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Synclair Prunson

"Honor is all that a man has when he leaves this world. I must stay loyal to my Queen. No other option exists."

0 · 323 views · located in Purplexia

a character in “The Right to Rule”, as played by sweetiebatch

Description

Image
Image
Name: Synclair Prunson
Age: Twenty four
Race: Human
Status: Noble
Affiliation: Loyalist
--

Nickname(s):
  • Sy
  • Synclair the Fair
  • Synnister(sometimes calls himself this when drunk)
  • Captain + any of his names (Captain is his title/rank)

Appearance:
Synclair is a tall man, 6'4 from head to toe, though his ponytail adds an inch or two to that. He has long nut-brown hair and a darker shade of stubble to match his somewhat bushy eyebrows. His eyes are a shade of blue that he would describe to be dull, compared to the shining bright eyes his mother had. There is a look of simplicity to him, despite his nobleman's clothes. You might think that if he were to wear something more humble, he might even be taken for a common born. But then, his skin is clean and clear, free of scars and stains. He'd make a pristine commoner, perhaps. But he'd have to lose that commanding presence of his.

Personality:
His subordinates often jokingly call him "Synclair the Fair" due to his extremely neutral attitude on all matters not involving the Queen. (Though some people make fun of him with this name because he also has fair skin) He is well known for never batting an eye when being directly insulted, and for caring not at all for the lesser politics revolving around the nobles. He has been accused of lacking emotion by his enemies, but that can hardly be considered a truth. Synclair can get riled up in the defense of others, mainly the Queen or his subordinates. He simply excels at tolerating the opinions of those who oppose him. He will only react to taunts if it would end up damaging his honor to ignore a given remark. And he would prefer a proper duel in this case, rather than a brawl of any sort. Also, when drunk, Synclair is an excessively happy individual. And he simply can't refuse an invitation to a friendly drinking game. He's rather proud of his talents in that area, though less proud of the results.

Weapons:
Sword and crossbow. His sword is two-handed, so he does not carry a shield. He instead wears lighter armor to try and dodge any attack he can not block in time. Heavy armor has proven to slow him down and leave him an easy target for archers and bowmen. Synclair did not have the patience to master both his sword and a traditional bow, so he decided on a crossbow. He can use a curved bow, but his shots are not nearly so accurate or powerful. And he isn't quite sure how to string a curved bow either.

Abilities:
Due to his boring human heritage, Synclair has no superhuman abilities. Magic was something he didn't even believe in for half of his life. The abilities that Synclair has are those he has obtained through training. He is skilled at reading and writing, though in all honesty he never realized this was a skill until he met those who didn't posses it. He is skilled at a select few weapons, and has basic knowledge of most weapons. But his true talents lie in strategy and command. And if loyalty counted as a special talent, that would be included. He is extremely loyal to his queen.

