Supremacy Kills

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

There was a knock on the door and Mirabelle stood to her feet.

"Yes?" She called to the door.
"Your breakfast, mi'lady!" a servant replied. Mirabelle put her lute aside and stepped towards the door to open it. There, the servant girl stood with the silver tray of breakfast and tea for the morning. Mirabelle took the tray graciously, bowing her head to the servant who went on her way. Mirabelle then sat on her bed with the tray on the side. All she requested for breakfast was an apple, porridge and tea on the side. She worked away at the porridge, taking her time as she was free to do so, leaving her tea to cool until second, before finishing with the apple.

Once she was done with the porridge and tea, she set the tray down nearby neatly for a servant to pick up. She then took the apple and headed off on her way after taking her lute with her under arm.

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When he had finished his breakfast, it was still early for Phillip's court members to awaken and even earlier still for him to address court. However, he felt that there was not much else for him to deal with before he addressed court and citizens in need. There never was, and Phillip was never one to believe in free time. Not once in two years time has free time ever meant anything.

He took his mind off it once he closed his book, and then departed for the great hall. The good side to opening to audience early was being able to address many more issues than he would normally do. There, he sat upon his throne and called for audiences to be opened for any who wished to visit and bring their problems before him.

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

I have posted.

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

Mirabelle awoke briskly from her peaceful slumber, forgetful of the events of late last night. She stretched her arms out and yawned cutely, covering her mouth suddenly out of habit. She then stood up to her feet, and opened her windows to gaze out from her room. She sat by the windowsill for a moment, simply staring at the sight of Arthroyeaux at morning with a content smile. The peaceful picturesque scene was enough to brighten Mirabelle's day immediately. She remained satisfied with a moment of procrastination in favour of enjoying the sight, before soon after deciding it would be better to make the most of her time.

Mirabelle caught one of the servants wandering the corridors, and requested for her bath to be ready. She then proceeded to pick out her garments for the day and then make her bedsheets on her own. Mirabelle preferred to reduce the work of the servants as much as possible, partly out of empathy but also out of necessity to avoid an inquisitive servant snooping around her belongings.

The servant returned eventually with fresh towel and two other servants with buckets of hot and cold water, and together the three of them made sure Mirabelle's bath was ready to be used. She briefly requested a light breakfast to be brought up, before thanking and dismissing the servants. Once they had left, Mirabelle slipped off her dressing gown and stepped into her bath, soaking up in the steamy water and using the soap to her hygiene.

Once she was done, Mirabelle dried herself fully with her towel, putting on her emerald leaf-green dress and put on her green slippers. She neatened up her bathing area and looked for her lute. There she sat once more by the windowsill, gently plucking at the strings and humming in absent-minded melody as she waited for her breakfast to arrive.
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Phillip sat alone in the dining room, as nobody else who would normally join him for breakfast was up at so early an hour. Only the cooks who were still busily cooking his morning meal were up as early as he, and even then they had not woken before the lord. The baron had once again had a sleepless night, concluded only upon sunrise and the chirping of the early birds by his window. He had attended to his own bath and personal grooming on his own, and readied himself before heading to the dining room. Now he sat and waited, reading a certain book he had brought downstairs with him.

It was not random at all, as he had kept this book in a particular place for him to find at any time. He had recently been inspired to read once more of the tale of Avaddon the Revenant Mistwraith, detailed in the book titled "The Vengeance of Mistchapelle". Phillip recalled being told the tale once or twice, over a campfire on a night before the Battle of Mistchapelle. His fellow Chevalier Bannerets taught him of a fabled warrior who boasted a chevalier's prowess wielding the powers of fate.

As far as Phillip read through the book, it tells of how the Revenant Mistwraith was once the chevalier Aventine Vestille, son of Baron Vestille, the lord of Mistchapelle. The early chapters illustrated the life of honour and virtue Aventine lead with a stalwart heart, sworn to uphold his father's name and serve his father's kingdom. It was all embellished with court life and the all-too familiar Bretonian politics and intrigue, and Phillip felt as though he could imagine what was to happen next in ever chapter. The current chapter illustrated a plot by secretive figures to murder the Baron Vestille, a scene of classical Bretonian origins. The presence of treachery and dishonourable plots disgusted Phillip within, but he evermore wished to read to the end.

