Elle Joyner
Fracturer of Fairytales
Princess Roslyn was the lynchpin of Bright Hedge. Well beloved by all, but none more than her father. When Rosie was abducted in the still of the night, the king swore vengeance on those responsible.
It had been a plan in the making for many years, but the ease by which it was carried out surprised even the minds who crafted it.
War was coming... and when all was said and done, the broken world that remained would be theirs for the taking.
Fractured Fairytales: The Broken King
Ella Soot
There were some that claim the scream could be heard throughout the entire kingdom. Whether that was true or not was irrelevant. It was the ripple that followed which changed everything. Princess Roslyn… Rosie, to those who knew her, was gone, taken in the still of the night, and nothing in Brighthedge… in all of the Ethelemar Mountains would be the same, again.
Charming sat hunched over on his throne, his head in his hands, a broken shadow of the man… the king he was known to be. It would have been difficult for any man to look at him. For Ella Soot, it was impossible.
From the moment Rosie cried herself into the world, she had been possessed of an uncommonly kind, gentle disposition. She was twelve now, and while she had been known to cause trouble only here and there, she was only ever loved, thoroughly by those who cared for her. The thought that anyone would cause her harm had been as far from anyone’s mind as the east from the west. Outwardly, she was her father in every way… the blonde curls, the bright, gentle eyes and her indomitable spirit. Her warmth and grace were so unlike the queen, who was so fragile and cold, full of ice and stone. It was her father’s spirit.
Charming was everything a king should be. Good and loyal, honest and fair. It was little wonder his country loved him… No one would blame Ella for her feelings, except that if they knew… if they ever suspected how deep those feelings went...
Ella had heard it first, that scream, and come running. The scene, that empty, blood stained bed, which had met her in that dark room was a sight that would forever haunt her memories.
A tear fell from the corner of her eye, hitting the marble step of the dais with a nearly audible splash. Charming’s head lifted, his own eyes rimmed with the sorrow only a father could know. Slowly, he straightened.
“…I assure you, Ella,” He began, his usually stalwart voice quaking with emotion, “We will find whoever is responsible for this. We… will find them, and they will… There will be…”
Drifting off, cerulean eyes glazed with the fog of grief, he looked away and Ella rose from her crouch.
“Yes, your Majesty. I… I have no doubt. Forgive me…” Wiping her eyes, Ella lowered her gaze, “I do not mean to forget myself in your presence. If… if there is nothing else, I will return to my chamber and collect my things.”
Charming rose and took a step forward, a frown creasing his brow, "…Collect your things?”
“…I… I am to assume after… after what has happened that I will be… that I should be dismissed.”
“Ella…” Charming whispered, taking another step. He reached out, but his hand only hovered over her arm, before falling to his side again, “This was not your fault. No… no one blames you.”
“I do… How could I not? She… was my charge and I failed to care for her. She’s gone, My Lord. In the absence of those responsible, it only makes sense that blame should fall on me.”
“She is my daughter. If anyone failed… it was me.”
“My Lord, no…”
“Ella. Don’t. Don’t do this to yourself.” His hand reached her arm this time and he shook his head as Ella looked up to meet his gaze. There, in the early morning light she could just barely make out the man from the ball, the glint of mischief once so alive in those clear, blue eyes was buried away now, but in the very depth of them, she could see him... see the smirk at the corner of his perfect lips... But no. She wouldn't go there, those memorise that burned at her like fire. Taking a slow step back, Ella crossed her arms over her chest. It was as it had to be... if she was to remain in Bright Hedge, she could never return to that night...
“…How is the Queen fairing?” She asked, and Charming seemed to remember himself, drawing backwards.
“As is to be expected.” Returning to his throne, sinking back against the plush velvet backrest, he sighed, “She’s grieving. We all are. I imagine it will be some time before we recover from this… if ever.”
The doors to the great hall opened suddenly and the head of the guard entered, his bulky frame encased in armor that glistened like hot metal in the candle light.
“Sire, we’ve discovered something… in the Princess’s bed chamber.“ He murmured and Charming looked up before nodding to Ella, who took this as her cue to leave.
As she trekked the long hall that would return her to her quarters, one solitary thought resonated in her mind. The scream may not have traveled as far as rumored, but Ella knew she would never forget that awful sound.