Bio:
Though raised in a very prejudiced home, Synclair is a surprisingly understanding person. He had been a rather rebellious child, and had spent many years sneaking around with street urchins just for the fun of it. While this stint as a common thief was (no rhyme intended) altogether brief, it had an enormous impact on his mindset. Synclair never did fit in with his friends who were noble born. They always spent their time butting heads over trying to be the best, or trying to be in control. Synclair didn't understand it, since none of his friends were even royal. Why try to control anyone when they should be focusing on how to best serve the queen? As a teenager, Synclair found yet another way to sneak out of his home and visit the common born. He tried to make friends among them, but it was a difficult age, sixteen, and being high born earned him more enemies than anything else. He gave up on these endeavors one night after he heard the boys he was trying to befriend speak ill of the queen. He decided that they simply were not his kind of people.
For a few years, he retreated, his only friends being his brothers. Though his older brother was being groomed to take on his title as lord and would be in charge of many lives when he came of age, Synclair was clearly the leader among his brothers. He was a natural leader, though it puzzled him. He had never aspired to leading anyone, and had never asked for his brothers to follow his example. It just went this way after years of his brothers coming to him to settle arguments. Synclair had always been known to weigh the facts and decide clearly on any topic. Because of this, his brothers had come to trust him above anyone they knew. They trusted his judgement, and therefor listened for his instruction, letting him decide on a course of action first so that they could follow suit. Synclair often attempted to get his brothers to decide certain matters for themselves. They would agree, for a time. But then their father would ask the opinions of his sons on a matter, and Synclair's brothers would turn to him. Synclair had no choice but to offer his own opinion, which his brothers then adopted. Synclair eventually gave up and got used to being a leader among his siblings. He would not recognize his trustworthy personality or leadership qualities for the blessings they were for many years.
Synclair did not meet anyone of his mind until he was twenty and his father got him a job. Being the second born son, it was tradition in his family that he should become a member of the military, with higher rank of course. And here Synclair found his place. Everyone around him was encouraged to be loyal to the crown, to do their best to serve and to stand up for their belief in the system. Granted, not everyone was there solely for the queen. Some were like him, and had come out of duty and tradition. Others needed the money, or had even signed up to raise their chances of a good marriage. But Synclair knew that if this was not the place for him, then there was no place for him anywhere. Determined to make it work, Synclair put every waking hour into his work, and soon gained rank and respect. It was tiring for him, especially since he had never had to work hard before in his life. But the results were gratifying as he gained status among military personnel and found friends in the ranks.
As an act of diplomacy, Synclair was married to a woman he did not know at the age of twenty three. He rarely saw her over the coarse of their marriage due to his work habits. But he did like her, even though she wasn't very pretty or anything like what he imagined in a wife. She was funny and headstrong and bossy. She constantly fired his staff, which he did not approve of, and would bicker with him when she could manage to get him upset enough to do so. But Synclair had grown to admire her strength, and imagined she could do anything if she put her mind to it. However, his strong Kalin could not survive the birth of their first child. And the child did not survive either. Synclair was a widower at twenty four, and has spent the last year in mourning. He regrets that he did not get to know her better when she was alive, and that it was essentially his fault that she was dead. He also has fault terribly guilty over the fact that he was more devastated to lose his daughter, who died only after three days. He hadn't even named the baby girl before she had died, though he now thinks of her as Adeline, because it was Kalin's middle name and he knew nothing better for the baby, but she needed a name.
Synclair worked all through his mourning, but has only recently begun to wear purple again instead of the colors of mourning.

So begins...

Synclair Prunson's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Sierra Shaeffer Character Portrait: Synclair Prunson Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Synclair, Poliferus, and Sierra


Synclair's morning had been a rough one. He had decided months ago that this day would be the one where he would shed his mourning attire. Three days before, it had been exactly a year since his young wife died. Today marked the anniversary of the death of their child. It was not good for morale for Synclair to wallow in past sorrows. That was why he had decided he would only mourn for a year, and no more. But then he had awoken to the news that many of the men posted as guards during the night had met tragic ends. Synclair was tempted to continue in his mourning attire, having been provided an excuse to do so. But if he delayed his return to normalcy every time a man under his command died, he would never wear purple again. Such was the nature of their lives during these times, when usurpers were after the throne.

Swathed in purple, Synclair went about his duties for the day. He ignored the startled looks or odd comments on his attire. If it was too soon, or too sudden for him to be coming out of mourning, Synclair didn't want to talk about it. He had made this decision like he made all decisions whenever possible; with a clear mind that took into account all foreseeable outcomes. Though he may have to tolerate uncomfortable situations, coming out of mourning at this time was what was best for his men. Luckily, toleration was a strength of his, and Synclair was only mildly frustrated by those few who questioned how strongly he had felt about his wife and child.

What honestly frustrated Synclair was the situation surrounding the deaths of the men posted on guard the night before. The General had made alterations to the schedule of the night guards himself. Synclair had disagreed with these actions. His men were not pawns, setting up those few men to die was not something Synclair was comfortable with. The only reason he had not fought harder to protect these men was because Synclair knew that the assassin Phoenix would be there to add strength to their defense without the obvious giveaway of larger numbers. But reports suggested that Phoenix had not lifted a finger to help the guards as they died. Synclair would be including a complaint with his report on this subject.

As it was, Synclair had to report a few minor formalities, among other topics. The problem was locating the General at this hour. Synclair had first gone to the throne room, only to be informed by the guards posted that the General had gone off in the direction of the courtyard. Synclair changed his course, walking quickly in hopes of catching the General before he managed to wander off again. Synclair wanted to get this report off of his chest before he burst from the unusual amounts of frustration contained within.

Finally spotting the flowing cape at the General's back on one of the north-facing balconies, Synclair slowed his footsteps. The Lady Sierra was in the General's company, which made Synclair hesitate. Were he a selfish man, bursting into their conversation would give him little pause. However, Synclair was entirely too selfless to easily interrupt. He knew that the General and Lady were close, and that their conversation was likely personal. And yet, what Synclair had to say was weighing on him heavily. Synclair stood weighing his options until he noticed the General turn away from the view that the balcony provided. No doubt the General would soon notice Synclair standing in silent observation, with no obvious purpose. In an attempt to avoid the embarrassing alternative, Synclair strode forward, bowing deeply to the General and then again to Lady Sierra.