Eventually, kitchen servants brought out Phillip's morning meal of toasted manchet with butter and honey, with a side of poached quail eggs. Phillip did not close his book, and simply slipped it to the side. He continued to read as he began to eat, and was careful not to make a mess upon the delicate pages.

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

Celene and I are good to start again. My apologies. We were both inactive because of me. I am finishing my post now.

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

Tied up in work. I will try to post soon.

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

The guard captain stopped to address Mirabelle,
"Apologies, mi'lady. There is a rogue running loose in the castle. The guards have been ordered by our liege to hunt them down." He clarified. And just like speaking of the Daeva, King Damien swept through the corridors himself, aided by his personal royal guards. Upon seeing him, the guard captain stiffened to attention like a saluting statue. Damien did not look pleased, and the look demonstrated it. Mirabelle held onto her expression of confusion, even though part of her wanted to gut the King there and then. Such a careless and wild thought was unbecoming, yet all the righteousness of accomplishing it seemed to outweigh it.

The king saw how the guards were still searching frantically, and he turned to his guard captain.
"This-- Is an embarrassment." Damien remarked coldly to the captain. "I am only mildly disappointed now, seeing your men have not found the rogue." He began softly. "So I want you to imagine where you will be when I am very disappointed that you have not only failed to bring the rogue before me, but also allowed more slip-ups in security." Damien coldly described the severity of the issue to his guard captain. He brought his face up to his with the full bear of the King's gorgon-like gaze. Mirabelle's eyes soured at the sight. "Double. The efforts. And then double the security. I will not witness another foolish chase like this, for your sakes." Damien put simply.

The guard captain could not be any stiller, as though even his breath and pulse had ceased for a moment. Mirabelle thought it was no different to mental torture.
"Y-Yes... Sire." He barely managed. The king said nothing more and then withdrew. The guard captain broke for breath as Damien looked at all the nobles.
"Back to bed, all of you!" He commanded. The courtiers and nobles begrudgingly obeyed. Mirabelle followed suit and shut her door as Damien spoke. "I want my royal guards on duty around my quarters--" The door knocked and locked shut. Mirabelle then moved toward her bed and pulled away the disturbed covers. She sighed softly and then slipped into bed, the meeting of midnight still fresh on her mind. Who are you...? She asked the deep reaches of her mind, as the symbol of the seal burned into her closed eyes. She fell asleep thereafter.
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Papa! Papa! I'm going to find you, papa!
... Are you here in the rose bushes? ... No... Too thorny. You wouldn't hide here...
... Maybe you're hiding behind the big apple tree! ... I found you papa!

Your turn!

"Alright, pup! I'll count to 30 then! Go hide!"

Heheheeheehe! No peeking!

"... One...! Two...! Three...! Four...!"

The blackness melted away, and his face glanced back at Phillip, a smiling child running through the apple orchard. It was summer, and everything was so bright, it burned into Phillip's mind.The vision soon became only white light.

"F-Five... Six... Seven... Eight... Nine... T-Ten..."

Visions of the battlefield returned. The sound of ground being trampled like thunder and horses neighing like banshees on the wind. The battle horns blared as Phillip watched his lance glide towards his foes. The vision then became white light once more as his lance splintered upon steel.

"Eleven... T-Twelve... Thirteen... Fourteen... Fifteen... S-S... Sixteen..."

The light fell into shining stars that sparkled across midnight's dark curtain, as the full moon shone light into the rose garden court. Phillip watched as his beloved wife twirled at his fingertips, her soft countenance and gentle expression brought tears to his eyes, and the blurriness faded once more into the light.

"Seventeen... Eighteen... Nineteen... Twenty..."

The light was blinding as Phillip stepped out from the darkness to the head of the tournament grounds, and looked out to his people cheering from the stands. He raised his hands, and they all went wild in cheering his name in an almost fanatical chant. The vision once again faded to white.