~~
Queen Eira
As light dawned the morning following her daughter's abduction, Eira woke with a smile she simply could not help. Her plan was working spectacularly well, the pieces falling so perfectly into place, she could find no room for even a modicum of false grief. She could tell, however, from the looks on the faces of the fools who waited on her that she must have looked terribly inappropriate and so, sitting up and clutching the bedclothes to her chest she forced her lips into a frown, lowering her gaze to the two lumps that were her feet beneath the blankets.
"...I... I dreamed my Roslyn had returned. I dreamed she came to me, and woke me... and told me she had only been playing one of her games." A tear traveled the length of her pale cheek, down the slender column of her neck and she brushed it away, "But she isn't here, is she? It was only a dream."
"Oh M'lady." One of the maids, Doris, began. She was particularly stupid and seemed to find it her personal mission to drive Eira to murder with her nonsensicle questions. Fighting a scowl of irritation, Eira met the woman's doeful gaze as she continued, "How terrible it must be for you... but if anyone can find our Rosie, I know the king will."
"Thank you, Doris..." Eira offered, patting the woman's warm, wrinkled hand, "Now, if it's alright, I'd like to be alone for a small while?"
"Of course, your Highness. If you need us, we'll be just outside."
As the women left, Eira rolled her eyes and tossed the covers back, rising to her feet with a long, slow stretch.
The letter she had sent had specified that Mulgrave was to be held responsible for her child's kidnapping, and as she had expected, the actions were carried out specific to her instructions. Char had informed her the night before that evidence had been discovered in Roslyn's bedroom, implicating the Woodland kingdom in her daughter's abduction. He had been furious... so enraged, Eira very nearly found him desirable. The War proclamation had been sent out, immediately. There would be no investigations, no questions asked... Mulgrave, as Char had put it, would rue the day they took his precious Rosie. Missives had been sent to all of the kingdoms and their neighboring villages, issuing war on Mulgrave and those who would dare to stand with the foul Woodsmen people.
It was glorious. Better than Eira could have ever anticipated. War was coming and undoubtedly, her fool of a husband would not rest until he had the head of the Mulgrave King situated on a pike in their courtyard. As it was all a part of her scheme, Char would of course never make it that far... murdered on the battle field, one way or another, and then finally, at long last... Bright Hedge and all of Ethelemar would belong to her, as it should be... as it should have been, before her ignorant father married that...woman.
Everything was falling into place, beautifully.
A smirk playing at the corners of her mouth, Eira stood before the floor length mirror, adjusting her chemise. She would wear something yellow today... it was her favorite color, and she deserved it.
King Eliah
The missive went far and wide, spread throughout Fable by messenger hands that shook as they delivered those terrible, violent words. When Eliah had taken the parchment, his own messenger had appeared near fainting, and Eliah had insisted he take some tea and bread before he be sent off. As the king of the Shore region read the declaration, he understood well, the boy's fear.
War.
King Charmaine had declared war on Mulgrave.
Frowning, he lowered the parchment to his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. War very rarely went neatly, in any sort of setting. It had been so long since they had one in Fable, but history books were vivid and Eliah's imagination had never been weak. It would spill out across the lands, taking with it so many innocent lives... and they were being called upon to aid the Forest king.
Taking up his quill, Eliah began a letter of his own, one that would be posted throughout the Shore kingdom – a call to arms to all the able men. Words so simple in form, yet so dangerous... so powerful. He would stand with their allies to the north. He would fight with Bright Hedge and with King Charmaine...
Maybe then... maybe finally, he would have peace.
Fiora Remel
Nailed to the tree in the center of every grove throughout the forest, pinned to walls and windows in villages, in store fronts and market stalls... the message read clear and loud and deadly.
War was coming to Fable. It would not be avoided. Men were to be drafted, as old as eighty as young as twelve, in good condition or poor. Word spread like fire, and taverns and inns and tents and caves alike rang with the news.
Fiora’s concern, however, was largely on the weather. Winter was nearing. Winter, which brought with it the bitter cold even her precious nettles could not withstand. She had been collecting more than usual, but still, she had so few and what was worse was the infection in her hands. She had been able to ignore it for only so long, but now the burning was creeping up her wrists, even into her elbows and if she weren’t careful, winter would be the least of her problems.
