The seven Duchies of Central Rynmere and their respective baronies, cities, towns, villages, and landmarks each overseen by a Duke of one of the seven noble families and ultimately controlled by the King of Rynmere.
Badon opened the back door as Xander dismounted the horse which he had ridden rather haphazardly back to the house. He was not a well trained or practised rider but he could get from A to B and after a while he settled in. He found the best trick was to move with the horse and not try to stay rigid, it made him much more stable and was also much more comfortable. He tied the horse up to a pole and then headed over silently approaching the back door where the butler waited for him. The Loyal and old friend had as he knew not alerted his father to his plan, he had known the man could be trusted above anyone else. "You spiked the drink with the drug I gave you?" Xander whispered as they remained outside to talk quietly and secretly.
"Yes my Lord and I should tell you your father was already quite drunk by the time he had the drugs." Xander nodded in thanks and then clasped the old slaves arm with his gloved hand. They exchanged a quick smile and then Badon stepped inside to check the way was clear. Xander had earlier instructed him to make sure that the other servants would be hard at work out of the way throughout the house. So when he stuck his head back out the door and beckoned Xander in he had no doubt he would be safe to head straight up to the bathroom in which his father was bathing. Xander carefully removed his boots outside and then stepped in as quietly as he could. He made sure not to knock anything or step too heavily as he walked in his socks to the doorway leading to the entrance hall and the stairs upward.
Again Badon went into the room first and once signalling Xander the all clear Xander quickly but quietly walking on his toes made his way along the left wall and up the stairs. They creaked a little as he made his way up, the old wood groaning a little from stress as they always did. He had grown up in the house and with the amount of servants that made their ways around he was used to the sound and would have thought nothing of it, this was the same for the servants and his parents. He had been told his mother had already gone to bed, as was to be expected. However, due to her father being drunk she was most likely sleeping in the spare bedroom.
His sword was wrapped in order to stop any sound escaping it as he walked and as he rounded the top of the stairs and onto the landing he was happy to find no one was around. He glanced back down at Badon who then left the hall and went back to attending his normal evening duties to keep everything seeming as usual. Xander, however, moved his way down the upstairs corridor and towards the bathroom at the end of it. He was not the quietest person ever and it was clear he was no assassin or thief as he would have most likely managed to cause no creaks in the floor boards or thuds of his feet if he was. Still quiet was not that important for what he was doing, there was always sound travelling through the working house.
Still, Xander wished to make less noise if possible. So with the care and stealth of a serpent slivering through grass or a wolf on the hunt he reached the door. He pressed his ear up against the wood and listened, there was no sound besides the occasional splash and swish of water. He felt his heart beginning to race as he thought about the reasons for his action, this was the right thing to do, the just thing to do and by killing him face to face the noble thing. He was killing a cruel man, an evil man who had wronged more than just himself but his innocent fiance and even his mother. He may not love his mother but she did not deserve the mistreatment he offered her.
He turned the handle as he took a deep breath and entered into the room, it was moodily lit by candles. His father lay languishing in the ceramic tub at the middle of the room. His back was turned to him and an empty glass sat on the side of the tub, Xander felt his stomach churn as he started to walk forward towards the man he was to kill. The man he was to drown for his crimes and cruelty, he clenched his glove covered fist and then prepared himself for what came next. Perhaps it was a strain to act in the name of Ethelynda in such a way, he was after all committing a murder, but he was doing it for just and right reasons, he was doing it to protect the innocent lives this man endangered. The easy thing to do would have been to leave the man to terrorise the poor and weak, Xander would not allow that any longer. He took another step towards the tub and was holding his breath.
Through the manor, Xander crept, flashes of his silhouette slithering past the windows of streaming moonlight; his movements loud against the quiet of the house. Try as he might, his footsteps remained heavy but his loyal servant had done well. All of the help seemed to be tucked away to finish morning preparations in the privacy of closed doors when the young lord entered his father's quarters.
White hair stringy across his skull, his father was lounging in the tub, back facing the door. A foolish, way to bathe. The type of practice someone far too comfortable in their position would wash themselves, open to vulnerabilities they never saw coming. The sounds of gentle lapping rose and fell within the room, the older man racking a bar of soap along his chest hair and dunking the toiletry in the water to rinse it of suds. Weathered hands set the bar on the side of the tub and he used a damp cloth to scrub his skin and under his arms, cursing when the soap dropped from the tub and slid across the floor.