"My apologies to you General, Lady Sierra. I have little choice but to interrupt your conversation. I will try to make myself as brief an inconvenience as possible." Synclair adjusted his purple shirt once he was upright, his blue eyes shifting from Lady Sierra to the General. Synclair had cut himself off from society for the past year, only functioning when it came to his work. He had not seen a lady in quite some time, and the lady before him was one to inspire curiosity. His most burning question about her at present was whether she could be trusted within earshot of a report or not. He would have guessed that the General trusted her, much like he would trust a daughter. Some things were best kept between the individuals who most needed the information. Synclair kept his eyes trained on the General. "Permission to report, sir." He then glanced at the lady again, silently asking if it was appropriate to report in her presence.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Starlight Character Portrait: Sierra Shaeffer Character Portrait: Wolfe Shaeffer Character Portrait: Synclair Prunson Character Portrait: Captain Rubber Fruit Character Portrait: Lady Dream
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#, as written by Eskay
Image


The prospect of taking a walk with 'Uncle Polly,' as she used to affectionately call him in her youth, was a most welcome one, especially given the bizarre nature of the castle this morning. He began the conversation on a light note, asking about the quality of her sleep. She let out a sigh, nodding at his question.

"Though I'm remiss to admit it considering the events of last night, yes, I slept like a rock!"

Upon finishing his small talk, he moved into the crux of Sierra's concern, to which she listened intently. She smiled at his gentle concern when mentioning Lord Alterez, honoring the fact that Poliferous was probably not near as tender-hearted with the rest of the castle residents.

"Well, I'm sure as long as you're here, I won't have to worry about getting taken advantage of. Father always had such a black and white view on these sorts of things, but you were always better at helping discern the shades of grey!"

He would go on to discuss the nature of the mercenaries and to speculate upon the benefactor of the Rebel Queen. She merely nodded at his rationale, having nothing further to add.

The mention of Baron Vreakalks, however, was what almost shattered Sierra's impeccable composure. She had only encountered him once before, and it was a visit that she would rather have forgotten.

"Ah, yes, the Baron..." she grimaced, recalling that look of unsatisfiable lust in the Barons eyes, "I'm sure that our forces will be much better served by the presence of his troops..."

Admittedly, the mention of the Baron proceeded to infect her mind, negatively impacting her ability to process the crux of the rest of the conversation. It was when he posed a question directly to Sierra that she managed to snap out of her unintentional stupor.

"Ah yes, the mission. Truth be told, these investigations the queen has been sending me on have become successively more bloody with each mission. What was supposed to be a simple black market bust turned out to be an assassination of one of the top dealers in the trade..."

She needed to choose her next words carefully. Though it wasn't Poliferous's judgement she feared, Lord Alterez had plenty of eyes and ears hidden about the castle- especially that enigmatic mercenary Phoenix, who seemingly appeared out of thin air!

"It's not that I distrust the Queen's judgement," she began, using her eyes rather than her words to convey her concern to her old friend, "but I can't help but shake the feeling that I'm resorting to killing far more than I should. Perhaps there is an error in the manner in which I'm conducting my investigations? I hope that the Queen will be able to provide me with more counsel..."

The distress in her face would speak volumes more than that in her tone, and just as quickly as it had manifested, she had withdrawn it, adopting yet again her poised posture. Her smile also returned, as though it had simply vacated the premises for a brief moment.

"But, enough about that! How is Vincent faring with his lessons in swordplay? Him and Father can't be bothered to write, so you're the only connection I have to my family!" She paused, remembering another concern that had been bothering her, "...speaking of family, you haven't heard from Wolfe perchance, have you? I haven't spoken with my elder brother since his abrupt departure from his employment..."

Before she could get an answer, however, the elusive Synclair made himself present, looking rather harried. She knew very little about the man, save that the tragic loss of his wife had kept him in mourning for the better part of a year. At the mention of a report, Sierra became unnerved, yet compliant.

"You needn't be afraid to speak your mind around me, Sir Prunson," Sierra started, noticing his hesitance to present his report, "I can take leave should you wish to confer your report in private."

Image


As this 'Gregora' appeared, Wolfe felt several negative sensations- deflation from the departure of his newfound wenches (both physically and emotionally,) uneasiness at the man's lack of understanding of the finer points of 'personal space,' and utter disgust at both the toothless visage and the gag-inducing stench which protruded from his unkempt person.