And so it was with some reluctance that she abandoned her field for a time, to venture into the village. It was here the stirring first reached her. The news traveled faster than usual, and the people were alive with intrigue, fear and excitement. Unwrapping her hands, red and raw from the nettles she plucked, she found the physicians tent where it had been the last time she’d been to town. She had few coins in her purse, but he was kind and seemed to enjoy her company.
As she entered the tent, the portly man greeted her with a warm smile and Fiora returned one of her own.
“Welcome back, child. It’s been some time. Your hands again?” He asked, and Fiora nodded. The doctor knew of her plight, to some degree and for this she was grateful, for he asked very few questions. She had not told him all of it, because even to a kindly doctor, sewing shirts out of stinging nettles to rescue her brothers, who had been turned to swans by her stepmother sounded like lunacy. Sometimes to her it sounded like lunacy.
Sitting down across from the doctor, Fiora held out her hands and the doctor took them, still smiling, “I’ll never understand why you feel the need to pick those awful things, but I do wish you’d stop. It’s not that I don’t enjoy your company, lass… but these hands ought to be doing something much less strenuous. Have you thought of taking up needle point, instead?”
Fiora shook her head, biting back laughter at both his comments and the irony behind them. After that, the doctor worked in silence, removing needles from her hands before he applied a cooling salve. Lastly, he bandaged her hands again and with a smile, a pat on the arm and one more brief lecture on staying safe, Fiora was on her way. She had neared the gates of the city when the throng appeared, whispering amongst themselves and gesturing in her direction. Five men, the least of them toweringly tall, his neck thick as an oak branch and all of them meaner looking than the next.
Fiora lowered her gaze and as carefully as she could, bypassed the massive behemoths.
Or so, she tried.
Passing by the third man, who smelled heavily of ale and something considerably less pleasant, Fiora brushed his thick stalk of an arm and without warning, a meaty hand shot out faster than the man should have been to move. He caught her by the collar and she gasped, silently, as he spun her round to his face.
“You bumped me.” He grunted, matter-of-factly. “Little girls who don’t know their manners… they got taught a lesson.”
Fiora shook her head, mouthing an apology, but the man appeared to be in no mood to communicate with a mute. In fact, none of them did. There was a tension in their shoulders, in their faces that rang of unhealthy anger and general disappointment at life, and apparently, a large portion of that was currently aimed in her direction.
It had been a plan in the making for many years, but the ease by which it was carried out surprised even the minds who crafted it.
War was coming... and when all was said and done, the broken world that remained would be theirs for the taking.
Fractured Fairytales: The Broken King
Ella Soot
Throne Room of Bright Hedge
There were some that claim the scream could be heard throughout the entire kingdom. Whether that was true or not was irrelevant. It was the ripple that followed which changed everything. Princess Roslyn… Rosie, to those who knew her, was gone, taken in the still of the night, and nothing in Brighthedge… in all of the Ethelemar Mountains would be the same, again.
Charming sat hunched over on his throne, his head in his hands, a broken shadow of the man… the king he was known to be. It would have been difficult for any man to look at him. For Ella Soot, it was impossible.
From the moment Rosie cried herself into the world, she had been possessed of an uncommonly kind, gentle disposition. She was twelve now, and while she had been known to cause trouble only here and there, she was only ever loved, thoroughly by those who cared for her. The thought that anyone would cause her harm had been as far from anyone’s mind as the east from the west. Outwardly, she was her father in every way… the blonde curls, the bright, gentle eyes and her indomitable spirit. Her warmth and grace were so unlike the queen, who was so fragile and cold, full of ice and stone. It was her father’s spirit.
Charming was everything a king should be. Good and loyal, honest and fair. It was little wonder his country loved him… No one would blame Ella for her feelings, except that if they knew… if they ever suspected how deep those feelings went...
Ella had heard it first, that scream, and come running. The scene, that empty, blood stained bed, which had met her in that dark room was a sight that would forever haunt her memories.
A tear fell from the corner of her eye, hitting the marble step of the dais with a nearly audible splash. Charming’s head lifted, his own eyes rimmed with the sorrow only a father could know. Slowly, he straightened.
“…I assure you, Ella,” He began, his usually stalwart voice quaking with emotion, “We will find whoever is responsible for this. We… will find them, and they will… There will be…”
Drifting off, cerulean eyes glazed with the fog of grief, he looked away and Ella rose from her crouch.
