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Sir Francis Rayleigh

'War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.'

0 · 327 views · located in Seabel

a character in “Forged of Blood and Steel.”, originally authored by Calvazara, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

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'War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.'~ J.R.R Tolkien





Role: Head of the Rayleigh family; Leader of the opposition.

Gender: Male

Age: Sixty-Five

Nicknames: Frank by close friend and family. Otherwise he is referred to as 'Sir Francis' or 'Lord Rayleigh.'






Height: 6ft 3

Weight:180lbs.

Build: Slender but lean.

Hair Colour: White.

Eye Colour: Grey.

Scars?: Multiple; his hands and arms are covered from years of sword play. From battle he has a rather nasty scar running from his jaw bone, down and round the back of his neck.

Brief written description: Francis is a rather intimidating man; towering over most, he often uses his height as a forceful method. He has never been a stocky man, his height made him lanky as a pre-adolescence, however with years of sword work and riding he developed a lean muscle mass, which sadly with age has begun to soften. Frank was described as a handsome man in his you, although he had rather sharp features of his nose and chin and, they say he had the most incredible grey eyes, which shone with emotion. Now, his face still hold those sharp features, they are now accompanied with some wrinkles around his eyes, from years of squinting and around his mouth, from years of frowning. Beginning from his jaw bone on his left side, down the back of his neck, Francis is a rather hideous scar from a battle wound he received whilst on campaign a some thirty years prior. He wears is proudly, never trying to hide it as it serves as a reminder to always watch your back.

Clothing preference: Francis isn't one for grand clothing, he tends to stick to leathers, only wearing his fine clothes when absolutely necessary. He wears black on a daily basis, even his armour is of black metal, the only other colour he really wears is red. Francis is not one for jewels, although he does love to spoil the women in his family with such items, his sword is constantly on his person, you never know when you might need to defend yourself these days.






Skills:
-Politics
-Strategy
-Negotiations
-Sword-wielding
-Horse Riding
-Languages
-Writing
-Stealth

Quirks:
-He has a tendency to stare people down; he uses this as a powerful mechanism to break down people.
-Francis very rarely smiles in public, only with his family and close friends does he tend to lighten up.

Likes:
-The prospect of the south becoming it's own country.
-Wine.
-Surrounding himself with family.
-People who tell things how they are; he despises sugar coating things.
-Bluntness ; he admires that trait in people.
-Intelligence
-Music
-Tactics
-Hunting
-Family
-Being prepared.

Dislikes:
-Idiots
-People who don't help others
-Ruthlessness
-Unnecessary violence
-Not being able to protect his family
-The Lancasters.
-Doing nothing.
-Making promises he can't keep.


Fears:
-Loosing his sons in this inevitable war.

Written description: Sir Francis Rayleigh, is, as his name suggests a rather galant knight of the realm. He has fought in many battles for the King and county, nearly dying on multiple occasions for his sovereign. Although his father often spoke about rebellion he never believed he would be the one to lead it.

A rather stern man, he is not one for fool and has very little time for people of low intelligence or people who make silly decisions. Francis in equality and just because you are family doesn't mean you are entitled to greater things, he makes his sons work for their positions on his council, they must prove themselves worthy before he would trust them with any real duties. He lives by integrity; living by his morals and expects his family to adhere to these also. He is a very intelligent, some may even argue calculating when it comes to his cause, he will not take prisoners but is by no means a senseless killer; in fact with his troops he is very careful and tactful, he hates waste and wasting young men's lives is just the worst. Francis is not an easy man to rationalise with, if he has an idea in mind, it is very difficult to sway the other way; stubborn to the very end, Frank does not like to be proven wrong and those who do so are often victim to his explosive temper.

However there is a lighter side to his character; he is affectionate with his family and enjoys to bestow gift upon them; he believes family is gods greatest gift and does not waste a moment with them. He is surprisingly, very much involved in his children's lives, he taught his sons how to ride, fight and hunt and taught his daughters how to read, write and ride. Despite popular beliefs he does smile and laugh just like anyother man, although it is very rare that he does so in public; in private he often enjoys the jokes told by his sons or watches bemused as his daughters squabble over the prettiest of things.






Relationship Status:Married.

Family:
Wife: Lady Elizabeth Rayleigh
Son: Sir Charles Rayleigh
Son: Sir ........... Rayleigh
Daughter: Lady ........... Rayleigh
Son: Sir .............. Rayleigh
Daughter: Lady Briar Rayleigh

Daughter In-law: Lady Harriet Rayleigh





Secret Word: This is war.

So begins...

