The Ruler of Andra (OOC)
***WARNING!!! Possibly mature content, graphically violent. !!!WARNING***
Intended for mature audiences only.
This is a concept based around knowing the end of the story before you write it. The cast is already written, but it is loose, if you wish to add or remove someone it can be discussed. The characters are whatever you make them to be, though their final actions are already dictated, what lead them to that is up for debate.
I have a loose storyline I will GM, but it is up for debate, if anyone has any ideas they can easily be woven into it, and it can be changed entirely if necessary. As always, I am very flexible.
There is no state religion. There will be no godly activity. If you want your character to believe in a god, that's fine, but PLEASE don't make them a fanatic and know that their prayers will never be answered. Ever.
Please feel free to PM me with any questions, and if you would like advice I am always available to help.
Queen Modrhelin: The Queen of Andra, tall, thin, and regal age 39.
Princess Maragaine: Her daughter and heir to the crown, slim but somehow also lush, age 18.
Captain-General of the Crown, Commander Mathias: Leader of the Royal Army, tall, dark, bulky, age 37.
Guard Captain Lucas: Leader of the Queen's elite guard, average, light complexion, age 42.
Markus: Chief Magician and Advisor to the Queen, pale, snake-like, age unknown.
Anson: A guard
King Kristos: The King of Tarnan, short, gray streaked hair, bulky, age 56
Prince Kristoban: His son, age 22.
Lady Tesla: A noblewoman from Tarnan
Description: (image or wordy words)
Personality: (short description)
Background: (any history you wish to provide, you don't have to be particularly lengthy unless you desire to be so.)
Queen Modrhelin walked alone in her garden, watching the sky turn from gray to dimmer gray as dusk settled across her realm. A late autumn chill hung in the air, and the pebbles of the path felt like ice beneath her thin kid slippers. She had the hood of her dark cloak pulled close around her face to protect against the wind that was blowing off the crystal lake. The shadows fell across her delicate features, obscuring them as darkness overtook her.
She had something to resolve herself to, and she needed silence in which to think. Like as not the gardens were the only quiet place on the grounds as the first ball of the the winter solstice festivities commenced, and so she braved the cold in favor of the peace and solace of being alone if only temporarily. The entire estate was aflutter with activity, for this season would be doubly celebrated. Her beloved daughter Maragaine's engagement to Prince Kristoban would be announced at the first ball. She didn't like the arrangement but it was a necessary evil, for it would unite the kingdoms and secure the future of her country.
Modrhelin's hand ventured upward absently to check her crown, it was a nervous habit she always meant to break. Frowning, she jerked her finger to her mouth as it was pricked on one of the tiny, razor sharp points of the swords that were hidden amongst the many roses and leaves that made up the crown. It had been designed to keep any man from wearing it lightly. Her bright curls towered over her head in a neatly arranged coiffure that prevented the swords from piercing her skin, a feat a man could not attain and maintain his masculinity. She sucked the drop of blood from the wound and her generous mouth formed a pout around her finger.
A cock crowed somewhere in the distance. A bad omen that, a rooster crowing at sunset... She thought, a frown settling across her aristocratic features.
A feeling of dark foreboding settled onto her, and she hunched her shoulders against the cold. The scene that was playing out felt eerily familiar. She hugged the cloak closer to her body and tried to think why the situation would seem as though she had lived it many times before. Then she remembered the dream, and turned to look up the path at the castle. Just as she had dreamed countless times before, there came Mathias with tears streaming down his face leading one of the Queen's Guard, arrow knocked and his bow at the ready.
The guard took aim and fired. The barbed point of the arrow pierced her body and it's momentum sent her flying. She landed hard, knocking the breath from her lungs. The tower of curls collapsed, and the crown went bouncing down the path, it's edges glinting in the pale light.
She stared up at the sky, her body twisted and mangled, wishing for a clear night so she could gaze upon the stars instead of the murky clouds that greeted her eyes. The blood pounded in her ears and she struggled for every breath, pain radiated from her wound and she knew she lay dying. A short, male scream sounded, followed by a hollow thud. An instant later Mathias was standing over her, blocking her view of the dark sky, blood dripped from his sword onto the path turning the pebbles red. He fell to his knees and lifted her head onto his lap. “Forgive me, my love.”
“Loved you.” She whispered, her face contorted with agony. “So much.”
“Only a severe masochist could love a narcissist such as you.” He said, smoothing back her disheveled hair.
“Don- don't let her use you.” She managed, her voice seemed small even to her own ears, it was choked with tears and recrimination.
“Wha- How did you- ... You always kept so many secrets.” He said, realizing the hypocrisy of his words but not caring.
Her mind worked frantically, she had to think of some way to resolve this, “The documents you placed on my desk this morning, only a fool would sign those.”
“You were never a fool.” He said, his tears splashing hotly onto her face.
“I signed them.” Her mouth turned slightly upward, an ironic smile painting her features. “The nation needs a strong hand to guide it through war.”
He was silent for a moment, but she knew they had no time for pauses. He felt the sting of his mistake already, regret spread across his features. Suddenly a solution occurred to her.
“I'm pregnant.” She whispered, a smile still clinging to her face as her breath came slower, weaker. It was a lie of course, but one he could never prove. Perhaps his grief would be real at her funeral, perhaps blame would not fall on him.