The man began by making small talk. No man approaches another man in a tavern to make small talk, unless of course he fancied the company of other men. Wolfe's worst fears were potentially realized when something large and firm pressed itself against his leg.

"Dear God," Wolfe thought, dread gripping his very soul,"PLEASE be a dagger..."

A quick glance would prove that Gregora indeed had drawn a dagger to Wolfe's exposed leg. Crisis averted.

"Well friend, that's quite an impressive blade you've brandished!" Wolfe responded, choosing not to pay his accusations any mind, "However, they say that the size of ones sidearm is inversely proportional to the size of his other 'prized weapon.' Judging by the impressive girth of your dagger, I'd imagine that you have several 'small issues' to work out, along with whatever animal droppings you've opted to bathe in..."

Wolfe could have spent the entirety of the day indulging in his new witless acquaintance, but the appearance of an older 'friend' of his shattered his charming first impression. It was none other than Sergeant Antorak, perhaps the sketchiest higher-up in all of the Purplexian Army. His appearance was enough to get Gregora off of Wolfe's back- a favor that he would not soon forget!

He simply smiled coaxingly as Antorak put on a wonderful facade of toughness. Wolfe knew better than to take him seriously, especially when he went on a self-righteous tirade as farcical as this. He often wondered just how strenuous it was to make Sergeant in the Purplexian Military, given all that Antorak was good for was hiding behind his soldiers.

Upon the conclusion of his speech, however, Wolfe's smirk transformed into a focused frown. His vision obscured by the ensuing chaos, he kicked his table onto its side, shielding him from thrown glass and blades. His aegis would only last so long, however, as one of the thugs he had spotted earlier lunged his way with a short blade drawn.

"Why must we resort to being so uncivilized!?" Wolfe chided, rolling out of the way of a lethal strike. He then followed up by nimbly withdrawing his right hand dagger, Fortune, deftly slaying his pursuer.

Almost as quick as it had started, he noticed the Lady Dream, the pirate girl, and a new face (presumably her Captain,) gathered at the hind end of the bar. He knew that it was going to be tough for the three of them to get away without some form of distraction...

"STOOOOOOOOOOOP!!!!!" Wolfe bellowed, his voice carrying over the commotion, "Antorak, surely even you are capable of a more civilized endeavor than this? Skirmishes like this are beneath even the likes of you! Cease this dreadful commotion and speak to me like a man!"

He wasn't sure how Antorak would react to his odd outburst, but his reaction was not integral to his plan. Unbeknownst to the Sergeant, the words 'dreadful commotion' were part of a series of key words developed by himself and the Lady Dream. 'Dreadful Commotion' was used when a situation dictated that one party should exit while the other party acts as bait. In this scenario, it was fairly obvious who was doing the baiting and who should be escaping...

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Starlight Character Portrait: Sierra Shaeffer Character Portrait: Wolfe Shaeffer Character Portrait: Synclair Prunson Character Portrait: Kota Pierce Character Portrait: Captain Rubber Fruit
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#, as written by Centi85
Poliferus, Sierra & Synclair

Poliferus chuckled happily at Sierra's words when it came to himself and her father. The man was brilliant, and Poliferus was honored to know him, as well as his children whom he could almost call his own. The girl especially reminded him so much of a life he had rejected. Of course if he chose to he could've juggled General with father, but having first gained his title at a young age, the hassle was too much. Looking back now, he almost wished he'd accepted it before, his age and experience having finally served to open his eyes to reality. Nevertheless, he was grateful for what he did have.

Only the look of concern and doubt on Sierra's young face at the mention of the Baron was enough to erase the man's smile. Her less than pleased tone at the thought of the esteemed man's troops was even more upsetting. Poliferus would be sure to address that matter separately. Until then, Poliferus silenced himself in order to listen to the recent missions that had been assigned to the girl.

Poliferus frowned deeply at the girl's words, understanding the conflicting emotions she felt. In a fatherly and defensive way, he was very much displeased with the girl being placed into positions where she'd had to succumb to killing someone. The thought of Sierra, the young, innocent girl he had watched grow up having to take another's life because of orders received by Alterez or Violet, or because she was forced into a scenario where it was the only option... The man heaved a sigh. As a realist he knew he couldn't shelter her, that she wasn't his and she had chosen this path of her own accord, but he also felt like she was experiencing some things that she shouldn't. To kill someone was more than simply putting a blade through them. No, you had to look them in the eye, see a person who had dreams and goals, friends or family, and fully understand that after you do what need be done, they'd be gone forever. Their life force would be expelled from the world, never to return.

