Supremacy Kills

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

Mirabelle wandered the corridors with utmost caution. Her eyes and ears were keened as the candlelight of candelabras mounted on the walls exposed her shadowy form. She listened for the footsteps, and then the jangling of belts in order to determine how many people there may be. She maintained this approach as she moved onward. Mirabelle was aware that people will begin dispersing from the hall soon enough, and she had to be quick. If I were a corrupt king, where would my personal effects be...? Mirabelle wondered to herself. She then knew her answer in a heartbeat. Mirabelle began to make her way to the king's suite of the castle, taking care not to be seen by anyone along the way.

She glanced around when she was on the royal apartments level of the palace. Around here, she knew the noble barons staying at Arthroyeaux would have their own living quarters on this level. At the moment, the Court Royale was not in session, which made it all the more easier for Mirabelle to wander without being witnessed. As long as the Baron Garthois and his Majesty DuRant are still downstairs... Mirabelle thought.

The young nightingale swept through shadows instinctively, before entering the king's quarters with ease. Royalty's locks were as easy as any other to a maiden so adept in the art of investigating the nobility. The only difference was the amount of time it took to unlock. Once the door clicked open, the nightingale slipped into the living quarters and looked around. Mirabelle was comforted only slightly by how alone she should be at that moment, but she still glanced over her shoulder nonetheless.

There was nothing that was out of the ordinary for a king's living quarters. It was tidy, neat and ready to be used as if it had never been. Mirabelle noted there was little she could do inquisitively. At least, not without needing to spend the time putting everything back to what it was before she departs. Mirabelle sighed through her nose and then glanced over to the other doors. One lead to the bathroom, and the other lead to the king's study. The former caught her interest immediately.

Mirabelle examined the study as she entered, noticing how less tidy it was compared to the living quarters proper. This was to Mirabelle's advantage. She started perusing through all of the curious documents left lying about and seemingly forgotten on the desk in haste. Many of them were letters from barons and baronets, invitations, complaints, or appeals, many of which were unopened and cast aside. After a while of sifting through the documents, Mirabelle tilted her head in curiosity as she looked over the opened letters. She noticed names that she knew no longer held titles of barony. So... Is this just a coincidence, my king? She wondered slightly. She then looked upon a ledger containing numbers, riches to anyone's eyes, of immense taxes and rents paid by the peoples of Ravenfell.

The thought of DuRant smiling over this ledger disgusted Mirabelle. She just about moved away from the desk, when she noticed something. It was an opened letter, but she could recognize the lower part of the broken black seal that was used on the envelope. Mirabelle's brow furrowed in curiosity, and she took out the neatly handwritten note inside.

My lord,

I have accepted your offer.
We will meet tonight after the feast.
Find me in the library.

Yours sincerely

The note was vague and suspicious, just as much as the seal that was used. Mirabelle returned the note just as it was, and made sure everything appeared untouched. She then pondered about the mysterious meeting that seemed scheduled for tonight. I have to see this for myself... But then I would be leaving this behind. There is bound to be solid evidence here of his treachery... She debated with herself. She then bit her lip and then came to her decision. But surely this meeting will give me more of a lead on who he is affiliated with. Mirabelle told herself, before departing from the living quarters. After leaving, she relocked the door, as any nightingale does, leaving no traces of her passing. She then made her way to the library, well aware that the feast was over by now, and that the meeting was to occur soon.

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

I have posted. I will most likely expand on that pitiful excuse of a response for Phillip's part, but until then, that's all you really need to know.

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

Phillip shook his head at the next thunderclap, and then departed for his room and rest. He no longer had any wish to continue pondering the past or the future, nor debate on the present.
____________________________________

Lucius chuckled as he stood to his feet.
“You intrigue me, mi’lady. Your voice was haunting in melody, and-- forgive me for being bold, but I also could not help but notice you did not wish to mingle with the others in court.” Lucius noted. His brow then furrowed in curiosity. “I wondered why that is. Becoming notable in court is so necessary that song alone will not do justice to your favour.” Lucius added. Mirabelle tilted her head once more.
"Then I will have to manage that in my own time, for I am rather spent for tonight." Mirabelle replied. "I thank you for your concern, my lord, but I am afraid I am still intent on getting a good night's rest earlier rather than later." Mirabelle went on.

She then took a lady-like curtsey.
"Now, if you will excuse me..." She finished, signalling politely that she had no more to say to the baron. She gave him a moment, before turning away and heading towards her bedroom chamber, slipping through the door and closing it shut and locked tight behind her.

She sighed softly, before putting down her lute gently on the end table beside her bed. She walked over to the water bowl on the pedestal nearby and washed her face clean, and wiped away all the cold droplets with a clean cloth. She took a deep breath, unclasping her shortsword belt before she slipped off her garments. She let her dress fall to the floor before picking it up carefully and hanging it over the dressing screen. She let her hair loose and took her sleeping gown out from her armoire without another thought. But then she saw her Nightingale gear hiding in the back of the cupboard.

Nobody else but her could possibly see it. Perhaps the Elven Court Mage, or someone else who was versed in illusion magic of a Nightingale's calibre, but anyone else would have only seen another outfit. It resided in the armoire, waiting to be donned, as if begging for the darkness within Mirabelle to be unleashed that night.

Mirabelle's lips parted for a moment, as thoughts finally came to mind after a long while. She realized how empty she had been ever since she came to court, how thoughts never plagued her in court or stained her countenance in the midst of her fellow courtiers and in the eyes of the king with his advisor. Mirabelle's eyes trailed away from her Nightingale gear, as she wondered about why she had come, and what she had to do.

