike at the perfect opportunity, ensuring that the hammer falls rightly on the pane of glass of Thedosia.

Only if the rapturous Lord wills it.

It is the morning after the funeral and without a doubt it will take at least three to four days for proper candidates to arise. In this time, nobles will meet in secret and in public alike to discuss strategies and nominations -- not only for the next chancellor, but the survival of their agenda. When the dust has settled, the king's regency will call for an assembly of lords, secular and ecclesiastic, to finish the election process.

Spoiler: DM Intrusion

Penelope Burns , Chordling , Poe , The One Called X , Aster , Clock , Grey , Jabroni , local cryptid , Rhakun , YumenoTsukishiro , Finalizer

This post is purposefully vague and open ended, because this chapter is focused entirely on open interaction between characters. There are a few rules I would like to put in place first, just so things don't get out of hand or too stale.

- Please do not have your characters meet more than one day in any direction from Yhark Disan (the central castle of Du-Catal)

- Please keep all interactions within the current day. When interactions start to die down, I will shake up the roleplay to give more prompts for interaction.

- This is the time to start forming plots. If you or a group of character would like to establish a plot, please inform me in PM or in OOC.

- Speaking of OOC, this chapter will only work if everyone cooperates and plans ahead in OOC. We are splitting off into smaller groups, but only temporarily. It is entirely possible for groups to merge or split off as the chapter unfolds, and this can be done without my permission.

- That being said, please include the location of your character (the gardens, the cathedral, etc.) at the top of your in-character posts for this chapter, so everyone can keep track of where conversations are happening. Let me know if you all would benefit from a non-exhaustive list of settings within Du-Catal to place your characters.

- Let's not leave anyone out. Everyone should have a chance to make an impact in this roleplay.

I hope I didn't forget anything or anyone. Look out for addenda in case I'm a total idiot.
You may now post for chapter 2.

 

[The One Called X]

Eleanor Talaris

Landholder of the Kegel Freeport​

Location: Guest Quarters​

Eleanor sat by her mirror, mulling over the events of the previous night. She'd had scarcely a moment alone once the Exalted Cardinal had made his speech, and it had seemed as though only a few moments had passed before Uncle Frederick was ushering her back to her rooms and bidding her good night. The moment her maid had left, Eleanor had read the note that Lady Estelys had sent her. She no longer had it, but she'd read it over enough times that she had memorized its contents:

Eleanor,

Of course I would like to act as your mentor, but declaring such a thing in public would immediately make you enemies that you are not prepared to face. If you are certain about this, I have a private suite in the castle on the third floor, west wing. It is the only room on the right side of the hall in that wing. Meet me there tonight or tomorrow in the morning. Please burn this note once you have read it.

Brianna.​

She had, of course, burned the note. It seemed the proper thing to do. She was torn between intrigue and confusion. It had seemed such a simple request at the time, and now Eleanor had to wonder what she'd gotten herself into. She had considered, briefly, telling her uncle about it, but she was oddly afraid of doing so. He might be angry with her, and she hated it when he was angry with her. He seemed almost a different man, and it was frightening.

Regardless of her misgivings, she'd resolved to meet with the Viceroy. She was hopelessly curious now, and she wanted to prove herself to Lady Estelys. Perhaps the note was a test.

Then again, she could remember her father telling her how fortunate she was to not have to deal with the court. How dangerous powerful people could be. It seemed such a dark way to look at the world, and yet... perhaps Lady Estelys had good reason for being so cautious.

She had tried to slip away the night before, but the Bloodhound was there, and Eleanor thought that Lady Estelys would likely prefer that the mercenary not know of their meeting. Eleanor had never really thought about how closely he would follow her movements as her guard. It unsettled her, a little. She remembered how he'd snuck up on her in the cathedral. It would be easy, then, for him to watch her even when she thought she was alone. She shivered, feeling cold in her shift. Guards were supposed to make one feel safe. The Hound only ever seemed to make Eleanor feel vulnerable.

She was startled out of her thoughts by the entry of her maid. "Good morning, Marie. How are you today?"

Marie, a small, round girl with fair hair, flashed her a dimpled smile. "As good as can be expected, milady." She patted her stomach. "The little one is beginning to tire me out, but that's just the way of things. Would milady like me to get started on your hair now?"

Eleanor nodded. "Yes, of course."

"Would you like the same style as usual, milady?"