Poliferus was well acquainted with the shadows of guilt after so many commissions to the battlefield; the constant regret and self-doubt over whether or not there could have been another way, and the nightmares that constantly replayed the horrors of the screams of men impaled over red-stained steel. The man knew how she felt, and sincerely wished that he could have been there in those troubling times to help her decide the right course of action. Many times, looking back, even a war-hardened veteran saw something they could've done different... It was stressful, cynical and hideous, something which his sweet Sierra shouldn't be tasked with doing. Simply the look in her face as she spoke hurt the man too. Poliferus was all to aware that she was choosing her words carefully and deliberately, and sincerely wished that she didn't have to. It wasn't good to not be able to talk to someone so close and still have to knit-pick your own words, but the man allowed her to continue uninterrupted so that she could hopefully get most of what was bothering her off her chest.

"But, enough about that! How is Vincent faring with his lessons in swordplay? Him and Father can't be bothered to write, so you're the only connection I have to my family!" Poliferus noted the abrupt change in her voice and posture, smiling almost sadly with how easily she could alter herself. Although he knew it was only to accommodate a happier subject, it was also something politicians tended to like to do, as well as killers. She definitely wasn't the same young girl that needed protection, she'd grown substantially.

"...speaking of family," she continued as if as an afterthought, seeming to pick up the same concerned tone, "you haven't heard from Wolfe perchance, have you? I haven't spoken with my elder brother since his abrupt departure from his employment..."

Poliferus raised an eyebrow. He deeply considered telling Sierra about his contacts with Wolfe, but he didn't want to trouble her any more than she was. Life shouldn't be this troubling for her. As it was, Poliferus still had to send the latest reports to Wolfe, and had been on his way to do that when he'd been intercepted by Sierra. Not that he minded it, of course, but Wolfe needed to be aware of what was happening. The General went to answer, but instead found that another matter insisted on making itself known first.

Snyclair. Poliferus looked the man up and down, noting his lack of mourning clothes in-Lou of the usual colors adorned by those of any power. With a nod of satisfaction, the man welcomed his Captain back, but held up a hand for the man to wait.

"Sierra, darling," Poliferus spoke, turning to the girl, "Your brother is doing just fine. His swordsmanship has progressed extensively in the past few weeks. He truly is gifted, but what else should I expect from the esteemed Shaeffer house?" Poliferus offered an encouraging smile with that, winking playfully. "As far as Wolfe..." The man stopped, thinking a moment. He sincerely hated lying to the girl, but the times and situations, as well as the circumstances surrounding nearly everything, were far too delicate. Not to mention he had to be careful for the same reason she did of what he said. General or not, he would be monitored as well. "Latest reports reveal nothing new. Although he's still with Lady Dream and her rebels, I do believe there's a chance with him. He isn't stupid... I believe he has his own reasons which are entirely justified for leaving... Don't worry at all."

Patting Sierra on the shoulder he smiled again. "Why don't you run along and see if Alterez or Violet need anything of you? I'm sure that these missions as of late are entirely in the best interests of the kingdom. Trust your instincts, and don't second guess yourself. Alright?"

With that, Poliferus turned to Snyclair. "Proceed."


Kota & Lucie

Watching the girl, the head officer noted several more charges to be put on Lucie's record. Disorderly conduct for one, and for two, wearing purple when not affiliated to the monarchy or without holding any position of authority. Even though the officer was well acquainted with her, having always seen her around town and being kind enough to overlook previous excursions, if not for Lady Kota, he'd have had no other choice but to arrest her then and there. It wasn't always fun having to do these sorts of things, especially to friends or people he'd known for some time, but the man had learned to overlook his own feelings in order to perform his duty.

Blocking out Lucie's behavior and looking to Lady Kota, the main officer nodded respectively at her, both in agreement of her words, and at hear admirable loyalty to her friend.

"Yes, Lady Kota," the man said, keeping to his professional demeanor in the situation. "Your pardon has been acknowledged, and will be documented in the report. No fines will be administered, but all stolen items will have to be either returned, or paid for. All other complaints, however, will have to be addressed by yourself or the Queen. The people will not take kindly to a thief being granted protection under the law with the right to steal without being held responsible through proper courses of action. We will return to see that the terms have been adhered to."