She finally sighed once more, putting back the dressing gown and taking out the Nightingale gear. She spent the next few minutes equipping the true outfit of her very-real profession, pulling tight the straps to her gauntlets and boots, and clipping up her cuirass. Her bandolier was slung and her quiver was fastened securely to it. Mirabelle tied back her hair once more and then tied up her mask over her nose and mouth, before sweeping the cloak over her head and shoulders and fastening the clasp at her neck. She finally put her hood up to finish, and then slung her Nightingale bow over her shoulder. The illusion was dispelled from her steel shortsword as she took the belt back and fastened it at her waist once again. Mirabelle then looked in the mirror to see it all.

What stared back at her was a ghost from the past. The last time she saw such an apparition, she held such identity and faith in it. But now that she looked back, Mirabelle found that her identity and faith... Were both misplaced.

She shook her head at the apparition, and turned away in disgust. The Nightingale then blew out all the candles that lit the room, one by one, as she would normally if she was retiring to bed. But there was no sleep for her yet, only feigned retiring for the night, so that then she would find what she came for. Once her room was plunged into darkness, Mirabelle found a way out of her room that would leave her door locked tight, and made her inconspicuous departure via the window.

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

The fair maiden made swift and fleeting footsteps as she made her way through the well-lit corridors to reach her quarters, her fair chestnut curls dancing upon her shoulders and back of her neck as she walked. Her arms caressed her well-made lute in her arms as always. She kept her thoughts out of mind while she was out in the open, sometimes glancing to the side as she passed anything that seemed interesting, such as the odd suit of armour or painting. She then felt odd in one particular room she went through, but didn't stop nor look aside, getting the distinct feeling of being watched. She continued on her way cautiously, walking for a while before finally catching sound of a pursuer on her tail.

The fair maiden turned around worriedly, only to find it was just a pursuer of the courtly kind.
“Mi’lady! Mi’lady!” He called out after her, keeping an even pace as he caught up with the young maiden. “Ah...! My apologies… I wanted to applaud you for your admirable performance, and also seek to know you more if your ladyship would please?” The man began. The fair maiden bit her lip a little and glanced around nervously for a moment.
"You wish to know 'me' more?" She asked softly, unsure of how else to respond. She recognized the man as Baron Lucius Garthois of Greymont, from the time she lived with-- From the time she lived there.

Lucius' eyes widened at his abrupt entrance, and he knelt sincerely.
“Ah! Where are my manners? Mi’lady, I am Baron Lucius Garthois, at your service…” He introduced, holding up his hand to accept the fair maiden’s own if she saw fit to grace him. She tilted her head slightly as she bestowed her hand upon Lucius' own out of courtesy.
"A pleasure to meet you, mi'lord. I am Mirabelle Valois, songstress and newest addition to his Majesty's court. Charmed." She introduced herself in return, sounding humble and modest in her words and countenance. "If you don't mind me being so bold, mi'lord, may I ask why his lordship pursues me in spite of any of the other fair courtiers?" Mirabelle asked with a tone of wonder. She was more than eager to retire for the night, but was going to deal with this nuisance with care.

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

"As much as it would please me even further to hear another of your songs, I will let you to your rest. Thank you, my lady." The King replied. The fair maiden nodded and bowed once more, excusing herself. As she walked back over to her seat, she noticed the young man, Kester as he was called, stand up from his seat. He suddenly jerked slightly in spasm of surprise, and then began to look around himself as discreetly as he could for something.

The fair maiden sat down in her seat, her eyes still set on the young man curiously, her face passive and gentle as she rested her lute in her lap. Kester had then looked up at the King's table and looked as though he had found what he was searching for, lowering himself into his seat. The maiden closed her eyes and sighed quietly, before drawing eyes upon what Kester had seen. Once she had a bare glance of Evelyn, she had closed her eyes and massaged her neck softly, as if she had a slight tickle in her throat that she tried to clear afterward. She then glanced at the 'gentleman' that was in Kester's interest before looking shocked, the courtier who had a little too much to drink.

She looked over to Kester slightly, and could see the thoughts in his face. She looked at her lute and shook her head, before standing to her feet and pushing her chair in. Every movement she made was committed to with care, even the slightest aversion of her eyes or turning of her gaze. She knew that in a court, especially one where the court mage watches like the raven who waits for the slightest mistake or slip-up that could be used to her advantage. The maiden knew this from experience, as it was something she did once from mission to mission. There was no question that the court mage had no dulled senses, but neither was there a question of the maiden's own perception nor skill falling short of Evelyn's own.

The maiden murmured her excusing to the other courtiers who noticed, and then left the hall with lute in her arms like a sleeping babe, her face remaining like a serene sculpture, all the way to her quarters.

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

You have my post. I await your return.

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

Marceilles was quiet, with few strangers and citizens alike walking the streets to reach their hostels and homes. From Marceilles Castle, a man watched through stained glass. The sound of distant thunder rolled in the east beyond the mountains, as rain clouds gathered over the town and began to drop their night sky's tears. It was gentle at first, but began to pitter and patter upon cobblestone, roof tile and glass alike. Still the man watched through now rippling stained glass as the people quickened their pace through the streets to find shelter from the rain. It felt like a solemn sight, even though the man observed the celebrations taking place in the taverns.

"They celebrate well in the name of their lord, but we can't keep this up, my lord." A voice called out from close-by. The man glanced over his shoulder to peer at his adviser who stepped out of the shadows. "Phillip, as your good friend and humble servant, I implore you to submit to the King's mandate, and raise the taxes." The man asked as he stepped towards the baron. Phillip turned back to the window as the rain began to fall harder.
"Nothing about that corrupt sack of wine who sits wrongfully upon the throne compels me to submit. I will sooner ride out and rebel against the established organisation of greed and deceit that DuRant now leads, than allow him to rob my people blind." Phillip replied coldly. "You know me better than that, Ruvelle." Phillip noted as an afterthought.

