The Maw Of A Noble.

[DISCOLIQUID 2735]

  [ Music to set the scene. ]

 

 

 

This day was a bright day in Felsen. The sun beat down upon the cobbled and graveled roads, and wanderers of all sorts drifted in and out to the lazy thrum of the city. The bustle of the city seemed even to have a lilt, a musical taste to the activity. Smile had been passed from person to person; jovial children ran in the streets, exuberant; merchants called into the dry air, selling their goods! Despite the light tones of the day, two women had seen it fit to ruin it.

 

 

 

 

In the distance, a heated argument was arising between two women. One seemed a lowley and inconsequential peasant. Dirt had been painted upon the canvas of her face, and her features were stretched into a deepened frown. The peasant seemed furious. Her cold glare bore no weight of emotion outside of hatred, though the single weight of such a primal feeling crashed forcefully against the glare of the other woman, Camile de Savoie. They exchanged words -- one set was heated, and driven by annoyance. These were the words that spewed from Camile. The other set of words was cold, distant, spiteful. Grinding tones from the both of these women grated past the ears of those unfortunate enough to stand by. Bystanders here and there passed the verbal skirmish.

“Your noble kind disgusts me. You have no place upon this land other than one in the ground, Savoie.”

 

The peasant spoke, crisp and articulate.

“You are an unfaithful woman, you low-life and degenerate failure. You are a sodomite and even then, you shall never garner love from any woman you seek.”

 

Camile’s words curled, snake-like, before cracking down as a whip. The dirtied woman across from her stiffened, and her lips had pressed together. She tipped her head away, an annoyed hiss expunged from her lips with force. The woman slithered off, cursing under her breath. Camile gave an indignant huff and went about her business.

 

 

[ Mood Change ]

 

 

 

 

As the arms of night wrapped around the city of Felsen, a rain broke from the heavens. Spirals of cold water drenched the streets, chilling the residents and driving many of them to the inn. Camile, however, paced the streets. Her chilled form drifted in between muck covered roads. In the distance, a figure was seen. Her eyes snapped to it, and then the figure disappeared like a glitch of static. Camile froze then, and she looked around. Panic had filled her eyes as ale fills a clear glass. Frantic gazes danced everywhere, before a gasp was shoved from her lips.

 

 

A dagger of ice had fallen into her back. Camile glanced down. Blood streamed from her lips and her form cascaded forward. Her head turned back, eyeing the ashen figure of a horrific woman. Azure glowing eyes pierced through the dredge of the rain, and white hair drifted like a blizzard in the ambient wind.

 

“For your crimes, your teeth.”

 

~                       -                    ~

Camile would be found in the square of Felsen, a deep stab in her back. Her mouth, grotesque, would lack all teeth. They were smashed out, so it would seem.

 

 

[_Stigwig 1510]

Denis frowns slightly as he leaves the palace, having cleaned the corpse and placed it safely away with the help of his brother Adelric.

 

"A macabre day."

[dandan1350 479]

The Kingsguard flock from the palace, seeking to investigate the matter further!

[osumanduas 1442]

Adelric groans, laying almost incoherently in the wine cellar of the de Savoie keep. Guzzling down his 3rd Leuvaarden Red he reminisces, recalling the few occasions he'd actually met his aunt. His mind drifting to her corpse, now stored by his brother Denis and himself in the storehouse below him.

 

"****" he states silently, grabbing another bottle from the wine rack and popping it accordingly.

 

 

[Mephistophelian 977]

A figure might be seen hunching over the body in the dead of night, its black robes covering the cadaver's face as a hand trails down its ruined features. Whispers are heard from the assembly...Yet the number does not match the count of the seemingly living. Two voices can be gleaned, to the keen of ear or daring of heart; one, empty and disjointed, and the other, slurred and slow...As if it had no teeth.

 

With the billowing snap of robes, the being is gone, leaving behind the body as it once lay.