"Twenty-One... Twenty-Two... Twenty-Three... Twenty-Four... Twenty-Five..."

I'll be fine, father.

"Anton... No..."

As Phillip counted, the last vision unfolded to him. It was the battlefield once again, but it was not a battle he recalled.

"Twenty-Six...

Once more, the ground was pounded, and the horses neighed. But the sounds were only a sad shadow of the glory days past. It was not a thunder, nor banshees upon the wind. It was a solemn place filled with only rain.

"Twenty... Twenty-Seven...

The pace then quickened as the shouts of men filled the air, and echoes of familiar voices filled the air.
"He's still only a boy! You can't do this!"
"He was conscripted by the King's mandate..."
"I am... Very sorry... Old friend..."
Phillip watch as the soldier whose eyes he looked through raised his lance, lifted to the battle cry honouring the King Vertreaux.

"Twenty-Eight...

The soldier charged forward with all the others, forward unto the mist and rain that concealed the enemy. Arrows were fired from the obscurity and brought down mighty chevaliers by their horses. Phillip then recognized the cry of the soldier, and his heart sank.

"Twenty-Nine..."

More than ever he wanted to cry for his son to stop, but he had no place in this world... Never had he a place to do anything once his son had departed, and forward unto the mists of fate. Phillip could only watch... Watch as his son rode toward the line of rebel archers hiding behind a mound, when the line of spearmen leaped up and raised the wall of spikes that signified any charger's doom. It was all too sudden, and as the sound of spear piercing right through horseflesh sounded, Phillip saw only sudden red and heard the agonizing cry of his son as a spear went right through his gut, impaling him.

".... T-Th... Thirty..."

The battlefield was gone, and Phillip stood once more in the apple orchards. But the days of summer had fled and escaped him. He finished his count and opened his eyes, and saw no longer the bright vibrant world he once knew, but a desolate overcast day of winter. Soft flakes of snow began to fall gracefully from the skies above, and tears rolled down his cheeks as he looked upon a lonely grave beneath the great apple tree.

"... I... I found you... Anton..."

Forgive me...

A thunder clap the sound of Ylath's dying roar woke Phillip to his senses. He sat up straight and true, short of breath and eyes wide as fish's own. He took quick breaths, and looked around his room, darkness encompassing him and only fleeting when lightning streaked the Ravenfellan skies. When he finally realized it was all a dream, Phillip fell down flat on his back once more, and rolled onto his side. The vision of the lonely grave still stayed fresh in his mind, and the memories plagued his rest. He closed his eyes and groaned quietly, unsure of how he still goes on.
"Just another night... In the land of nightmares..." Phillip muttered to himself. He sighed and tried to return. Not to nightmares, but to night's rest.

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

The wardrobe was shut, her sleeping gown donned, and then Mirabelle moved through the darkness of her room before slipping into bed. She waited, and then heard the guards storming the castle. She smiled a little, feeling a little reminiscent of times like this when she saw guards as blind dogs chasing tails. She knew everyone would be waking up now, so she yawned and got out of bed. Mirabelle walked over to the door, wearing her "I was awoken abruptly" face as she opened the door and peered out. All along the corridor, people were poking their tired faces out and watching the guards move by, shouting as they waved the light of their torches around like inquisitors with a vigil.
"What's going on...?" Mirabelle asked uncertainly, rubbing her eyes.

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

Posted. Your move, Andre.

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

Mirabelle's eyes darted to the door as it creaked and torchlight surged into the dark library. The King, in all his infamy, entered the library with a glance and nod to the guard. The door was locked behind him after a brief moment, and the king looked to the library that was once again plunged into darkness. Within the encompassing shadows, a lone candle burned in the reading area. Mirabelle watched closely with a sentry's gaze as the King approached the candle. He glanced around, also searching for his mysterious guest. The Nightingale was patient as the man's heavy and imposing footsteps struck the rich wooden floor. Inside, Mirabelle was all too eager for the elusive agent to reveal their person to both the King and her. The man paused before the table, not daring to take a seat, but instead he searched the shadows.