Ruvelle shook his head.
"I know you well enough to care for your well-being. If we are unable to pay our part to the king, you will be replaced with someone lesser. Of this, I have no doubt." Ruvelle explained himself. Phillip smirked.
"We will last a while yet. I will be ready well before then to challenge his rule. But until then. my first duty is to my people. That is one of the many virtues that Chevaliers swear oath to." Phillip said. "To protect the innocent and help the weak." Phillip recited. Ruvelle sighed.
"Until they die by their oath, as does any one man who holds onto their oaths." Ruvelle remarked. Phillip's small smirk faded as he remembered the oath he once swore.

Phillip then cleared his throat.
"If there is nothing else, Ruvelle..." Phillip asked, his eyes set on the outside world cloaked in fog and rain.
"Just one last thing: When will you ride out then?" Ruvelle asked curiously in reply. Phillip closed his eyes.
"When Divines and humble fate demand it." He replied. Uncertain, but finished, Ruvelle bowed and departed, leaving Phillip alone to his thoughts as he watched over his city.

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In the royal court, the fair maiden still played humbly for her audience. Her fingers plucked delicately at the strings of her lute, producing the softest melody, and her voice melded with the light tunes with perfect harmony as she sang her muse's gift to all who listened.

"By the glitter,
By the gleam,
Of sparkles aflitter,
Of ripples upon the stream.

Faeries, Dryads and Wisps,
Sweet and Gentle Guardians,
Dancing serenely amongst the mists.
Beside the streams are Her gardens,
Her mysterious and beautiful havens.

Elven Swordsingers and Druidesses,
Spurring a magnificent melody.
Fairer than fair princesses,
The musings of their sweet harmony!

And thus roses grow,
By the riverside thorns curl,
Blooming petals brushing the flow,
Glowing droplets purer than any pearl.

They who speak the native language,
An ancient tongue of grace and purity,
Have one name never written upon page,
For this safe place; a paradise by all certainty!

Dream on,
Nature's faithful heroes and martyrs!
Witness this place; Our Aquas Ae'atas...

She finished on a long note, dragging out a fading tune as she closed her eyes and stood almost still as a statue with her lute in her arms. After a moment, the court finally began to applaud her performance in a chorus of clapping that sounded off to all four corners of the hall as the maiden opened her eyes with a smile and took a curtsy bow to her listeners before bowing to her liege.
"I very much hope I have pleased your majesty and his court. Do you wish me to play another melody, my lord?" The fair maiden asked as she held her lute at the ready.

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

My apologies for the long wait. I present to you two CSes for your pleasure and approval, my liege.
I shall make to posting IC immediately upon your signal, or immediately to rectifying any mistakes if needed.
Thank you.

Phillip Agravaine

Name:
Phillip Agravaine
Age:
44
Gender:
Male
Race:
Ravenfellan Breton

Weapons:
Phillip wields an ornate appearing yet balanced and strong cross sword of natural length, this sword was given to Phillip as a sign of office, to officiate his place as Baron. It bears noble inscriptions over the flat of the blade that recognize Phillip as Baron. Whenever he rides into battle, Phillip readies a balanced lance of reinforced spruce tipped with steel, and uses it to spear any unfortunate enemies or unhorse opposing riders that he comes across.
Equipment:
In court, he wears Bretonian Noble Garments, along with his noble signet ring. He also wears an Amulet of the Divine-Stendarr. If it gets cold, he usually dons a fur-trimmed cloak with hood to keep the frost out.
Out on the field, he dons his Steel Gothic Full Plate Armour with heraldic tabard, a Full Helmet with liftable face visor and plume. His Steel Kite Shield is usually clasped to his arm. He often rides his covered warhorse, Bristelle, when out in the field.
Inventory:
He carries his diary, a purse of gold coins, healing tinctures, and keeps select medicines and other supplies in his warhorse's saddlebags.

Appearance:
Phillip is an older man now, but that has not changed his resolve and endurance. He is still as fit and able as the day he joined the Chevaliers, and only looks like an older version of the young man from back then. He has olive skin that is battle-tested in complexion, with a few scars here and there from battles past. His eyes are the colour of hazel, and his chestnut hair is a tousled yet clean mess on his head. He sports a tidy short beard covering his chin and between his lips and nose.

In court, Phillip wears the garments of a Bretonian Nobleman, made from the finest blue silk and trimmed with white fabric. His winter cloak is trimmed with white fur and made from warming blue cloth. His signet ring bore the seal of his noble family.

His Steel Gothic Plate Armour was smithed by the royal smithy of Arthroyeaux with magnificent intricacies and shining plates, coated with a tabard that was sewn with Phillip's noble colours and heraldry. So too did his Steel Kite Shield, crafted to perfection, bear his coat of arms upon the surface to let all who witness him know of his nobility. His helmet is a knightly full helmet with blue plume donning the head. Even his warhorse, Bristelle, is coated with chain and a tabard that proclaims his noble heraldry once more, just so that even the basest man knew who it was they faced if it ever came to it.

Background:
Phillip was the only son of a farmer who lived in the outlying countryside of Arthroyeaux, on an apple orchard a small distance away from the nearest village. He grew up knowing nothing more than the farmer's tools he used to help his father tend to the fields and the hunting bow he wielded to hunt game in the summer months. His family lived on a modest income from selling their surplus to be taken to market. It was a calm and peaceful life, and Phillip was all the more happier with it. He would have been content to live the rest of his days as his parents did.