Eleanor opened her mouth to say yes, then paused. Her hair was usually done in loose, girlish styles; her dresses in the same vein. Uncle Frederick preferred it that way, saying that it suited her to look like the child she was. And yet... Marie was sixteen, less than a year her senior, and she was married and with child. And Eleanor was the Landholder of Kegel, with the responsibility for the Freeport on her shoulders. She thought back to the previous night. Uncle Frederick had pointed out the Countess of Cadrif to her. She was a vision of beauty, her hair done up elaborately, her stature unmistakably that of a woman. Eleanor had felt drab and childish in comparison to her- and, indeed, to nearly every other woman present. They all seemed so mature and ladylike, and Eleanor had felt at times like a little girl playing dress-up. It was irksome. She was a lady, and she ought to look like one. She did not have to do what Uncle Frederick said. Everyone at home said that she was very pretty. She did not want to allow herself to be outshone.

"No, Marie. I think we ought to try something different."

***
​

Eleanor looked at herself in the mirror with no small amount of satisfaction. She'd sent Marie to rest up once the girl had done her hair and helped her dress- after a while, it was clear that in her delicate condition the work was wearing her out. All the same, she'd done an excellent job. Eleanor's hair was not particularly extravagant or eye-catching, but it was partially braided and drawn up and away from her face. Her cheekbones seemed sharper, this way, each feature more defined, her face less childishly round. She noticed her features more- the shape of her eyes with their inky lashes, the fullness and delicate shape of her mouth, the graceful curve of her neck. Her dress was cut very simply, dark purple fabric with a touch of black here and there. The neckline was cut lower than most of her dresses, enough to show the tops of her shoulders and just the smallest suggestion of her bosom. She'd never worn it before, and she was very aware of it, of this skin she'd never let people see before. She looked so different, she thought, and she felt, suddenly, the truth of the fact that she was a woman, and could dress and speak and conduct herself as one. That if Uncle Frederick told her not to do something, she could simply do it anyway and it would not be disobedience, because he had no true authority over her.

Eleanor covered her mouth with both hands, a giddy smile spreading across her face. With that revelation everything seemed new and somehow changed. The world was exciting. She watched herself in the mirror as she dabbed rosewater on her wrists and neck. The strange excitement had faded a little after the initial rush of it, but she was still left with the feeling that something- some irrevocable change in thought- had occurred. She smoothed down her skirts, giving her mirror one last appreciative glance before she turned on her heel and left the room.

It was time to go meet with Lady Estelys.

Mentioned: Penelope Burns YumenoTsukishiro

 

[Rhakun]

Location: Local Church, Southern Du-Catal​

"And so the Chancellor was put to rest inside the halls of the catacombs." Francis said, making a pause to breathe and let the final part of the story sink in. "The people of Du-Catal have seen the death of the nobles closer than anybody else in Thedosia. Fear not, however. The Exalted Cardinal had said--" He held back for a moment, remembering how Vittori stated that the Chancellor had passed in his sleep much to his own doubt, but he continued. "that in the words of Saint Lucien, the righteous mustn't fear death, for there is an eternity promised to us next to the Lord, our God."

Francis had thought that leaving it at that was a rather pessimistic note. Maybe not for the nobles who could return to their pleasantries, but surely to people whose lives could be bad enough that they could try and seek the Lord's company by accelerated means. That wasn't what he thought right: not what had been real to him.

"It is also said in the book of Nefer," he went on, deciding to add his own commentary. "that the Kingdom of the Lord can't be pointed amongst the places in Earth for it is within man: Not within one or a group of them, but all. We must carry on in the face of gloom, for it is granted and sealed in scripture that passed and during times of struggle, the potential for bliss lies in each: the unhappiest could live in the nation of the wise and the joyful could bloom in that one of the inane. I invite you all to stay joyful, whichever case might be for our kingdom. Go in the peace of our Savior."

"Thanks be to God!" echoed the people through, followed by a quiet round of applause by few. Francis allowed this to happen in a very unorthodox way. The concluding rite had long passed, but he knew that the most gossipy people present were angsty to know about the private mass in the Cathedral where Matthias himself had spoken. In addition, he was titled a bishop, but in Du-Catal he still occupied an offside church as a preacher. He was soon to say goodbye to the Capital and he believed, now after the clapping, that he was to be missed to an extent. He teared up a little at the sight, hoping to his insides that the next deacon would be good to the regulars of this church. After everyone had left, Francis walked inside the offices. He had time and ink: Just the thing to take a few notes before departure, account for silver and issue a letter.

"Anton! Are you close? Anton!" He called for his long-time altar boy once he had sealed his writings. A red-headed teen with long limbs and an aquilline nose.