Sir Francis Rayleigh's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Harriet Rayleigh Character Portrait: Charles Rayleigh Character Portrait: Sir Francis Rayleigh
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Sunrises where the most marvellous of spectacles, it never ceased to amaze how within minutes the sky could turn from the darkest abyss to the most splendid plateau of colour, closely matching that of a water coloured painting...it was beauty in its purest form; nature at its most powerful; chasing away the demons of the night, with an almost blinding angelical light sent by the heavenly lord to wash away the sins of the dark. Lady Harriet Rayleigh could scarcely remember a time when she had risen before the sun, now she had seen the sun set on many of occasions resulting in her not truly paying them much attention anymore, but with this sunrise it was as if she once again bore it through child eyes...it was simply magnificent. Harriet could only wish that she could enjoy it more.

Stood by the window in the bed chambers she shared with her husband, Harriet was clad in a thin cotton night gown, a woollen shall wrapped round her slender shoulders, offering little protection from the chill in the room. The fire was no more than some glowing embers, which the maid had still yet to come and stoke. After a mere three hours sleep, the lady had read until in the chair beside the glowing embers, the words on her page illuminated by a single lit candle, she did not wish to wake Charles. You would have fathomed that she would have finished the short story in the hours she had spent staring at the pages, however, she found herself re-reading the same passage, over and over again, no matter how many times she read the word they just just wouldn't sink in. It would seem the lady had too many distractions that nigh. Harriet had moved over to the window after finally giving up on her story, staring out over the Briar courtyard for seemed like hours, she watched intently, although her vision made impaired by the darkened sky yet she could still make out figures moving around below; a castle never truly slept...neither did she apparently. Harriet was naive to her sudden insomnia, the reason for it was quite vivid in her mind.

The prior evening the Rayleigh party had arrived at Briar, her childhood home after a two day ride from Port Vale. The ride had been a tiresome and rather uncomfortable one, having spent the first night under a hastily erected canvas shelter, granted it was rather luxurious inside, filled with the comforts of home but still not as comfortable as her bed chambers back at the citadel; it was a good job she wasn't one for complaining otherwise her poor husband would have had an earful. The further North they had travelled the colder the air had become and Harriet had near-enough found herself shivering by the time they had reached Briar; when did her beloved childhood home become such a cool place? Then again she supposed the answer was a simple one, having spent year and a winter in Vale, where the weather was far more agreeable, her blood must have warmed, making the temperature decrease even more noticeable. Harriet had, however been warmed immediately with the reunion with her mother and brother, William, whom she had not seen since their visit last summer. Unfortunately they hardly had time for much of a reunion, after they had eaten and shown to their rooms, William was whisked away into council with Lord Francis, Charles and her brother-in-laws. She had spent a few hours with her mother but had retired to bed with Charles not long after. This, however was not the cause of her insomnia.

No, that was the cause of where they would all be travelling to today, Beaumont Loch, some thirty miles away from Briar. Harriet had last visited the town when she was a mere girl, her father had been friends with The Lord Jenkyns who had governed the area, on invitation, with her family to spend the yule tide there and if her memory serves her correctly, it was a happy time. When Lord Jenkyns had died, he had no heir and so his property and lands had gone to the king; they visited the place again. Now, tomorrow they would ride there once more, Rayleigh banners flying proudly as they approached; it was to be the place of the peace summit. Harriet could have scoffed at that, infact she did when she had read the letter from her sister, Amalie, the Queen urging her to persuade the matter with Charles. What good a peace summit would do with families as stubborn as the Rayleigh's and the Lancaster's, never-the-less she had done as Amalie asked; pleading with her husband and father-in-law to at least hear what the King had to offer. Remarkably her pleas worked and they agreed, reluctantly, but agreed all the same; yet with all her doubt on the situation, Harriet found herself hoping against odds that talks would go well and get them off this collision course with war; some of her worst nightmares were about Charles dying on the battlefield.

Looking back at the bed, Harriet smiled at her slumbering husband. Tip-toeing across the stone floor, saving her bare feet from the cold floor rather than trying to not make a sound; she sat down on the side of the bed, careful not to wake Charles and studied him lovingly. He looked almost child-like when asleep, if it hadn't been for his long limbs and facial hair, she could have mistaken him for a child, he looked utterly at peace, so much so she felt almost guilty to rouse him, but alas they had a long day ahead of them and it was time to start it. Leaning forward, Harriet gently ran her slender fingers down the sound of his face, an affectionate smile tugging on her plump lips as she ran a trail of sweet kisses along his jawline, her fingers teasingly tracing the outline of the muscles of his chest. "Time to rise, my love."