“Sonufabicz-” the slur was washed out by the sound of sloshing water, the large man grunting with effort as he gripped the sides of the tub and pulled himself to his feet. His back still to Xander, he wobbled, swaying drunkenly with his liver spotted ass deflated like a balloon and proudly on display. Water dripping, he turned his head slightly, blinking with glazed eyes as he struggled to keep his balance. Was that...a shadow? Was someone here? About damn time! “Heee!” he yelled, snapping his fingers to the assumed servant. “Hee! Git it.”
If Xander didn't move, Jersey Krome would shout louder once more. The fat man lifted a leg to step out of the claw foot tub...
Xander felt his whole being tighten as his father washed, his large and old body ugly to look at. Xander of course knew what lay below that body was too ugly, a dark and cruel being. A man corrupted by wealth and power, status having taken away any ounce of true goodness that had been within him. Even in his drunk and drugged state the man was awful, his cursing and lack of manners. Unlike Xander he had no care for servants and slaves, made even more evident from his commands although slurred there was no attempt to ask nicely or even vaguely politely. Xander looked over at the soap that had now managed to make its way half way across the room, its slippery surface having made it easy to slide.
Xander was wearing the uniform of a guard, that was how he had left the Inn that he and Celeste had stopped at on the way to Andaris unnoticed. It appeared Jersey Krome had not even noticed who it was that had entered the room, he commanded Xander who he clearly thought to be a servant again his voice a shout. The Baron's loud blubbering was going to cause Xander issues and he had to quiet him down. The sight was not pleasant to say the least as Xander looked at his father's old and drooping backside. He gritted his teeth and knew he would have to keep the man in the bath.
He heightened his voice a little, attempting to speak more like the oaf's man servant who had a slightly higher voice than his own. "Please my great Lord, sit back down and allow me to collect the soap." Xander clenched his fist as he quietly removed the blade from his side to try and make himself look lees obvious to the already barely aware monster. It was wrapped and so placing it on the floor was easy to keep quiet. Then he hurriedly, keeping his back to his father, made his way over to the dropped soap and squatted down to pick it up. He knew what he had to do now, the time was near and soon he would be killing his father. His heart was beating fast but his breath was controlled as he stood up again and then as long as he had heard his father lower back down into the water turn to face him.
Trusting his father had returned to the bath tub he would then make his way over keeping his head downwards and shadowing his face, his hair falling forward to add extra coverage. His father may recognise him once he was closer and better lit by the candles around the room but at that point it would be a little late to stop him. If not recognised Xander would not attack immediately, instead he would treasure the moment of seeing the look in his father's eyes as he revealed himself clearly. "Here you are, father." His voice again normal as he dropped the soap into the tub and looked into his father's glazed over eyes.
The servant moved across the sleek tile and Jersey Krome's head lulled to the side for the moment before snapping upwards and he tried to peer up at the man who called him father, “Whaa?” He lifted a hand to reach for the soap, on his finger glittered a ring with a crimson stone embedded deep into the sterling silver. A nasty display of wealth on an otherwise naked man. Did his greed have no bounds? “Yoooour not maaii sooon. Yoour a bassard.” Jersey slurred, refusing to return to the water, eyes glazed over as he pointed a fat finger in Xander's face, “Maaaai sooon ist god.” He gave something that sounded like a derisive snort then, moving too quickly to try and snatch the soap from his hands. “Like hiss sisdur.”
His fat hand shot out to try and give some sort of display of power, a scowl hiding the flicker of pain that fluttered across his face as he shook specks of water from his white beard. But when he reached for the soap in his son's hand, he failed to notice Xander had already dropped it back in the tub and lurched forward, falling with a loud clatter as his giant body slammed into the ground.