"Yes, sir?"

"I'd like you to take this to the castle. You always wanted to go, didn't you?" He said, smiling to the boy as he handed him a golden ring with a square ruby. "Consider it a goodbye gift for all these years. You don't want to lose this, it'll allow you to go in and out. I may or may not need it back, so take good care of it. Your task will be to deliver this card to the Viceroy; it's err... for her eyes only."

The boy stayed silent, but his eyes widened at Francis' words. He muttered the word Viceroy to himself and, after thanking him, he darted excitedly out of the chapel. Francis trusted him well enough for the task; if Anton didn't perform well out of commitment, he would do it out of his incessant need to go sight-seeing. Half of the time he wasn't working with him, he knew him to be darting looks at paintings, landscapes or women, for that matter. He chucked at the idea that, maybe, Brianna might be more estranged by him than the kid could ever be of her.

It was so that the church emptied of nobody but himself. Noon was still hours away, but he had business to attend to and most of it were matters which needed delicate attention. It was so that he packed his robes into a bag to replace them with a jerkin, a white shirt, breechers and a long, brown cloak, walked towards the stables and hopped into a Westphalian horse in full riding set. His morning was set to be a busy one and he had, for one, a sibling to visit. As the equine walked the cobblestone roads, Francis toyed his Dusilian coin between his fingers: fliping it from one to another beneath his left sleeve.

Penelope Burns

 

[YumenoTsukishiro]

Red Hound Walking
---------------------------------

Location: Guest Quarters​

The day of the funeral ended without much occasion, aside from the scheming behind locked doors, hushed whispers beneath shadows, gold exchanged between hands. There was a hole the Chancellor’s death left behind, and the illustrious noble families of Thedosia were all too willing to have it filled with their pawns. It was all a game to them, squabbling over power while trodding the masses beneath their heels. One thing Bloodhound knew to be true; blood would be spilled before a new Chancellor was chosen. Gallons of it. And it was the Walkers’ job to ensure that none of it belonged to Talaris, both uncle and niece.


Bloodhound was at Eleanor’s side the moment both she and Frederick were out the cathedral. It was a good moment to make his presence known, despite his misgivings about the Grenspire nobility recognizing him. His scars and scruffy beard had all but made him a different man. He walked beside the young waif with the grace of a dire wolf, steely eyes sweeping across the crowd with disinterest, lips set into a ghost of a smirk, twin swords promising a swift end to any who’d dare test them. Let them know the Bloodhound walked with Eleanor Talaris. Let them realize the price of drawing blades against her.


Once the young lady was safe within her quarters, he waited for an hour outside the door, standing guard. Then he thwarted a poorly executed escape attempt. Then he had a good laugh over it. Then he waited an hour more. Figures resolved from the shadows from opposite sides of the corridor. Moonlight streaming through the windows revealed three persons, wearing finery of black and red beneath a cloak of forest green. They looked like any other merchant in the market, but Bloodhound saw the insignia of the Walkers embroidered on their right sleeves. The three stood before him and slammed their right fists to their chests, palm facing upward. Bloodhound responded likewise.


“Brother Keith. Brother Olaf. Sister Mera. Welcome,” he spoke, glancing at each one. These three wore no leathers and could never be mistaken for mercenaries, which made them valuable for guarding their charge and hearing important gossip from the mouths of nobles, hidden in plain sight. “Found anything of note?”


“Well, aside from the pompous bastards flaunting their feathers at each other, there’s not much to know,” Keith said, a hint of the former bandit in his tone.


“None of the nobility seem to be focused on the little girl, only on her uncle. They do not think her a threat to their play for Chancellor,” said Olaf. His deep timbre spoke of his Gromsvanir roots.


Mera only nodded, affirming for both her comrades. She would speak, if not for a lack of tongue. It made her the perfect keeper of secrets. Ironic, considering that she lost her voice because of spilled secrets.


“Mhmm. Still, it’s only a matter of time before any of them sees the lady as an easy target,” Bloodhound said. “You three will set up a perimeter around the Quarters. Lady Eleanor will most likely try to meet with someone come tomorrow morning. It could be harmless. Could be her death. Let’s make sure it’s the former. In case she manages to slip by me, send word via hound, then tail her until the rest of us arrive. Remember, this is our biggest paying contract to date. It’s in our best interests to keep her alive. Understood?”