The man waited a moment for his words to sink in, his eyes moving sternly between the two before him, ensuring that they understood. After a brief moment, he finally nodded, satisfied. "Excuse our interruption, and thank you for your time. Enjoy your day," he said finally, bowing one last time to Kota before exiting the small house, his men falling into step behind him.


Lady Dream, Captain Rubber, Star & Wolfe

Antorak smiled greedily as the entire bar seemed to stop with Wolfe's sudden outburst. The Sergeant tilted his head to one side, a single eyebrow raised in mock amusement as he considered the man's next words. With the same grin, he chuckled, beginning to shake his head, all eyes in the bar on either himself or Wolfe.

"My dear friend Wolfe, it's been too long!" he began, spreading his arms wide as if inviting him as an old acquaintance, "How are you? I'd assumed that someone so esteemed would have better things to do than seek allegiance amongst the midst of traitors... As for this unnecessary ruckus, it was in fact you rebels who decided you didn't want to come quietly." The man's gaze drifted over the room, noting several people stopped in the middle of a punch or other attack and one of his own men currently lying dead on the ground, a crossbow bolt having penetrated the steel over his chest. Antorak huffed a poorly feigned sigh of regret, clicking his tongue as if displeased...

"Tsk tsk," he said, looking at everyone present. "For those of you who took up arms against the rebels, you will be adequately rewarded. For those of you who chose to stand and fight against the law, against the authority of a Purplexian soldier, you will be punished in the same manner! If you indeed wished to go about this in a more civilized manner, I would have been more than happy! You all chose to throw the first punch and resist being arrested!"

Antorak looked to Wolfe now, brandishing his blade and leveling the tip with the man's chest. "I'll be sure to get a handsome promotion for this. Lady Dream, a notorious Pirate Captain... And a once exalted member of the Courts?" as he spoke, Antorak took the time to identify and point out each of his three targets. "This is quite a haul."

Swinging the weapon around in his grip and settling into a better stance, with his blade positioned directly in front of him in a dual grip, at waist level, Antorak smiled. "Forgive me, but you've missed all chance of civility. You'll come quietly, or I'll take you by force!" With that, the sergeant charged, moving in fast for an overhead diagonal chop from the left, followed by a reverse motion in the opposite direction. Using that as the signal, the bar attendees continued on with their combat, the noise quickly rising once again with the sounds of men bellowing their battle cries, the maids screaming, weapons clashing and bottles smashing. Most people were far too busy to notice anything beyond the immediate threat in front of them. Gregora used this chaos to escape out a rear entrance, planning to return near the end and, should Antorak succeed, claim his winnings.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Sierra Shaeffer Character Portrait: Synclair Prunson Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Synclair, Poliferus, and Sierra

Synclair nodded in the direction of the Lady Sierra, acknowledging her words to him. "Many thanks, my lady. While I do not distrust you, and indeed have every reason to believe in your integrity, I do prefer to keep my reports private and uncomplicated. The choice ultimately belongs in the hands of our General, but your willingness to accept my interruption has not gone unnoticed by myself." Synclair bowed again to the lady.

At the raised hand of the General, Synclair took his cue to take a step back, sufficiently cutting himself out of the conversation for the time being. He kept his gaze trained out over the balcony to further detach himself from the General's parting remarks to the Lady Sierra. While he could not help but overhear, he refused to dwell upon anything that was mentioned. Everything that he heard was out of context, and entirely unrelated to any business of his. With the Lady Sierra dismissed, Synclair stepped back into the General's confidence.

The General's permission to proceed unwound Synclair's tongue. "Sir, to begin I have several superficial formalities to report. Those killed during the course of the night will be replaced within the week, I have been assured. As to the information released to their families..." Synclair hated this part. "They were reported killed during a robbery outside the walls, as instructed. No connection with the upstart queen or any other rebellion will be affiliated with their deaths." Synclair had received these instructions directly from those diplomats closest to the throne. While Synclair did not answer directly to these diplomats, he and the other captains were encouraged to avoid openly disobeying the suggestions made by the officials above their heads. Synclair gritted his teeth a moment, fighting against his building frustration once again.

Synclair took a breath and continued. "Reports regarding the events of the previous night indicate that the man known as Phoenix dispatched the enemy targets only after our guards were killed. I intend to make a formal complaint against this man and his reckless disregard for the lives of those who serve the Queen." He was not entirely sure that the General would not try to stop him from doing this. Regardless, Synclair included it in his report on the off chance that the General might even support his complaint. It would be hard to touch a man who was the pet of Lord Alterez, but with the General's word behind him, Synclair might just reach his goal.