The whole room seemed to absorb the impact, the thud resounding and the loose fat from the older man jiggling as it settled into place. Jersey Krome, with his drugged state and delayed physical reactions was unable to fully catch himself, allowing his head to smack into the hard stone flooring. Blood began pooling at Xander's boots and his mouth was gaping open like a shocked fish, as he tried to scramble to his feet, gasping and wincing in the soft candle light. He smacked at Xander's legs, trying to silently urge the man to fetch him a towel or a medic, and he began to groan. The longer Xander reveled in his father's helpless state, the less chance of success. No doubt the sounds would begin to draw attention, and sprawled out so defenselessly, his pale flesh was ripe for execution. An apprehensive female voice was faint and muted as it called from the end of the hallway, unsure if she should interrupt the man's bath, but concerned all the same, “M'lord?”
Xander ignored his father's cruel words, the man was indeed a monster and after everything he had done his words meant nothing. Instead he just watched his father's fat milky flesh wobble and shake as the man slurred each and every word. He felt nothing about the man calling him a bastard but when he mentioned his dear sister, the poor girl lost to the past and dead because of his sickness. He felt the familiar white hot rage begin to bubble within him. Still he held back his feelings and tried to control himself to avoid acting rashly. Although that did not stop what happened next, nothing could have stopped the giant oaf plummeting to the floor.
Xander instinctively stepped back as the man lurched forward, his reflexes taking over. Unfortunately his drugged up father was not truly in control of his massive body. Even if Xander had been ready for the man to fall he would have likely been unable to catch him. Xander was strong but his father was far too much for him to hold against the force of his dead weight. He ended up standing before his bleeding father with a rather annoyed look on his face. All his planning was wasted in a matter of trills, even in his time of demise his father managed to screw something up.
"Shit." Xander cursed under his breathe as he stepped back at the clawing and to avoid the red blood soaking his feet. It was pooling quickly and his father seemed very distressed, Xander felt his nerves grow and his stomach turn. He had never killed a man before, he knew he could do it, yet still he felt a sickening feeling at the manner in which he was conducting this. He knew his father's death was justice for his horrid ways, the greedy man who had attempted to take liberties with his fiance and who had treated Xander and the servants like worse than dirt. His fists tightened into small balls. He tried to think what he should do, how he should handle it.
There was lots of blood gushing from the head wound but Xander did not know if it was enough to kill the man. If he was found by the servants voice he now heard echoing down the hall then he may yet survive. He also knew that if he, himself, was found by the girl he may end up being put to death for murder. Xander looked tot he door and to his father flailing on the floor, then to a window on the far wall. He felt his heart speed up as he quickly locked the door edging around the blood pool and reaching the door in a matter of long steps. He twisted the key and bit his lip as he turned back to the mess on the floor. He had to think of something, perhaps he could not frame his mother in all this. His plans for the future would be ruined but if he was caught he could never try again. He had to choose whether to risk losing it all and manage to gain a lot or whether to gain this one small victory and find another way to gain his aims.
His train of thought moved quickly as he decided on his course of action. He stepped quickly over to the tub and plashed water out onto the hard stone floor, grabbing the soap in the process and placing it next to his father's foot and then pushing it. The soap moved across the smooth stone with ease leaving a long trail behind it, he stepped back and examined the scene. To him it looked right, his father had not noticed the soap on the floor and while getting out of the bath had slipped on it. The soap had slid and his father had hit the floor. Now all that Xander had to do was get out, the window was what he thought safest, going through the door he had entered was too dangerous and he needed it locked to keep people out as long as possible with the hope his father would bleed out. He hated leaving things to chance but he had little choice as he made sure he had left nothing behind, taking up his sword and attaching it back around his waist.
The steps over to the window were filled with doubt, doubt his father would die and doubt he would escape undetected. Perhaps now was not the best time but he felt it might help to pray to the lady of honour and protection. "Oh Ethelynda please understand I acted for the sake of my people and those I love, this man had to die and now he has caused his own demise. I ask you now to protect me as I try to leave so I can come to fight another day, to do the right thing for the people of Krome. This cruel man was a monster and he needed to go, he needed to be rid of so that the people could be safe and healthy, forgive me if this is not what you would have wanted." His whisper was followed by the attempted quiet opening of the window.