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'Age has a way of sneaking up on a man.' It was a phrase Lord Francis Rayleigh had heard many a times in the past, his own father had warned him on many occasions, yet as a lad he had reason to believe he would never grow old, you see, Francis had grown up in a time when war was rife in Seabel, he himself had galloped onto the battlefield in his nineteenth year, he saw an arrow pierce his fathers neck two years later. With men dying around you daily, you would be a fool to believe you would survive the war; growing old never once crossed his mind in his youth, he imagined himself dying a glorious death on the battlefield, like his father before him, he imagine his body being laid to rest in the Rayleigh tombs back in Port Vale. No, he did not think he would survive the never-ending war against the neighbouring country of Luxor, so you can imagine his surprise when victory was declared and the fighting was over...he was still in the land of the living. He had been twenty and five then, living heir to the Rayleigh fortune, glorious victor of many battles and a part of him still felt invincible.

Peace is all good and well in theory, but the problem Francis and probably most men of that war-bread generation had with it was that, with no battles or tactics to ponder over, man find themselves becoming bored. With no common enemy, men have a tendency to turn on one another. This was exactly the case with the Rayleigh's and the Lancaster's; The families feud had begun generations ago, no one can quite remember the factual story but as the tale goes; After the forging of Seabel, the land fell into four regions, The North was reigned over by the Sulley's, The East by the Knivert's, The South by the Rayleigh's and The West by the Maloney's, things did not stay that way for long. The head of the Sulley family, was a man with no living sons to bequeath his title and land upon and so upon his death they would go to his daughters husband, the eldest Lancaster son, something the Rayleigh's were not to pleased about, since an argument over land barriers happened a few months prior. The final blow to their relationship came not two weeks later, when two Rayleigh sons were murdered on the way outside a tavern, supposedly by the youngest Lancaster son and four of his followers. The Rayleigh's were quick to retaliate, they quickly seized the murderers, tried them and arguable unlawfully executed them and later hung their bodies from the oak tree's which boarder the Lancaster property...

...Or so the story goes, the fact have been lost with the wind; The Lancaster's would no doubt have a different tale of events, but the fact remains that the feud is still as strong as the day it began. Made worse by the Lancaster's eventual take over of all the regions, suppressing the Rayleigh rule and most recently, the increased tax on the South and it's people. At least with a common enemy, the families could cease quarrels to fight the invaders but essentially it wasn't to last.

One thing Francis could remember,bet so vividly about his father, was his alcohol fuelled rants of rebellion, although Walter Rayleigh was often intoxicated when he would rant, Francis couldn't help but feel enamoured by his colourful and exuberant words, they were motivating and meaningful and many men agreed with him...the end of Lancaster rule was nigh. Unfortunately Walter died before he could carry out his plans. To Francis, although his fathers words were motivating, that's all they were at the end, just words. War is a gruesome affair, friends and family die around you and at the end of the last war, Francis had sworn he'd had enough bloodshed for one lifetime. He became a husband and then a father, he relished in both. When the King upped the taxes on the south, his people suffered dreadfully, whilst the North flourished, this ignited an old flame within Francis and the blaze of rebellion burned in his eyes. He didn't have to look hard to find supporters, nearly the entire South was on his side; it wasn't long until they openly opposed the King. Although there was nothing official a divide occurred between the regions, no Southerner was was safe in the North and no Northerner was safe in the South, it was the unofficial rule.

With age, Francis hatred toward the Lancaster's deepened, turning him into a solemn old man. Old, it was never a word Francis imagined using to describe himself, but the whiteness of his hair, the wrinkles on his face, the slacking of muscle and the aching of his joints indicated the inevitable, age had definitely snuck up on his. His most recent ailment was the constant aching in his hand, arthritis, the doctors called it, caused by years or sword fighting; out of everything, that was the one which irked him the most, his wrinkled were outweighed by his staggering height and still sturdy frame, his aching back could be soothed by the poppy seed, but the shake of his hands when he tried to lift anything weighty was not so easy to hide and it shamed him deeply. He was no longer the same Francis Rayleigh who marched upon the battlefield saying his enemy, never faltering, even at the sight of his fathers falling before him...no, now he was an old man.

Deep down part of him wished he had died in battle, that way he would have been remembered as the galant knight who died heroically facing his foe, immortalised in youth. Francis sighed at that thought, if he had of died, he wouldn't have married or had children, so for that part he was lucky. He had left his wife's side in bed, hours ago, sleep would to claim him that night, there was too many thoughts going through his mind for sleep. Francis sat, hunched over scattered documents, if he could not sleep then he might as well work, besides he didn't have time for anything else, armies cost money and he must keep his businesses running if he wanted to keep one. Rubbing his tired, blue eyes Francis stifled a yawn, turning to glance at the window, when had the sun risen?