It was not to be, however. When Phillip was 17, he was conscripted by the local Baron into a militia army. Phillip remembered it vividly, as the last thing he saw of his parents were their sad and tear-stained faces as he was taken from the life he had always known, and soon the hunting bow he held was replaced with a sword. Phillip was trained for a year and then stationed amongst a rabble of men who had been taken for the same reason.

For war.

Vertreaux DuFairre had ascended to the throne, at the age of 20, just weeks before Phillip was conscripted, and the Court Royale of Ravenfell was in dispute over his adequacy to rule. Vertreaux's first challenge was to quell the conflict that had then become civil war.

When he was trained and at the age of 18, Phillip marched under the banner of Baron Robert Rothwell, one of the many barons of Ravenfell who opposed the young king. The militia army marched upon Arthroyeaux and converged with two other rebellious barons and their own armies. They then proceeded to directly lay siege to Arthroyeaux. However, rather than wait for the rest of the barons, they rushed in as soon as they had siege equipment prepared. If they had waited, they may have actually overthrown Vertreaux and cast out his supporters.

Vertreaux was no fool, and had called upon his father's loyal friends amongst the barons to garrison their armies in Arthroyeaux, and made sure to evacuate any citizens from the outer town across the river. It soon became a bloody battleground as trained troops battled trained militia, and soon the rebellious barons realized their loss. Without any regard for their men, they fled with only their elite troops, leaving the militia to either die or be captured.

Phillip was one of the many who were captured by the king's entourage. They were imprisoned in the prison tower of Arthroyeaux, and there Phillip remained in fear of what was to happen then. Thoughts went through his mind as he began to wonder if the king decided he and the other militia men deserved to be executed, for the treason of rebellious barons who cared little for their own men.

However, the militia men were given a chance, recruited into Vertreaux's own growing ranks. Vertreaux was one of the few militia who were bestowed the honour of joining the ranks of the Chevaliers. Phillip didn't know it then, but Vertreaux had seen in him a potential, like other militia men with him, than any baron would ever possess.

And he was right.

Phillip often wondered why he chose to accept when he was also given the chance to freedom, to return to his old life. He tells himself that it was really a lack of choice, where he saw no way the civil war would end soon with him simply lying down low. War would come, and destroy whatever else he had left. It was also at that point that Phillip spent one night in the palace chapel praying before he would take up the chivalric sword. He prayed that Divines would keep his parents safe, that Stendarr would offer mercy to them, and left that night with all his hopes locked away in an amulet of the God of Mercy given to him by one of the chapel priests.

He never saw his parents alive again.

It was then he developed a resolve, a determination to train his hardest, to continually strengthen and hone his skills in battle to become the best the Chevaliers had to offer their king. It took two years of dark bruises and harsh yells, but soon enough Phillip demonstrated that he was indeed the best the Chevaliers had to offer.

Vertreaux was pleased to see his pre-judgement of Phillip was perfectly fulfilled. There was no doubt in his mind that Phillip was the right man for the job. He appointed Phillip as commander of the Chevalier Bannerets, the Elite Bodyguard and Fist of the King, and gifted him the warhorse Bristelle.

When he was 20, Phillip honourably led the Chevalier Bannerets to victory in Vertreaux's name across many skirmishes through time, quelling rebel armies where ever they could find them with swift and subtle force, and at one point he served his vengeance upon an old face, the Baron Rothwell. It was a rainy day on the fields near Marceilles, when Phillip had challenged the Baron to a single pass of jousting before a duel. Unwilling to look weak to his troops, the baron accepted the challenge begrudgingly, to fight the militia man he once conscripted who rode before him in shining armour at that moment.

Fortune favoured Agravaine's lance, as he unhorsed the baron with swift movement, and dismounted as the Chevalier Bannerets and the rest of the royal army watched and cheered him on. He drew his blade and waited as the baron rose to his feet, with a muddied visor to conceal the rage he felt. Rothwell wiped away the mud angrily as he drew his own sword. The man refused to be beaten by a peasant in knightly arms. The two engaged in plain sight of both opposing sides, passing each other in their duel to bring one another down to the kneel of surrender. The baron fought with a fierce determination to defend his honour and denounce the champion of the king.

However, it was not enough to best Phillip. With a swift flick of his blade, he had disarmed the baron and held the point at his neck, staring into the baron's eyes with only one message conveyed in a silent moment as the rain poured around them.

The baron gritted his teeth behind the obscuring visor, but honour forced him to submit. His army followed suit and surrendered, and that day Marceilles fell under Phillip's command without a single drop of blood being shed.

Agravaine was soon nicknamed "The Lance Commander" because of his undeniable talent with the lance. He would lead the charge through the enemy with a fearless vigour that inspired all the other Chevalier Bannerets. But it was the sight of Phillip soaring at times through the battlefield that truly struck fear into the hearts of the enemy and emboldened the hearts of his comrades.

Eventually, after 4 years, the war was won and the Court Royale was reformed. The barons who refused to desist and swear fealty once more to their sovereign were stripped of all their noble titles and possessions, and either exiled or, worse, executed. Thereafter, Vertreaux appointed new barons from his circle of trusted supporters and friends, a fair few selected from the ranks Chevalier Bannerets. Phillip Agravaine was one of those few. The new barons replaced the ones who had departed, settlements, castles and lands reassigned to the deserving, and the Court Royale was once more populated with occupied seats. Phillip himself replaced Baron Rothwell, taking control of Marceilles. He also soon became a close confidant of the King, and was often seen at his side.

After the war, Phillip returned to Marceilles, now under his rule, and married the love of his life, dame Celeste Marion, after years of courting between battles. In their union, the two had only one son, however, as Celeste died during childbirth. Phillip was stricken with grief, but seeing Celeste's eyes when he looked upon his son helped Phillip overcome his grief and sorrow. He named his son Anton.