Jersey Krome was a disgrace of a man, vulgar and demanding. He cared little for others, having let his greed for money and power consume him. With all the planning and care his son had taken, no one expected for the nobleman to become too intoxicated, too drugged. He had become beligerant, yelling for no reason and making demands in strange slurs. How fitting for him to have a legacy as shameful as his life.
How fitting he had been his own demise.
While Xander debated over what to do with his father, the servant took another step closer down the hall, torn on whether or not she should knock on the door and see if the lord needed assistance. She had heard a faint yell, and then the thud... But she had also been ordered to go to the servant quarters and could risk a lashing having disobeyed.
She stood very still and listened, hearing the faint sloshing of water and decided it was best to not risk it. Lord Krome would not know she had been here, and if he did need help... well, perhaps he should have been a bit nicer.
The servant tucked her head down and ran back to where she had come from, this time not hearing the much fainter groans, or the slippery squeaks as the fat man tried to pull himself across the tile. Indeed, his wound was bad and he was losing blood rapidly. So as his son slipped through the window, he struggled, sending streaks of red splayed over the floor.
There was no one. He was alone... and he was dying.
As the candles continued to burn and his body began to grow cold, the man gripped his own hand, unable to reach the towel and stared at the tiny reflection of himself in the glittery ring, a strange expression of understanding replacing the shock. His cheek turned, and Jersey Krome's body went cold.
The sun was rising when the knob turned and a servant walked into the bathroom. The woman was in her thirties with brown hair, and she gasped, hand immediately lifting to her mouth. She screamed, yelled for help and rushed over, shaking as she dropped the fresh towels. “Lord Krome! Help! Help!”
Dropping to her knees, the edges of dress became soaked as she reached out. Was this an assassination? By who? She saw the head injury, the soap. Had he fallen? She was afraid to touch him, feeling as though she might faint, but something by the Lord's face caught her attention.
Bits of silver... shattered as if they were glass and then... she leaned forward, eying the tiny crumbles of red stone. And then Jersey's eyes opened and her budding scream was cut short as fury ignited his eyes and he backhanded her so hard she fell backwards.
“Get. Out.”
Jersey's eyes looked around – at the soap, at the blood... But he remembered... There had been a figure here, a man... Who had left him to his fate, perhaps revelled in it. He looked to his hand, where the ring had been and how it now laid shattered on the floor. Had this been intentional?
His head pounded, and he felt drained, living off of nothing but rage and the lust for revenge. Ready to kill the girl who had found him, he needed a release and it was good she ran out the door when she did, because following the shut door, an anguished and furious roar resounded through the entire manor.
Mount (Horse): Move With The Animal For Easier Riding
Tactics: The Element of Surprise
Tactics: Leaving A Man's End in Fate's Hands
Stealth: Listen Before Taking Action
Stealth: Use Alternative Methods of Escape
Persuasion: Follow Orders to Temporarily Appease Authority
Deception: Staging An “Accident”
Discipline: Remaining Focused in The Presence of Nudity
Discipline: How to Repress Rage
Politics: Necessary Evil Saves Multitudes
Devotion:
+1 Prayer to Ethelynda
+3 (Ethelynda) Trying to Save Others Without Using Violence
Loot/Outcome:
With the tense anti-nobility sentiments, Jersey's actions have acquired a number of enemies and as a result, he had taken precautions. Unknown to you, he was wearing a ring of reversal, and after his untimely demise involving soap and his son, he awakes the next day in a paranoid rage, unable to remember the face of the man who left him for dead. He will lock himself within the manor for days, increasing his security indefinitely, with any and all servants questioned in the upcoming days. If information is pursued, workers within the manor may report screams of torture coming from the dungeons, believing that the risen nobleman is seeking information and punishing those around him until he finds it.
In an attempt to liberate them, Xander Krome actually worsens the quality of life for the less fortunate and until Jersey's Krome's death, will be haunted with the decision he made today and suffer through night terrors, blaming himself for not taking the killing blow.
Other notes:
I know this wasn't exactly how you envisioned things going, but you are a lovely writer and I regret not having more time to devote to this. Thank you for your never ending patience with me and the fact that you rolled so well with my punches. Your quality was great, and I saw no problems with your structure. As always, if I missed anything, just shoot me a PM or sidebox me on Skype.