“Yes, your Majesty. I… I have no doubt. Forgive me…” Wiping her eyes, Ella lowered her gaze, “I do not mean to forget myself in your presence. If… if there is nothing else, I will return to my chamber and collect my things.”
Charming rose and took a step forward, a frown creasing his brow, "…Collect your things?”
“…I… I am to assume after… after what has happened that I will be… that I should be dismissed.”
“Ella…” Charming whispered, taking another step. He reached out, but his hand only hovered over her arm, before falling to his side again, “This was not your fault. No… no one blames you.”
“I do… How could I not? She… was my charge and I failed to care for her. She’s gone, My Lord. In the absence of those responsible, it only makes sense that blame should fall on me.”
“She is my daughter. If anyone failed… it was me.”
“My Lord, no…”
“Ella. Don’t. Don’t do this to yourself.” His hand reached her arm this time and he shook his head as Ella looked up to meet his gaze. There, in the early morning light she could just barely make out the man from the ball, the glint of mischief once so alive in those clear, blue eyes was buried away now, but in the very depth of them, she could see him... see the smirk at the corner of his perfect lips... But no. She wouldn't go there, those memorise that burned at her like fire. Taking a slow step back, Ella crossed her arms over her chest. It was as it had to be... if she was to remain in Bright Hedge, she could never return to that night...
“…How is the Queen fairing?” She asked, and Charming seemed to remember himself, drawing backwards.
“As is to be expected.” Returning to his throne, sinking back against the plush velvet backrest, he sighed, “She’s grieving. We all are. I imagine it will be some time before we recover from this… if ever.”
The doors to the great hall opened suddenly and the head of the guard entered, his bulky frame encased in armor that glistened like hot metal in the candle light.
“Sire, we’ve discovered something… in the Princess’s bed chamber.“ He murmured and Charming looked up before nodding to Ella, who took this as her cue to leave.
As she trekked the long hall that would return her to her quarters, one solitary thought resonated in her mind. The scream may not have traveled as far as rumored, but Ella knew she would never forget that awful sound.
NPC
~~
Queen Eira
Bed Chamber
As light dawned the morning following her daughter's abduction, Eira woke with a smile she simply could not help. Her plan was working spectacularly well, the pieces falling so perfectly into place, she could find no room for even a modicum of false grief. She could tell, however, from the looks on the faces of the fools who waited on her that she must have looked terribly inappropriate and so, sitting up and clutching the bedclothes to her chest she forced her lips into a frown, lowering her gaze to the two lumps that were her feet beneath the blankets.
"...I... I dreamed my Roslyn had returned. I dreamed she came to me, and woke me... and told me she had only been playing one of her games." A tear traveled the length of her pale cheek, down the slender column of her neck and she brushed it away, "But she isn't here, is she? It was only a dream."
"Oh M'lady." One of the maids, Doris, began. She was particularly stupid and seemed to find it her personal mission to drive Eira to murder with her nonsensicle questions. Fighting a scowl of irritation, Eira met the woman's doeful gaze as she continued, "How terrible it must be for you... but if anyone can find our Rosie, I know the king will."
"Thank you, Doris..." Eira offered, patting the woman's warm, wrinkled hand, "Now, if it's alright, I'd like to be alone for a small while?"
"Of course, your Highness. If you need us, we'll be just outside."
As the women left, Eira rolled her eyes and tossed the covers back, rising to her feet with a long, slow stretch.
The letter she had sent had specified that Mulgrave was to be held responsible for her child's kidnapping, and as she had expected, the actions were carried out specific to her instructions. Char had informed her the night before that evidence had been discovered in Roslyn's bedroom, implicating the Woodland kingdom in her daughter's abduction. He had been furious... so enraged, Eira very nearly found him desirable. The War proclamation had been sent out, immediately. There would be no investigations, no questions asked... Mulgrave, as Char had put it, would rue the day they took his precious Rosie. Missives had been sent to all of the kingdoms and their neighboring villages, issuing war on Mulgrave and those who would dare to stand with the foul Woodsmen people.
It was glorious. Better than Eira could have ever anticipated. War was coming and undoubtedly, her fool of a husband would not rest until he had the head of the Mulgrave King situated on a pike in their courtyard. As it was all a part of her scheme, Char would of course never make it that far... murdered on the battle field, one way or another, and then finally, at long last... Bright Hedge and all of Ethelemar would belong to her, as it should be... as it should have been, before her ignorant father married that...woman.