The years went by as Phillip took care of his only son with the utmost love and attention that he could give when he wasn't out on the field or visiting the royal courts of Arthroyeaux. He ensured his son had the best care and education growing up, and plenty of immersion with other children, noble or not. Often between school semesters, Phillip would take Anton to the Summer Palace of Marceilles, a small manor estate located in an apple orchard next to a village overlooking the city. They would spend those two weeks together gleefully playing hide-and-seek amongst the apple trees or within the large manor house, and spend nights eating dinner by the fireplace with no troubles in the world. The both of them enjoyed every moment of the summer holidays they spent at the Summer Palace.

Time went on, as Anton grew up in the world that Phillip had carefully maintained for him. It was a peaceful world, free of conflict that Anton only knew through war stories his father told him, particularly the Duel d'Marceilles when Phillip had fought the Baron Rothwell that day.

Eventually, Anton grew older, and wished to become a scholar. When Anton was of an acceptable age, Phillip took Anton with him to Arthroyeaux begrudgingly to allow Anton access to the Great Library of Arthroyeaux, and the archives of Arthroyeaux Palace. Phillip ended up making as many excuses as he could to remain by his son's side, hoping to keep his son far from the field of Bretonian Politics.

However, one day, his excuses would not hold. Phillip was dragged away from his son by matters of importance, and the last thing he heard his son say was, "I'll be fine, father". It was not to be. Anton was conscripted into the ranks of the Chevaliers when Phillip next checked, and he was angry with Vertreaux. However, the king reassured Phillip that it was not his decision, and that he was working on appealing against Anton's conscription.

Weeks passed however, and when Phillip next checked, the king had only solemn news. There had never been a greater emptiness to Phillip than the one he now felt in his heart. Anton was killed when the Chevaliers lead a raid on a bandit camp. That night when Phillip stood in the palace chapel for the second time in his life, praying for mercy. But he had already realized the God of Mercy could not be merciful over those who were dead. That night, he was not praying for anyone else he loved, but instead he prayed for mercy on his soul. He had the blade raised and ready at his neck, ready to draw blood on the alter of mercy. But he still wore the amulet of Stendarr, and the chain caught on his blade before the edge even touched his neck. He breathed in for a moment, and began to weep.

He reformed his resolve, and once again prayed for someone other than himself. He prayed for Stendarr to have mercy on his son's killer, and swore an oath of vengeance. Phillip swore to the Divines that he would find his son's murderer, and make him pay for his crime.

Two years had passed. Anton would have been 19 to the present day. The news of the king and his heir's death travelled fast to the barons of the land, as did the news of Baron DuRant's ascension to the throne. However, Phillip looks on with wary eyes and watches in waiting, knowing that all is rotten in the court of Arthroyeaux.
Personality:
Phillip used to be so cheerful from the days of childhood through to the days of baronhood. But ever since the day he buried his son, Phillip realized that his family was his only happiness, and they were all taken from him. However, his demeanour is not bitter or scornful of anyone who does not deserve it, and he still holds a respectful and honourable approach to others. He is rational and calculating, which is the reason he remains alive in the world of Bretonian politics. Phillip always has a structured plan for situations as they come, and can remain shockingly calm when things go wrong. Whether it is, once again, his welcoming of death or being used to plans taking a turn in the past, he maintains a cool attitude towards normally panic-inspiring news or information.

Job:
Baron
Skills:
Jousting - Phillip has been trained in the knightly art of jousting, and has more than mastered unhorsing mounted opponents.
Swordplay - Phillip has been trained in a knightly form of swordplay, using sword and shield in battle to masterful extent.
Blocking - Time has little dulled Phillip's reaction time, and he still raises his shield almost as fast as he did when he was Chevalier Banneret.
Disarmament - He is also capable of easily disarming an opponent's sword with the right movement at a time when his enemy is dazed or fatigued.
Pacing - A decade's worth of training and conditioning has taught Phillip that despite being able to hold himself in a fight for long periods of time already, he can pace himself to last a little longer still.
Duelling - Phillip was taught chivalry, and the conventions of duelling honourably, yet skilfully. He is battle-tested and shown to be the better when engaging a single foe one-on-one.
Horse Riding - All Chevaliers are taught the basics and advanced aspects that there are to learn about riding horse into battle.
Traits:
Fearless - Whether it is possessing nothing else to lose or a death wish that compels him, Phillip goes into any situation without fear in the face of even death.
True Leader - Phillip possesses a strength in character that makes him a true leader of men at arms, commanding the loyalty of men who are willing to follow him to the ends of Eyreseum.
Enduring / Veteran Warrior - Phillip has faced many battles, and he will face many more yet. The scars of battles past he still bears are testimony to this man's un-killable nature.
Champion - Phillip is an inspiration to others, and is well known for his skills in battle.
Magic:
N/A
Talent:
The Lance Commander - Phillip rides his warhorse with fearless vigour and terrifying speed. Anyone who rides alongside him are inspired by his courage and commanding superiority upon the field.

Strengths:
Phillip fights just like the man who has nothing left to lose, until either he is taken or his vengeance is sated. Any foe who comes between him and his oath are only doomed to fall.
Weaknesses:
Phillip apparently has no weaknesses as he fears nothing else in life and welcomes death, but that in reality may be his weakness.