"Lastly, I must report an object of discomfort." Synclair revealed a piece of paper and offered it to the General. "This map was found on the bodies of the dead assassins. It is a detailed map of the inside of the castle, marked with the altered schedule of the guards. While other maps and schedules were recovered from the bodies, it is assumed those were taken from our guards as they were killed. This map, however, is a compilation of all the maps issued to our guards on a single sheet. No lone guard would be privy to this information, General." Synclair was sure his point had been made, but was obligated to further explain the situation at hand, however he disliked to. "Someone who knew the schedules of every guard that night leaked this to the assassins. Which means at the very least, it is likely one of our sergeants has betrayed the Queen. Or worse still, it could have been a captain." Synclair shifted on his feet. He did not take pleasure in delivering such reports. If the matter were less pressing, Synclair would prefer to investigate for himself and be sure there was no misunderstanding. As it was, the decision was out of his hands. He provided the General with the information observed, and all he could do was hope there was something that he had overlooked.

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Character Portrait: Lord Alterez Character Portrait: Synclair Prunson Character Portrait: Queen Violet Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Centi85
Phoenix, Lord Alterez & Queen Violet

Alterez listened intently to his Queen talk. It wasn't the most full picture she could have painted, but he assumed that any elaboration would come in time. He wouldn't press her over such delicate matters, especially concerning family, but he still wouldn't say he was entirely pleased. The less than satisfactory answer helped in some ways, but it was still rather ambiguous. Albeit it made sense in that that he'd never seen any of what Violet was claiming only considering Lady Dream acted out only when not in public, but even so, Alterez was still curious as to the why and how. Seeing as he wasn't King until after one of the sisters had been proclaimed Queen, he didn't have the authority at the time to be amongst the Court when they made their decision. Obviously they knew whatever he didn't, but then it wasn't until now that such thoughts had ever occurred to him.

Considering this, Alterez thought that perhaps he should simply let the topic slide. The latent ideas birthed by such notions merely aided in his worry over his leadership abilities. He wondered how what else his Court knew of, or anyone within his ranks for that matter. It was no secret to him that many high-powered people were tainted in one way or another, but only now did he realize too how difficult it was to spot, especially with so many other duties weighing him down. It was nearly impossible to fully grasp a situation such as this war and contain it while pleasing everyone, and with the stress one had to deal with, it did a good job of obscuring the silver-tongued politicians that thrived in his midst, those who wished to only please themselves.

"Well," sigh Alterez finally, "hopefully we can use that to our advantage then... If she was not fit for leadership of a nation, she definitely won't last long with even a small band of misfits. She's merely demoted herself even more..." Nodding to himself, as if using that answer to validate some reasoning of his own that he refused to share, Alterez continued. "That in mind, perhaps we can wait it out for your sister to merely crash and burn on her own? It's far too much trouble, the time and effort we've put into this, when in reality it's such a small matter. If your sister is as you say, then she will not make it. She has no chance. That said, she isn't even a real threat..."

Looking to Phoenix now, Alterez stood fully to face the mercenary. "Go fetch General Poliferus. Have him report to me. I must converse with him over the military affairs surrounding the recent attacks and the tracking of Lady Dream."

With a nod, Phoenix turned and moved silently from the room. That task complete, and with his mind seemingly made up, Alterez turned now to his Queen, already looking less stressed than he had a mere moments before. "Come," he said, holding out a hand to her, "let us get ready for the Royal Address."


General Poliferus & Synclair

Poliferus stood silently, arms folded behind his back, still as a rock, as he listened to his Captain’s reports concerning the recent deaths of his men. It was unfair to the man that he had to commit such a heinous deed as lying about the honorable sacrifices of such valiant troops, but the General knew it was necessary as well. The politicians needed to make sure they didn’t look bad with their guards having been eradicated by a mere five renegade assassins, and although Poliferus disliked them and would love to see a new chapter installed into order, he wouldn’t isolate himself as a traitor to their whim. To Synclair, however, a man who had not but a few hours ago come out of mourning, this was probably unbearable. Poliferus understood entirely, but he could do nothing about it as of now.

"Reports regarding the events of the previous night indicate that the man known as Phoenix dispatched the enemy targets only after our guards were killed. I intend to make a formal complaint against this man and his reckless disregard for the lives of those who serve the Queen."


It was to this statement that Poliferus allowed himself to break his otherwise flawless poker-face. Raising a curious eyebrow, the General considered this, nodding in acknowledgement and agreement.

"Lastly, I must report an object of discomfort."