 

"The snowy one's sister was here..."

 

"Indeed."

[Stump 709]

https://youtu.be/QSkvyG3H_KM

Ceriwyn de Savoie, the straw-haired Queen Consort of Oren- Sat in the large, white throne of Olivier de Savoie, and there was nothing but silence throughout the large throne room of the Royal Palace.
Silence, aside from the Queen's own thoughts, it seemed; a scowl slowly curled on the cynical monarch's features.
"Camile de Savoie will be avenged- No words but deeds." Is all that echoed in her thoughts.

[yopplwasupxxx 5946]

Baldwin scoffed, "Good riddance I say. Damned coz strutted like a peacock. All words and no deeds, that one."

[argonian 14254]

"I wonder if the assassin will go after the rest of the de Savoies..." remarks Tylos after seeing the corpse.

[Tirenas 677]

Vizimir would mutter a curse, "The King's family has been brazenly attacked upon the streets. This will not go unpunished."

[AGP 3169]

Constantine grumbles, peering down at an empty journal page on his desk. Sighing, he closes it and shoves it into his bookcase. Soon after, he hears a knock at his study door and rises to his feet. Opening the door, his squire quickly shoves the letter into his hand and disappears into the bowels of Castle Drieden. Lightly closing the door, he turns back to his desk, sitting down and opening the letter. He sniffs as he begins to read the words imprinted on the page. When finished, he sits immobile and silent for about five minutes. Eventually, the fingers of his left hand begin to flutter. Reaching up with his right gauntlet, he taps the letter, which promptly bursts into flames. A snarl escapes his helmet, as he drums the fingers of his left hand on his desk. A clank is heard as a small section of the top left corner of his helmet dents inwards, shortly followed by a whisper, "You're dead."

[Malocchio 983]

Saharfajhari el-Abdulrashid would be soon to hear word of her dear friend's death, her visage becoming engraved with a mixture of resentment and sorrow, sauntering towards the balcony that was near. Slender digits curled around the smooth, birch wood, healthy nails tapping against the railing rhythmically and a 'tsk' sound rolled from her tongue. She would speak in a most grim tone, pondering silently within her head.

 

"Allah will avenge. Snakes cannot breath when buried deep beneath scalding sands."

 

After stating this, she'd fold her arms swiftly behind her back, moving to exit the room she stood within, determined as others were.

[Devland99 180]

Constantine sighs hearing of the assassination setting himself by a table

"Another one bites the dust."

[Heff 2460]

"Hopefully Savoyards begin to drop like fly."
Borsa mumbles to his fellow refugees.

[_mkkk_ 194]

Ciri edges into Felsen to proceed towards her home, hand clenching her journal ever so tightly in case of the hooligans that tread around. Her gait is seemingly normal as she continues forth until becoming sluggish and mutated in appearance with eyes captivated on the corpse. Her form stays clear of public notice as she observes it with a furrow of her brow, her lips dividing to mumble a few words:

"I believe Miss Waverly had said something of her. . . maybe she has returned."

 

Ciri would begin to write fluently in her journal, dotting the last letter of the title gracefully with a satisfied expression on her face; it reads: Canine Carving

[Norman 492]

 

--

A notice hangs on all the streets and signs of Felsen, bearing the insignia of House Ashford de Savoie.

--

 

Hark citizens of Oren, let it be known:

 

The savage and barbaric death of Camile de Savoie, Princess of Oren, has been attributed to one of the Fjarriauga - that being, in layman’s terms, a primeval frost witch of yore - following a thorough analysis of the macabre scene.

 

Concluding a brief, and fruitless, investigation, and at his Lordship Adrian de Bar’s behest, all citizens of Felsen are urged to be wary of the malicious crones that mask their true form with magical guises;  those with skin frigid to the touch or women with a penchant for approaching men with apparently salacious desires.

 

--

 

Remain Vigilant.