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Charles de Wett: A Death

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Charles de Wett: A Death

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ql-f_xf8xvU

 

14th of the Grand Harvest, 1549.

 

The cool winds of autumn drifted over the verdant plains of Drusco, foretelling the arrival of a long winter. A court session had been called to order near the southern reaches of the duchy, and feeling himself obligated to attend by merit of both rank and standing, the youth Charles de Wett chose to attend. He was a man of high honor and as his title of chamberlain befit, the court was his home.

 

Hours later, shortly after the Savoyard count’s pageant was concluded and all of its attendants shrunken off, a baseborn youth shouldered his way past the thinning crowd to trade words with de Wett under a blue-black sky. As the bastard conversed with Charles, a brigand bathed in shadow sat high above them, amongst the darkness of the upper levels in the palace, loading his crossbow.

 

A deadly missile shot out of the arbalest and whistled through the air, exploding into the thigh of Charles de Wett and bringing him to his knees. In an instant the bastard was upon him with an ugly blade that silvered in the pale light, plunging two inches of crude metal deep into de Wett’s neck. When he pulled out the dagger a rush of crimson spurted out to pursue the wicked instrument, pouring from the chamberlain’s neck openly.

 

Two shapes shifted forth from the stones around them and turned to men, angry men who loped forward like hungry and baying hounds. They too were soon beset on the chamberlain with wicked claws and teeth, rending flesh and tearing sinew apart with their hateful daggers. Charles de Wett was surrounded and ripped asunder by tens and hundreds of vicious fangs, lifeblood swirling out under him and spreading on the stones of the palace floor. He collapsed and shuddered tiredly and then there was nothing.








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“The Assassination of Charles de Wett”  by Ira Fairheart, 1613

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Days later, an annoyed Bertrand grumbles and sets to the bloodied palace floor with a wet rag, muttering, "Didn't even have the decency to keep the rugs clean."

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Kazik de Saltpans bitterly rues Charles, his eyes red and swollen from being welled up, both by anger and grief.

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Her handmaiden, Maude, was the one to inform Catherine of Charles' death. "It's not fair! How could he do that?!" the princess shouted, tears streaming down her face. He had been around for so much of her life, and now it had all been torn away from her.

 

"They think it was the Jackals," Maude said.

 

For the first time in Catherine's life, anger began to build in her chest, and her hands fell from her eyes, balling up into fists. "I hate them."

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After discussing the value of Ugluk proverbs with the Prince de Savoie, John II seethed over the demise of the second Baron de Wett. Whilst he was a sullen creature who made atrocious dinner company, Charles de Wett served well and performed his duties with a quiet respect for the office. His replacement, the anxious youth in striped pantaloons known as Rheinholt Helvets, would suffice, but the halls of Ancelcourt felt a bit more empty without the presence of their dour High Chamberlain.

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It was Eleanor Horen that discovered the mangled corpse of Charles de Wett; it had been delivered to the palace's doorstep and in gruesome shape. The man had more penetrating wounds than one could count on two hands.

 

The princess poked her head out through the doors of the palace that lead to the square, purely out of curiosity. Though, the puddle of crimson was certainly what caught her attention. More so, the body it excreted from.

 

"Charles!" Eleanor cries, falling to her knees before the cadaver. "Help, help!"

 

Several people gathered to aid the princess in moving Charles' body to a more appropriate location. A semi-circle of people murmured words that they wished of the eternally sleeping Charles.

 

"Prepare him for a funeral," the girl ordered Maude in a firm growl, before storming away into the depths of the palace.

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"Tis the chamberlain's curse to be murdered in their courts. What a horrible job it is, perhaps Nobility and courtiers should prepare themselves."

 

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Upon hearing the news Eirik shakes his head for on this day a man among men had truely died.

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"A shame, for all the crimes of his father; he was an Ashford."

 

Denis ponders to himself after hearing news from the young Colm, another victim of the attack who had managed to survive.

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With soiled skirts and bloodshot eyes, Philippa arrived safely in the palace after her journey from the Savoyard woodlands. A look of evident grief skimmed across the Princess' youthful visage when her hands clenched near her sides. She was swiftly met by Maude, whom approached her with a similar gloomy facade that hinted her distress from Lord de Wett's death.

 

"Leave me, Maude."

 

The Imperial raised a singular hand to halt her handmaiden's tracks, retiring to her own bedchambers where she expressed her agony for Charles' assassination. Confusion, yet also anger boiled in the woman's eyes.

 

"Make this stop.."

 

Philippa spent days in her private bedchambers, mourning for the loss and recent discovery of the chamberlain's horrible death.

 

 

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Ylwa sits dejectedly in his tiny hut, having heard the news. He had never liked Charles, but no doubt the princess will be furious. 

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Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

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