Poliferus looked down now to Synclair’s extended hand, taking the paper and scanning it, replacing now his stoic demeanor.

"This map was found on the bodies of the dead assassins. It is a detailed map of the inside of the castle, marked with the altered schedule of the guards. While other maps and schedules were recovered from the bodies, it is assumed those were taken from our guards as they were killed. This map, however, is a compilation of all the maps issued to our guards on a single sheet. No lone guard would be privy to this information, General. Someone who knew the schedules of every guard that night leaked this to the assassins. Which means at the very least, it is likely one of our sergeants has betrayed the Queen. Or worse still, it could have been a captain."

Poliferus frowned deeply, thinking on this. Of all the things that could have gone wrong, and all the scenarios that could have played out, the most inconvenient one was chosen. It was actually somewhat ironic the way Phoenix worked. If Poliferus had hired the man before Alterez, then the mission would have been successful without even a single casualty; that is if his record was true. As it was, however, these five assassins who had guaranteed their stealth and discretion could not infiltrate a castle and palace without leaving a line of bloodied corpses in their wake.

The General had specifically tried to avoid this dilemma by giving most of his men a well deserved night off, as well as altering the guard routes so that if need be, the assassins could move in and out without ever being detected. There were plenty of openings in their patterns, and yet they still had to be dispatched. Moreover was the fact that after all that unnecessary action, they were toppled by a single man. Phoenix was indeed a problem, and as much as Poliferus wished he could blame him, he couldn’t. He himself was to blame for attempting this course of action in the first place, but he knew better than to dwell too much on one mistake, lest he make several others while distracted.

With a sigh, Poliferus finally spoke, though his words echoed his thoughtfulness and worry, despite how much he tried to hide it. “Thank you, Captain,” he said simply. “I too am greatly disappointed in Phoenix’s methods of engagement pertaining to the infiltrators last night, but considering the circumstances, it may have been easiest to encounter them all in one area rather than trying to stalk them through the entire city. While I share your sentiments, we must also look at both sides of the situation… It may have been the right choice, it may not have, we’ll never know for sure, but that’s just how life is.”

Turning now and beginning to pace, Poliferus’ gaze drifting far into the sky as he contemplated how to best put what he wanted to say next. “As far as the map, I will have an investigation begin as soon as possible. I don’t want you to worry too much on it, however. You’ve got enough to deal with. As of now, I just want you to focus on ensuring we keep things in order around the city. We’ll—“

Stopping short, Poliferus was now looking over Synclair’s shoulder to the figure which had just seemed to appear out of nowhere. Clad in a heavy set of fabrics decorated extensively in fire patterns, Phoenix’s appearance had nearly caused Poliferus to draw his sword, half expecting a blade or some sort of attack to have been launched by now. The man was terribly unsettling, and though his loyalty was legend as much as his skill, Poliferus still expected a knife in the back the moment he, or anyone, wasn’t looking.

Regaining his composure quickly, the General cleared his throat, stepping past Synclair now. “Can I help you, assassin?”

Phoenix remained unmoving for a moment, giving Poliferus pause. He was terrifying in the way he stood; his easy, relaxed and yet perfectly situated stance allowing for fast movements, speaking greatly of his abilities. The man seemed to exude confidence, power and authority, and that in itself demanded a great deal of respect and caution when in his presence. Poliferus especially couldn’t stand that the shadows of his hood kept the man’s eyes from view, but yet still allowed him to see and assess everything around him. Perhaps it was fear of the unknown, or perhaps Poliferus was trained to combat these assassins with the expectation of being betrayed, but whatever it was, the man could never feel right when in his presence.

“Alterez requests your presence,” Phoenix said simply, his voice devoid of any emotion. Even the in the man’s speech, the author in his voice was palpable, but yet it wasn’t as if he were speaking on a level any higher than the General. Poliferus nodded to the man who responded in kind, and then watched as the assassin turned on his heels and disappeared from the archway to the balcony. His footsteps never even made a sound on the hard marble floor.

“Well...” Poliferus said finally, turning back to Synclair. “It appears as if we must cut this conversation short. I do sincerely apologize, but I’m sure you understand. Please, don’t do anything rash just yet, and don’t burden yourself with any of this. When I return I will give whatever counsel you need, but until then, do try and tend to whatever may need it. Yes? Check on dear Sierra, perhaps. Just make sure you’re ready during the Royal Address”

With that, Poliferus offered a smile, nod, and then strode from the balcony, the echo of his steel-clad boots slowly disappearing down the hall.