Quote:
"Death is nothing but an old friend of mine that will visit once more with only open arms for me."
Theme:
N/A

Mirabelle Valois

Name:
Mirabelle Valois
Age:
18
Gender:
Female
Race:
Ravenfell Breton

Weapons:
Mirabelle wields a Nightingale Blade and Nightingale Bow when she is expecting to battle or when she is out on a mission, using blackfeather shadowsteel tipped beak arrows which identify her kills as that of a Nightingale.
Equipment:
In court, Mirabelle wears Bretonian Noblewoman Garments made of fine silk and embroidery. When she is setting out as a Nightingale, she wears the standard Nightingale Garb of black featherscale armour which covers her from head to face to toe, with a shadowsilk cloak clasped around her neck.
Inventory:
Mirabelle carries little around in court spare her lute. When she departs as a Nightingale, she carries an assortment of potions and poisons, as well as bottled smoke and lockpicks, which are all contained on black leather bandolier she wears slung over her shoulder under her cloak, which also holds her quiver of arrows.

Appearance:
Mirabelle is a fairest maiden that few others can rival in beauty, as her soft, curly chestnut hair flows down to her shoulders, and her contrasting eyes are the colour of emeralds that stand out upon her fair to pale skin. She stands no taller than man, and is the average height for a woman. He figure is slender and without marks or scars, and thus does justice to the claims of her pristine appearance.

Her courtly clothing consists of Bretonian Noblewoman Garments made from soft leafgreen silk, embroidered with gold and patterned with yellow leaves and wildflowers upon her torso down to her rippling gown. Her feet are covered with soft satin shoes that match her dress. At times, she ties back her hair into a pony tail that trails down her back. She always keeps at her side her Nightingale Blade within its sheath, disguised as an ordinary Steel Shortsword through Illusion.

When she ventures into the night, she dons the Nightingale Garb, boots, gloves, tights, cuirass and mask of finest black featherscale craftsmanship, always made complete by the black shadowsilk hooded cloak she sweeps over her shoulder and casts over her head. At this time, her illusion over her blade dispels as she slings her Nightingale Bow over her shoulder, revealing itself to be Shadowsteel of the finest make. Beneath her cloak, her bandolier contains bottled smoke and poisons, while the frontside holds her potions and lockpicks. Just above her waist, her quiver is secured close to the bandolier to allow her to draw her arrows with her right hand.

Background:
A young baby girl was left at the doorstep of a wealthy noblewoman in Greymont. The symbol of a Nightingale was engraved on the door to represent the family DuBois. As for the noblewoman who took in the baby, she was Rayline DuBois.

Rayline had kept the nametag of the baby girl, and gave her no name. Instead, she had been brought up knowing only nouns and Rayline's voice as her devices of attention. She was raised in secrecy behind the closed doors of DuBois Manor, knowing the outside as only the rose garden her foster mother tended and only what she saw beyond the black iron fence that surrounded the estate. She was homeschooled every day of her life she could have been sent to a school nearby, and often she wondered what it was like to speak with someone other than her mother and the servants.

Even then, Rayline was often away from home on business, and the young girl was left with the servants to be taken care of. She once remembered a house maid who often stayed with her, teaching her how to read and write, of tales and songs from the outside world. It was from this one maid the young girl learned about the world she had never seen from beyond her bedroom window or the black iron fence.

However, to ease her longing, Rayline and the servants often played games with the young child, such as Hide-And-Seek amongst the rose bushes or card games that involved being clever with a hand of cards. The young girl didn't realise it then, but the games they played would teach her the most important skills of her future craft.

When she was 12, Rayline revealed the most hidden truth about the household, that they were Nightingales. Rayline, the servants, even the butler and caretaker. She told the young girl that they were a family, and that she was going to be a part of that family. The girl was only still in her youth, and the idea of being a closer part of the 'family' appealed to her deeply. If she realized what the 'family was involved in, she may never have said yes with such certainty as she did.

From that young age, the girl was trained in the arts of stealth and deceit that all the games of Hide-And-Seek and Bretonian Cards had prepared her for. She also learnt how to use the bow and the blade in the basement of the manor. Rayline revealed more and more of the obscure features of the Nightingale order to the girl, and she only wished to learn more of them. Rayline had captivated her fascination and fed her wanting.

These were affairs of the night and the night only. Rayline taught the girl the most important skill a Nightingale had, and that was discretion. To maintain an ordinary life to keep up appearance and disguise their true nature as Nightingales. During the day, Rayline and the servants continued to teach the girl of lady-like activities, such as song, dance, and sewing.

Rayline finally took the girl along for a mission when she turned 13. Her age was of advantage to the success of the mission, and hence she took the girl on a journey to the Noble District of Arthroyeaux. The journey took a day and a few hours, and was plenty of time for the girl to hone her skills and ask Rayline questions. Ever since she had been introduced to the order, the girl had developed a curiosity befitting a Nightingale, as Rayline had commented happily.

The mission was simple, the two were to infiltrate the house of a particular Breton Nobleman and plant a selection of documents that would incriminate him in… Dishonourable deeds, as Rayline had put it. What the girl had to do was play and act, as she had once done with the servants a while ago. She played the orphan girl that the nobleman would take pity upon, and she looked as fearful and dirtied as she could.

The man fell for her act, and took her into his manor for the while to take care of her. The man showed her every part of the house, as Rayline had planned. Unbeknownst to the nobleman, the girl was taking note of every single detail. Every window, door, cabinet, anything that could be locked. By the end of the day, the girl left the manor without the man realizing, and told Rayline everything.

When night fell, the both of them invaded the manor and went straight to the study. Rayline hid in the shadows whilst the girl planted the documents. A hand shot out and grabbed her by the wrist, and the nobleman caught her planting the documents. Before he could check the documents, she had stabbed him in the back with a small knife she had on her, despite still being held by the wrist. Rayline herself was surprised when she saw there were two of the girls on either side of the nobleman as he fell to the floor, paralysed by the knife being jabbed into his back. He lay there in pain as Rayline intervened to decide what was to be done. She explained to the confused girl that she had magic, and that something would be done later as she dispelled the illusion. She then decided it was better to put the poor man out of his misery and let investigation of his death dishonour his name. With that, the two departed and disappeared into the night.