“Absolution-” Modrhelin began, at least she thought she did, she hoped she did.
Over his shoulder, she could see Maragaine running down the path, her sun-gold curls flying out behind her. The last sight she saw was the satisfied smile of her daughter as she looked down upon her mother's corpse.
Mathias was appalled by his own actions, he could not believe the turn of events. He could not fathom what had just occurred. Though he had participated it seemed almost too much to take in. What madness had he committed? Had he really just murdered the mother of his unborn child for the affection of a heartless girl?
Gently he laid Modrhelin's head to rest on the ground, grief clenched his throat in it's iron-like grasp. With careful fingers much scarred from war he closed her sky blue eyes, he pulled the hood of the cloak closed to hide her face, and crossed her hands over her chest. Rising, he looked to Maragaine, hoping to see some of the same guilt and shame on her face that gripped his own heart.
“Treason!” Cried Maragaine, looking triumphant. “Guards! Treason! Guards!”
“That was foolish, Maragaine.” Mathias hissed, “We are alone together. The nearest guard is well from earshot, as you arranged. If you wished to frame me, you should have brought guards with you, should you not have?”
He stood towering over her, his broad shoulders blocking what little light shone from the windows of the castle. The Queen had been secretive, often silent, cold, treacherous, calculating, manipulative, but also at times warm, caring, and kind. She had loved him enough to make him her legal heir that very morning and he had murdered her and his child for this girl who now meant to betray him. She shrank back from him, demurring.
“You never thought you were fit for the throne, did you?” Mathias asked, his mouth twisted with a snide grin. “You never think things through, you cannot see past the surface, as you have proved this night.”
“You, her killer, would never dare to speak so to the rightful heir of the-” Maragaine began.
“I was not the first you approached with this mad plan, though I was the only one stupid enough to agree to help you with it.” He said as he bent to lift the hem of her dress.
“You would not dare to rape me on my mother's corpse, you vile, insufferable-” She cut off as he wiped his sword clean on her dress. He tore the ornamental dagger from it's gemmed sheath that hung on her belt. Ripping the arrow from it's wound, then wincing he bent to stab the dagger into Modrhelin's stomach.
Throwing the arrow over the wall, Mathias grabbed the Princess's wrist and drug her along in his wake. He burst through the doors and into the main hall. The large chamber was aglow with candles, the room radiated warmth and light. Everywhere people smiled, laughed, danced, decked in their finest they celebrated the solstice. The room was draped in holly boughs and above on the dais was a huge pine tree, decorated with glass bulbs and lighted candles. It presented a merry sight, it made him sick.
“I have caught the Princess Maragaine in the act of murdering the Queen. I have slain her co-conspirator, but could not bring myself to-” He broke off as he flung the princess forward into the crowd of dancers, the music screeched to a halt. She looked to him with astonishment painted across her features.
“Do not look at me with her face. Look away, for the pity's sake, look away!” Mathias shouted, turning away from Maragaine, the tears continuing to pour from his eyes. He knew it was common knowledge that he and the Queen had been lovers, and he also knew that everyone was aware of the Princess's desire for power.
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Name: Modrhelin “Mode”
Personality: Hot tempered but just, Mode is considered a good Queen by her people. She is quick to see justice done, but also kind and open minded. Even lowly pickpockets have nothing but praise for their Queen. On High Feast days she hands out a Bounty for the poverty stricken with her own hands and once per month there is Charity available to applicants. She is known for hearing out any who petition for her advice, no matter how low, though if there is much truth in this is unknown.
In her personal life she is warm with her daughters even if she is not often present. She takes the time each day to visit them, and see that they are satisfied with their lives, doing her best to see that they are happy and well cared for. In their younger lives she had a greater presence, but now that they are coming into their own, she gives them more space and takes more for herself.
Often disdainful, she is vain, condescending, cagey, and can be considered quite cold. Though it doesn't often show, she is lonely. She regrets her marriage of state, and wishes she would have married for love instead. Even so, she misses her late husband. Still, she was never one to bemoan her lot in life and sigh about what she has missed due to her station.
Background: Raised to be Queen as her mother was before her, she has a very high opinion of herself. Mode's mother stole the throne from a rival, and saw her rival's house destroyed before her birth. Born and raised in the Palace, she has always known that she would one day rule as queen, as will her daughters after her.
Mode inherited the Rose Crown at the age of 23 when her mother passed away. She immediately married the son of her strongest political competitor to secure her throne and ensure his sister would never contend for it.
The political atmosphere in the small country is hot, and full of turmoil. The Houses of Nobility constantly vie for power, and one false step could see her head on a pike. Furthermore, the much larger country of Tarnan has had it's eye on the small country in the last years, threatening to invade and consolidate Andra as a State, leaving the Queen as Governor of her own country.
It has been Mode's goal to secure her throne for her daughter, and ensure the future of her country. In doing so, she has often neglected her children's emotional needs and her own personal life.
Recently Kristos, King of Tarnan has taken up residence in her home, along with his mistress and his son, Kristoban. He leers at her, threatening her throne and promising it's security in exchange for certain... favors. So far she has avoided giving up that gem so dear to womanhood, but if all else fails she will be forced to yield no matter the cost to her pride.
She has yet to confess these worries to her Advisor Markus or Mathias.
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