Frowning he turned back to his papers, stretching to relieve the stiffness joints; his family should be joining him soon and if they saw him in his current state, he would surely be scolded for the lack of rest. The familiar clank of a handle signalled the opening of the banquet room door, naturally he would have preferred to have done his work back home in his private study, but this damned peace summit made him lack such luxuries. Of course Lord William, Harriet's brother had offered his own study for such tasks but he refused, Francis would not have made the same offer, therefore he must refuse Williams. A small woman walked into the room, stopping immediately as she saw him "beg your pardon Sir, but I need to stoke the fire" she spoke timidly, accompanied with an awkward courtesy.

Francis nodded, motioning with his hand to continue with her work, they both returned to their respected jobs. "Once you've finished, send for me a pot of the black coffee" he ordered. The woman rose from her knees with a quick bow "right away milord." Once she had vanished out the door, Francis placed down his quill and rubbed the back of his neck, tonight was certainly going to be a tiresome one, both physically and mentally.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Harriet Rayleigh Character Portrait: Briar Rayleigh Character Portrait: William Alexander Stanford Character Portrait: Mycah Rayleigh Character Portrait: Sir Francis Rayleigh
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The sun was bright against his closed eyelids, and he squeezed his eyes shut even tighter to block it out. Mycah wasn't ready to wake up yet, he still felt exhausted. He had been up late, way too late, flirting and chasing after one of the handmaids. And all his efforts had been for nothing. She had left him alone in the early hours of the morning, admitting she needed some sleep, for she was needed extremely early to wait on her lady. He had been extremely disappointed, but had let her leave. He liked women, but he was never the type to force one to be with him. He was just about to drift back to sleep when a soft knock came, accompanied by the squeak of the door opening. "Milord?" a gentle voice whispered, sounding slightly frightened. He pounded a fist into his covers, not happy to be woken. He sat up in bed, the covers falling around him to leave his chest exposed.

He was pleasantly surprised to find the handmaid from the night before peaking into his room. She averted her eyes immediately at his exposed skin. A smile lit Mycah's features as he noticed precisely who it was. "Ah, so you couldn't stay away after all," he said somewhat cockily. A flush crept up her cheeks, making them a warm, rosy pink. She shook her head instantly, denying him once more. "I've been sent to fetch ya, milord," she said somewhat breathily, still only peeking her head into the room. Obviously she didn't want to come in. "Yer late fer breakfast, and yer family will leave within the hour." With that she curtsied, although he couldn't really see it because she wouldn't come inside the room, and her head disappeared, the door closing behind her. He instantly bolted out of bed, cursing aloud. His father was going to be upset at his lack of preciseness, he had a feeling.

He decided to throw on a soft white cotton shirt, with a leather jerkin over top. A pair of simple brown cotton breeches as well as brown boots completed his look. He took a look in the mirror, and wasn't as horrified as he thought he would be. His hair was normally styled in a haphazard manner, and his bed head didn't look much different. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times to smooth down any runaway hairs. After a few moments, he was pleased enough with his appearance to go downstairs to his family. He was only going to be travelling a majority of the day, so his appearance wasn't as much of a priority.

Mycah left the room, and found the first servant he could. "I need my things packed and carried down to the carriages right away," he said with authority, stopping only momentarily to address the girl. "Yes, milord," she responded with a nod, and he walked off, leaving her to the job. He made his way downstairs to the large banquet room, where he knew most of his family would be gathered. As he entered, he saw that his father was present, as well as his little sister, Lady Harriet, Sir William, and another man he didn't know. "Father," he said curtly, giving him a nod. He hoped to escape without being chastised for his late arrival. He walked over to Briar and Harriet, a smile on his face.

His little sister was easily his favorite sibling, if not his favorite person in general. They were the two youngest, and had always stuck together at a young age. Even though as he got older and spent more time on ships, he was always happiest to see her when back on land. He was fiercely protective of her, and was happy to know she was still generally naive for her age. He hoped it stayed that way. He walked up behind her, and playfully messed her hair. "Morning, sister," he said cheerfully, giving her a tight hug afterwards. He gave Harriet a warm smile and nod. "Good morning, Lady Harriet. I hope the both of you slept well." His eyes trailed over to William, whose state of dress was in disarray. Yet, dare Mycah say it, he looked good. He was strong and had more muscle than most men Mycah had seen. He knew William stuck to a strong training schedule. "Morning William," he called, giving the man a wave.

Honestly, he was famished, and sat down at the table to begin eating. The table had more food selection than necessary, but Mycah didn't complain. He grabbed an assortment of choices, and dug in. He wanted to be able to get his fill before they were forced to leave and head for Beaumont. "So, how is everyone this morning?" he asked to no one in particular.

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