That night when the girl had stabbed an actual person for the first time, she felt no remorse or shame in it, because she felt it was necessary.

Thus, necessity become an essential part of her life, and as the girl grew up, so too did her talents began to bloom as a Nightingale, to Rayline's pleasure. Her control over her magic was reassured by tutelage, and she was even taught how to use her magical talent to her job as Nightingale.

Being a child did not stop the girl from completing many missions for the order, and through these missions she began to grow closer to the other Nightingales like a true family, as Rayline had promised. The girl began to accept everything about her life as normal, and eventually learned more about the world as she wished as child that she did now as a Nightingale, an agent of the night and seeker of information.

She learnt new spells and how to use particular potions, poisons and other tools of their craft, and by the time she was 17, the girl had not only become a beautiful young lady, but one of the finest Nightingales the order had to offer.

It was on a mission to Arthroyeaux that the girl finally met the love of her life, a prince by the name of Arsene DuFairre. She had realized it then, but her emotions that had always been normally falsified for the mission were more honest and pure than she had ever known. Her heart was aflutter and her eyes were captivated with his gentle own. He was not a concern of her mission, but she endeavoured to make him a part of her life. She used the skills she had been taught to coincide their meeting, to make them well acquainted to each other. It was an accidental seeming meeting, a fair maiden dropping her basket of flowers when bumping into the prince, but his good nature brought him close enough to the maiden to recognize her as fair.

Their meeting was brief, but the prince's words of praise to her countenance inspired the young maiden to further their relationship beyond acquaintance somehow. She realized that the same ball that she was supposed to attend for the mission was the same ball to be held at the palace where the prince lived. The young maiden usually looked radiant enough without effort, but this time she felt it was… Necessary.

That night, she attended the ball. She wore a Bretonian ballgown that shimmered in the moonlight with the dust of jewels sparkling upon the white feathery material like stardust upon angel's wings, her slippers were made from finest glass to perfect fitting. She would have been the envy of all the fair maidens in attendance. Her mission was to pass a sealed box to a nobleman during the meeting time before the dance. She accomplished her mission, and then went on to the later part of the night. If it were not for her captivation, she would have left early with the cover that she was feeling ill. But on the contrary, she felt better than she ever had before.

When the musicians played, she met with the prince once more, as he recognized her and asked her for the honour of the dance. Never had she blushed so much that her pale face was the colour of strawberries and heated like the striking summer rays. Through accidental stuttering of words that was so alien to her craft, she only barely managed to accept his invitation. She made up for her anxiety with footsteps that impressed the young prince as she kept close to him in a whirling waltz that seemed to last the span of many songs that the musicians played.

When the night was over, she had gone with the prince into the moonlit gardens of the palace, playing amongst the rose bushes and ivy arches with joy and laughter reminiscent of small children. They met one last time beneath a gentle hanging flower, and kissed for the first time with the full moon as their witness to their love. It all felt like a blissful dream for the young fair maiden.

When he finally asked for her name, however, she knew not how to answer, and her feelings stopped her swift thinking to bar her from devising an alias. The bell of the palace chapel tolled, and she used that to her advantage. She cried out in fear as she realized it was her time to go and begged her leave. When she ran, the prince called out to her to come back, as the fair maiden fled into the night. As she ran down the stairs from the palace to reach her carriage, she lost one of her glass slippers in all the hurry before she stepped into the carriage and begged to leave.

For the first time in her life, she questioned who she was, and why she was the Nameless Nightingale. She thought about it, and realized that all of the others had names they could be called by, but all her life she had accepted being called "darling" or "my dear", or whatever miscellaneous nouns could be used by Rayline and the others.

She had hidden the dress and returned to the Manor DuBois as a Nightingale to confront Rayline on her identity, demanding to know the truth of it all. Rayline looked her foster daughter in the eyes and attempted to calm her, to try and tame the wild bird who had returned to the nest with sweet little lies. The maiden saw through them, however, and poked holes in everything her foster mother dared embellished the situation with. She had realized how all her life, she had been nothing but a little bird caged by black iron fences, sheltered and raised to be a beautiful maiden that nobody would know the name of. She had never been in a situation where somebody would ask her of her name until that night.

Rayline finally told the girl the truth, that she was left on her doorstep with no nametag or letter to identify her, and she could never give the girl a name without being her true parent. She apologised to the Nameless Nightingale, and tried to comfort her. But that night, her feelings had overcome her, and the girl who had once called Rayline 'mother' fled the manor with her belongings and disappeared once more into the night.

Months had passed, and the girl fashioned herself an alias and story for her own. She looked upon her noble heraldry of her supposed family, and repeated only one phrase to herself before she set out into the streets of Arthroyeaux.

"I am Mirabelle Valois."

Once she had her identity set, she was intent on reuniting with her prince, who had since sought her out with the single glass slipper that she had lost, as it was apparent that it had to been made to fit. However, no noblewoman nor fair maiden could fit the slipper thus far.

That night she went to the palace to seek audience, she heard the news. The king had passed away in his sleep, and the prince had taken his life only that afternoon when the sun set. The maiden was shattered, as she felt every piece of her heart break into thousands of shards like glass.

She could not believe that the prince had taken his own life, not out of love, but out of knowing. She knew the prince was not too weak of a soul to have feared the throne as his letter claimed, and she felt a spark of anger revive the Nightingale within when she saw the Baron DuRant crowned King.