The Walkers responded with a salute, though Keith had one thing to add. “It seems to me that there’s more to you than just her best interests in mind. I hear things from the other Walkers. They tell me she looks a lot like--”


Sharp steel glimmered in the moonlight, its edge resting against Keith’s quivering throat. Bloodhound had drawn the dagger in a heartbeat, his other hand behind the Walker’s head to keep it in place. Yet somehow his glare was more vicious than the threat of a gaping windpipe. “Keith, I brought you into the company because you have a talent given by God, and it was wasted waylaying travelers along the road. You nearly faced death when you tried to steal from me. Do not waste your second chance.”


Mirth quickly melted into fear as Keith tried his best not to lean into the blade. For a few tense moments there was only silence. Olaf and Mera merely stood there and watched, already used to seeing this sort of spectacle. Out of them three Keith was the newest recruit, only about three months a Walker. Olaf was actually grinning, likely remembering a similar incident a few years back.


“U-Understood. I won’t talk about it again,” Keith managed to choke out, and Bloodhound let him go. The dagger was sheathed, while Keith staggered back, taking in great gulps of air.


“Mhmm. That’s good to hear. You’re dismissed.”


The three Walkers saluted once more, before retreating into the shadows. Bloodhound settled onto the floor, sitting cross-legged. Taking ten deep breaths, he eased into a meditative state, hovering between sleep and wakefulness. He never really slept anymore. Early on in his mercenary career he learned that unconsciousness was likely to kill you on the bed as it did on the battlefield. Dreaming was worse. It showed him nothing but fire and blood and death.


Hours passed, and the night gave way to a red dawn. Another Walker, Brother Wallace, came and relieved Bloodhound of the watch. He used this time to cast off his leathers and enjoy a warm bath courtesy of the Talaris servants. Noble commodities like this were part and parcel of the deal between him and Frederick. And Bloodhound advocated a policy of hygiene among the Walkers. Cleanliness is next to Godliness, he would always say.


Once done, he went back to Eleanor’s quarters. Wallace saluted, and relinquished his post to Bloodhound. Just in time too, for no sooner than ten heartbeats later Lady Eleanor burst out of the room, full of purpose.


Bloodhound expected this, but he had to blink twice. He was used to seeing Eleanor in styles made for a budding lady-- not yet a woman, but no longer a child. And still too young. The person who walked out the door was someone else, clad in a dark dress that boasted of her curves and tantalized the desires with bare shoulders and the slightest hint of bosom. Her face bore the beauty of a flower in bloom, each feature more pronounced than ever before. Bloodhound had always looked at Lady Eleanor and saw a child. Now he stared at her and saw a woman. A damn beautiful woman who smelled of fresh roses on a Sunday morning.


Suddenly he felt woefully inadequate in his simple leathers, gauntlets, and boots. Then he felt stupid for actually worrying about how he looked. A bodyguard had better things to think about.


“Good morning, my lady. Going off somewhere? Like last night?" said Bloodhound, with arms folded and a mocking smirk on his lips. It was as good a poker face he could muster at the moment.

 

[Poe]

Golden locks curled over her bare collarbone and cascaded down her back as Olivia laid in bed with her head propped up by her hand. The covers pooled unapologetically over her hips as she glanced up at Laurence. For all he had said to her the morning prior, she should have been surprised at his haste to slip away with her for the evening but it never showed in her brilliant blue eyes. Instead she just blinked slowly, her dark lashes fluttering. She did not blame him for wanting to rid himself of his wife as Sylvia was extraordinarily ordinary. She was kind, gentle, but a kind and gentle woman did not make for the wife of a man who stewed in darker thoughts. No part of Olivia would deem Laurence as evil, but she knew that behind those eyes was a man working for a particular end and he would see to it that it was reached.

If it meant power and an heir, she did not doubt he would silently rid himself of his wife.

It was why she continued to see him, after all. Good Laurence—moral Laurence—did little for her but it was the man beneath darkened by his own ambition that stole her interest. That sort of complexity was not found in many men who thirsted for power and often allowed their ambition to blind them. No, in these moments she was rather fond of Laurence even if he was dreadful to her in the company of his wife. It was, she assumed, a bit of an embarrassment to speak with the woman who knew each and every inch of him in a way his wife would never in front of his wife.

After a few moments of silence and a few lazy, trailing fingertips, Olivia glanced up at him in the early morning light and let a small pout steal her bottom lip. “It is a shame really,” she hummed contently, her mind elsewhere, “certainly you could not have killed the Chancellor. If not you, I do so deeply wonder who managed such a feat.”

Tag: Coin​