Somewhere in the city...
Pacing back and forth in the dining area of his home, Lord Manfred Blaukner picks at the plethora of exotic foods that he cares little for, besides for the opulent display of wealth. His mind is busy reviewing the proceedings of earlier that night; of the “Masquerade” that was nearly two years is the making - the party that he had had his hands so deeply involved in, along with several others, unwittingly so. He grins as he relishes in the –mostly- job well done.
It was easy enough to have the Palace put into in lock down, when you had someone among the staff who knew the right words to say. Sure enough, the original event was swiftly cancelled, but word was curbed on reaching the public. From there a member of another cell, well embedded into the Home Guard, was able to move all of the nobles and “adventurers” to the location of his choosing with little effort. It is amazing how much trust there was still behind the awful blue tabard of the military; it really just made duping them even easier.
It took obvious effort to spruce up old Baron Morteg’s manor into something resembling a respectable venue, though, the building having stood empty for the better part of a year. The fool traitor, still feeling the sting of punishment the death of his wife had been, fled the city not long after the rescue of his children the previous spring. No one had heard from him since, he thinks, grinning to himself. The sect’s poor handling of the Baron’s betrayal and the incompetence of Kimmler had helped his own rise within the city’s underground, so good riddance, all the same.
Throwing the food he was nibbling at to the side, he grows angry with his next thought. “CLEAN THAT UP!” he yells at the nearest cleaner, his eyes passing over the room one last time before allowing his pacing to carry him out into the hall with a huff. If it hadn’t for that stupid cat, the… entertainment for the evening would have gone off without a hitch. Or rather, the entertainment that would have been a laugh for him and panic for those idiot adventurers.
He had honestly very nearly forgotten about the Death elixirs in the toast; of course, he had had to keep his hands clean of that planning if he was to be able to genuinely extend guest rite. He would, however, make sure in the morning that the lieutenant he’d left in charge of the task drank the rest of the poison they had intended for their visitors, as atonement for their failure. Manny’s smirk spreads as he dwells on the outcome that should have been; surely those “Breachers” would not have enough life spells to both save all the nobles and their friends that had been on the list.
That list, again, that had originally been crafted for the Masquerade the winter before, but never had a chance to come to fruition – just as well, though, as it had only allowed him that extra time to sink his roots deeper into the city and gather proper allies and resources.
It would have been a grand way to truly demonstrate just how far his influence had penetrated the capital, had the attempt succeeded. Not only wiping out a good portion of the Grand Council, but specifically against the Grand Duchess, and the other one whom so arrogantly thought they had control over the citizens of Calenhelm.
Oh, what little they do know... He laughs heartily as he strides through the manor, pausing as a large portrait on the wall catches his eye - a man, woman, and young boy seeming to stare down at him from their gilded frame.
Manfred’s expression twists, and he laughs even harder. How far things had progressed in the last year and a half; from that first encounter with these so-called heroes, trading a chest of money for a case of death elixirs and a list, with no one the wiser. He was sure that he wouldn’t survive the night, once they found out… but lo and behold, he did. The trade could not have gone smoother, in fact.
It all began there. From then on, he manipulated the blond barbarian and those foolish enough to listen to him into doing all sorts of things, up to and including the rather “untimely” (and rather gruesome, he’d heard) murder of his former patrons, the Lord and Lady Blaukner, and their household staff –all completely without question!
Of course, he’d secured his place in their will and the deed to the house first, to make his eventual claim to the property and title perfectly legal…
The house through which he now walked and the name he now bore; but not where he would stay, given how the evening ended. He’d step back a bit while things cooled down. After his yelling match with that ridiculous housecat, the damned fleabag would be looking for him. The streets had been his long enough to know when (and where) to conceal himself for the time being.
Stepping into his bedroom, he thinks of what the new day would bring. Soon, the idiot northerner will get the reward for his assistance rendered this year, and then either be dead… or otherwise out of his hair. Not that he particularly cared either way. There were always others he could dupe into doing something for him.
Falling back onto the bed, Manfred looks around and smiles at the new additions to the room – items that he had “appropriated” rather recently, not that the previous owner was making use of them anyway.
“Ahh, old man Morteg had good taste in his finery, didn’t he?” the Lord-Knight chuckles, “Though I do wonder how that spare bed was broken…” He mumbles to himself as his eyes close and he falls asleep.