Months went by, and she had returned once more to the court of Arthroyeaux, still maintaining the alias of Mirabelle Valois. She appealed and joined the court of DuRant with little effort, and become their newest and most splendid addition. She remained Nightingale for her own purpose, and her sole mission then was to discover the truth.

She would discover and expose all the treachery and maleficence there was that surrounded DuRant's throne of corruption, for she was the Nameless Nightingale.
Personality:
Mirabelle is gentle in court, and wears the face of the fair maiden who plays soothing songs to a court longing for her muse. Outside of court, Mirabelle is focused and set on her objectives as a Nightingale, and will do whatever she must. However, there is a longing emptiness and total sadness within her heart, and by the end of the night she finds herself crying in bed that nothing of her illusion magic can make the pain of loneliness any easier.

Job:
Nightingale
Skills:
~ Singing - Mirabelle has a soft and melodic voice and a broad knowledge of Bretonian songs that can be sung at a royal court.
~ Speechcraft - Mirabelle also has a way with words, and her annunciation is clearer than many who claim to be the clearest, where the only stutters and mistakes she makes in speaking are deliberate in nature.
~ Acrobatics - She also has practiced flexible and agile movements through the air, and is capable of leaping from roof to roof or from frightening height without causing injury to herself.
~ Athletics - She may not look it in court, but Mirabelle is a runner of the wind, covering short distances in a flash, and without tiring herself out too much.
~ Stealth - Mirabelle is masterful at using her environment in order to hide herself almost in plain sight, and her Nightingale Garb helps to blend in with the shadows.
~ Blade Efficiency and Finesse - She is well versed and so graceful with her Nightingale Blade that any flick of her blade is almost artfully pleasing to watch in a sense.
~ Combat Movement - This also means she is more than capable of moving around the chaos of a fight quickly in order to strike her opponents in specific points.
~ Marksmanship - She is well practiced with the use of a bow, to a point where she can even fire shots in the dark without loss of accuracy.
~ Horse Archery - It may not be often she uses the skill, but being able to fire her bow on horseback as good as she does on foot can come in handy.
~ Pickpocketing - A minor seeming skill, all Nightingales are definitely taught this basic skill amongst others during their training, and Mirabelle can pickpocket whatever she likes from the common mark.
~ Trapmaking - When ambushes are necessary, so too are traps. Mirabelle is able to create many traps from using just rope or string as her base material.
~ Sewing - She also happens to be very capable of sewing up and embroidering her own garments.
Traits:
~ Observant - Mirabelle's eyes are keen and spot all peculiar and interesting things in her vision.
~ Perceptive - She also has a sense of utmost caution that steers her away from danger.
~ Graceful - Whether she is dancing in court, gliding across rooftops or ducking through battle, Mirabelle is always graceful in movement.
~ Careful - She also takes utmost care, trying to avoid any unnecessarily dangerous situations and taking only few uncertain risks.
~ Quick - One moment her blade may be sparring with your own, and the next it may be in your chest.
~ Swift - As fast as the wind, this Nightingale disappears quickly when pursued by guards.
~ Agile - Able to sidestep average blows and dodge any arrows she sees being fired at her.
~ Precise - Blade or Bow, it matters not. Her strikes and misses are always deliberate with the common foe.
Magic:
General -
~ Focusing - A necessary skill, Mirabelle needs this to maintain her illusions and also to utilize unspoken Magic.
~ Unspoken Magic - A very necessary skill to Nightingales with magic, Mirabelle uses this skill to surprise her foes, especially magic users.
Illusion -
~ Disguise Object - Mirabelle uses this to disguise her Nightingale Blade as an ordinary Steel Shortsword.
~ Cloak of Darkness - She can gather the shadows around her to hide herself in plain sight if needed.
~ Duality - Mirabelle is able to conjure another illusion of herself, one that feels just as solid and does almost just as much damage as her, but can be dispelled easily with magic or by landing a single blow.
~ Disruption - A necessary skill to hiding a Nightingale, Mirabelle can use this spell on herself or another to disrupt any scrying being attempted.
~ Charm - If her natural charm should ever fail for any reason, Mirabelle can use words honeyed with magic to influence the thoughts or actions of another.
Mysticism -
~ Detect Life - Can sense any living entities out of sight from behind walls or in other areas nearby.
~ Detect Death - Detecting the dead or unliving is just as necessary as detecting the living.
~ Telekinesis - Can move objects from an archer's distance.
Talent:
Requiem of a Lonely Nightingale - Composed by Mirabelle, this powerful song inspires immense sadness in all common men and women who hear of her woes, causing them to pause in despair and giving her a chance to escape if needed.

Strengths:
Mirabelle's legs which allow for her most agile and swift movements are her strength. Aside from that, her vision and ability to use the environment to her advantage also benefit her greatly.
Weaknesses:
Mirabelle's emotions are a major weakness, and will cause her to slip up if played upon correctly. Aside from that, Mirabelle has a susceptibility to lightning magic.

Quote:
"Were it that I had wings that I could fly with the angels in a light so bright and far away from this place so dark that I call home."
Theme:
N/A

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

Andre Valias said
Remind you of anybody, @Supremacy Kills? :3

Quite vividly. Many lives destroyed by the man with a macabre sense of humor and tasteless killing. Oh yes.

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

I have missed this world. It will be good to be Roleplaying with you again, Andre.

I'll work on a Character Sheet immediately. I just need to know what Year and which Era this is so have a better idea of this setting.

Ravenfell Bretons are more French, yes?

And, perhaps add a "Recommended" section for Races, Jobs, Magic, Skills and Background. I doubt you would have Dwarves in Ravenfell.

Message me sometime, please.