Mirabelle edged a little closer when the King stopped and looked down at the table. He then picked up what looked like a note from beneath the plate and made a quick glance around. In her head, Mirabelle's warning bells were ringing loud and clear, but she hesitated with a stubborn certainty the agent would reveal their person.

The King read the note, and nothing seemed to happen as Mirabelle imagined. She thought that perhaps, in a surprise turn of events, it was a effortless assassination. But the King simply lowered the note to his side, before scrunching it in his fist. There was an air of annoyance about him, and Mirabelle decided it was time to move.
"Guards! Guards! There is an intruder!" Damien bellowed for his security. His guards were roused and summoned to their lord, as they made their way to the library. The second floor was also closed in on, as the few guards on duty coordinated to trap the intruder. Mirabelle looked scornfully upon this, scowling internally at the smirk of satisfaction on the King's face at the sight of well-trained guards.

It was clear that she had her work cut out for her if she was to escape without being discovered, neither as Nightingale nor rogue. Mirabelle had to do what she did best: Disappear. She darted quickly as the torchlights flooded the room, one by one. The fiery illumination snapped at her heels like silently relentless dogs voiced only by the shouts of the guards. Mirabelle ran for the only place they could not enter from, realistically...

The window.

Mirabelle grabbed her bottled smoke at the last few feet and smashed it on the floor before leaping at the large window. She smashed through and held agilely onto the window frame as it swung open violently. The bottled smoke did it's work to obscure the guards' line of sight for the moment. This gave Mirabelle the few seconds she needed to make her ascent safely and carefully, if you could apply that word, as possible. She wasted not even a shred of a second as she launched herself up, feet on the frame and grabbed at the stones of the castle exterior. In this escape plan, her life depended on a Nightingale's legendary agility. Even after so many times similar yet paling in comparison to this moment, Mirabelle's heart pounded from the adrenaline of climbing. She needed to move quickly, as in the next few moments the guards would poke their heads through the window to search for her. Then in the next moment after, they would look up and see where she is going. She had to lose them here and then.

Another stone grabbed, the next--
Fell away at her grip! In shock and surprise, only a moment away from her literal window of escape. She watched as the loose stone that signified a precious moment wasted fell before her, and she groaned in shock as she was pulled down by force of fall. She was only saved by her left hand. With a silent prayer fulfilled, she saw the stone fall without the guards poking their heads out. It was if not by a close bare second between them not noticing it, and the undesirable situation of the stone knocking one of them out which would result in the other looking up. Mirabelle took this chance and recovered her desperate climb. She grabbed at any stone, knowing that it did not matter if one stone or the other was just as loose as that other one. It was now to escape, or never to live.

Triumph was in her grasp in the form of the windowsill. She pulled herself up as the guards looked into the castle grounds and around for a moment, before looking up. It was hopefully the last of close calls, as Mirabelle had pressed fatefully up against the window in that instant. When she heard the guards grumble, she checked the floor the window was on, and then entered quietly when she was certain there was none to detect her. She followed her usual pattern and shut the windows behind her, before making her way to her quarters to change dress and quickly take up the guise of the innocent songstress once more.

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

Mirabelle made swift steps, light as feathers in their fall upon wooden flooring, and entered the library through the upper level. She was careful, exerting the utmost soul of caution when she slipped in amongst the bookshelves of the upper floor. She glanced briefly around to see if anyone was watching, before looking down into the lower level of the library and scanning the reading area. Nobody appeared to be around, although Mirabelle wagered that whoever it was perhaps may be hiding amongst the bookshelves too.

Mirabelle remained still at the thought, as she saw no need to get into any better of a viewing position. It was no less similar of situation to two mice hiding in the shadows from each other. The only way they would find one another is bumping into each other, and Mirabelle hoped that would not happen. This is the reason she despised being in the room with another spy, especially one who was of her calibre. It always made things awkward.

Mirabelle simply stood in the shadows of ancient and contemporary texts. She waited for the meeting between the king and his mysterious benefactor to commence, with patience sufficient to await the Ending if need be.