Pacing back and forth in the dining area of his home, Lord Manfred Blaukner picks at the plethora of exotic foods that he cares little for, besides for the opulent display of wealth. His mind is busy reviewing the proceedings of earlier that night; of the “Masquerade” that was nearly two years is the making - the party that he had had his hands so deeply involved in, along with several others, unwittingly so. He grins as he relishes in the –mostly- job well done.
It was easy enough to have the Palace put into in lock down, when you had someone among the staff who knew the right words to say. Sure enough, the original event was swiftly cancelled, but word was curbed on reaching the public. From there a member of another cell, well embedded into the Home Guard, was able to move all of the nobles and “adventurers” to the location of his choosing with little effort. It is amazing how much trust there was still behind the awful blue tabard of the military; it really just made duping them even easier.
It took obvious effort to spruce up old Baron Morteg’s manor into something resembling a respectable venue, though, the building having stood empty for the better part of a year. The fool traitor, still feeling the sting of punishment the death of his wife had been, fled the city not long after the rescue of his children the previous spring. No one had heard from him since, he thinks, grinning to himself. The sect’s poor handling of the Baron’s betrayal and the incompetence of Kimmler had helped his own rise within the city’s underground, so good riddance, all the same.
Throwing the food he was nibbling at to the side, he grows angry with his next thought. “CLEAN THAT UP!” he yells at the nearest cleaner, his eyes passing over the room one last time before allowing his pacing to carry him out into the hall with a huff. If it hadn’t for that stupid cat, the… entertainment for the evening would have gone off without a hitch. Or rather, the entertainment that would have been a laugh for him and panic for those idiot adventurers.
He had honestly very nearly forgotten about the Death elixirs in the toast; of course, he had had to keep his hands clean of that planning if he was to be able to genuinely extend guest rite. He would, however, make sure in the morning that the lieutenant he’d left in charge of the task drank the rest of the poison they had intended for their visitors, as atonement for their failure. Manny’s smirk spreads as he dwells on the outcome that should have been; surely those “Breachers” would not have enough life spells to both save all the nobles and their friends that had been on the list.
That list, again, that had originally been crafted for the Masquerade the winter before, but never had a chance to come to fruition – just as well, though, as it had only allowed him that extra time to sink his roots deeper into the city and gather proper allies and resources.
It would have been a grand way to truly demonstrate just how far his influence had penetrated the capital, had the attempt succeeded. Not only wiping out a good portion of the Grand Council, but specifically against the Grand Duchess, and the other one whom so arrogantly thought they had control over the citizens of Calenhelm.
Oh, what little they do know... He laughs heartily as he strides through the manor, pausing as a large portrait on the wall catches his eye - a man, woman, and young boy seeming to stare down at him from their gilded frame.
Manfred’s expression twists, and he laughs even harder. How far things had progressed in the last year and a half; from that first encounter with these so-called heroes, trading a chest of money for a case of death elixirs and a list, with no one the wiser. He was sure that he wouldn’t survive the night, once they found out… but lo and behold, he did. The trade could not have gone smoother, in fact.
It all began there. From then on, he manipulated the blond barbarian and those foolish enough to listen to him into doing all sorts of things, up to and including the rather “untimely” (and rather gruesome, he’d heard) murder of his former patrons, the Lord and Lady Blaukner, and their household staff –all completely without question!
Of course, he’d secured his place in their will and the deed to the house first, to make his eventual claim to the property and title perfectly legal…
The house through which he now walked and the name he now bore; but not where he would stay, given how the evening ended. He’d step back a bit while things cooled down. After his yelling match with that ridiculous housecat, the damned fleabag would be looking for him. The streets had been his long enough to know when (and where) to conceal himself for the time being.
Stepping into his bedroom, he thinks of what the new day would bring. Soon, the idiot northerner will get the reward for his assistance rendered this year, and then either be dead… or otherwise out of his hair. Not that he particularly cared either way. There were always others he could dupe into doing something for him.
Falling back onto the bed, Manfred looks around and smiles at the new additions to the room – items that he had “appropriated” rather recently, not that the previous owner was making use of them anyway.
“Ahh, old man Morteg had good taste in his finery, didn’t he?” the Lord-Knight chuckles, “Though I do wonder how that spare bed was broken…” He mumbles to himself as his eyes close and he falls asleep.