Everything was falling into place, beautifully.
A smirk playing at the corners of her mouth, Eira stood before the floor length mirror, adjusting her chemise. She would wear something yellow today... it was her favorite color, and she deserved it.
NPC
~~
King Eliah
Private Chamber
The missive went far and wide, spread throughout Fable by messenger hands that shook as they delivered those terrible, violent words. When Eliah had taken the parchment, his own messenger had appeared near fainting, and Eliah had insisted he take some tea and bread before he be sent off. As the king of the Shore region read the declaration, he understood well, the boy's fear.
War.
King Charmaine had declared war on Mulgrave.
Frowning, he lowered the parchment to his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. War very rarely went neatly, in any sort of setting. It had been so long since they had one in Fable, but history books were vivid and Eliah's imagination had never been weak. It would spill out across the lands, taking with it so many innocent lives... and they were being called upon to aid the Forest king.
Taking up his quill, Eliah began a letter of his own, one that would be posted throughout the Shore kingdom – a call to arms to all the able men. Words so simple in form, yet so dangerous... so powerful. He would stand with their allies to the north. He would fight with Bright Hedge and with King Charmaine...
Maybe then... maybe finally, he would have peace.
NPC
~~
Fiora Remel
On The Road
Nailed to the tree in the center of every grove throughout the forest, pinned to walls and windows in villages, in store fronts and market stalls... the message read clear and loud and deadly.
War was coming to Fable. It would not be avoided. Men were to be drafted, as old as eighty as young as twelve, in good condition or poor. Word spread like fire, and taverns and inns and tents and caves alike rang with the news.
Fiora’s concern, however, was largely on the weather. Winter was nearing. Winter, which brought with it the bitter cold even her precious nettles could not withstand. She had been collecting more than usual, but still, she had so few and what was worse was the infection in her hands. She had been able to ignore it for only so long, but now the burning was creeping up her wrists, even into her elbows and if she weren’t careful, winter would be the least of her problems.
And so it was with some reluctance that she abandoned her field for a time, to venture into the village. It was here the stirring first reached her. The news traveled faster than usual, and the people were alive with intrigue, fear and excitement. Unwrapping her hands, red and raw from the nettles she plucked, she found the physicians tent where it had been the last time she’d been to town. She had few coins in her purse, but he was kind and seemed to enjoy her company.
As she entered the tent, the portly man greeted her with a warm smile and Fiora returned one of her own.
“Welcome back, child. It’s been some time. Your hands again?” He asked, and Fiora nodded. The doctor knew of her plight, to some degree and for this she was grateful, for he asked very few questions. She had not told him all of it, because even to a kindly doctor, sewing shirts out of stinging nettles to rescue her brothers, who had been turned to swans by her stepmother sounded like lunacy. Sometimes to her it sounded like lunacy.
Sitting down across from the doctor, Fiora held out her hands and the doctor took them, still smiling, “I’ll never understand why you feel the need to pick those awful things, but I do wish you’d stop. It’s not that I don’t enjoy your company, lass… but these hands ought to be doing something much less strenuous. Have you thought of taking up needle point, instead?”
Fiora shook her head, biting back laughter at both his comments and the irony behind them. After that, the doctor worked in silence, removing needles from her hands before he applied a cooling salve. Lastly, he bandaged her hands again and with a smile, a pat on the arm and one more brief lecture on staying safe, Fiora was on her way. She had neared the gates of the city when the throng appeared, whispering amongst themselves and gesturing in her direction. Five men, the least of them toweringly tall, his neck thick as an oak branch and all of them meaner looking than the next.
Fiora lowered her gaze and as carefully as she could, bypassed the massive behemoths.
Or so, she tried.
Passing by the third man, who smelled heavily of ale and something considerably less pleasant, Fiora brushed his thick stalk of an arm and without warning, a meaty hand shot out faster than the man should have been to move. He caught her by the collar and she gasped, silently, as he spun her round to his face.
“You bumped me.” He grunted, matter-of-factly. “Little girls who don’t know their manners… they got taught a lesson.”
Fiora shook her head, mouthing an apology, but the man appeared to be in no mood to communicate with a mute. In fact, none of them did. There was a tension in their shoulders, in their faces that rang of unhealthy anger and general disappointment at life, and apparently, a large portion of that was currently aimed in her direction.
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