The kingdom of Tao is bright with a pre-wedding festival. Citizens of the small, yet thriving medieval city celebrate according to their class. Commoners drink, aristocrats gossip, and the court toasts to a job well done. Soon they'll be allied to their neighboring kingdom in matrimony. Their beautiful queen is the sole heir to the vast, mountainous landscapes of Tarsus to the north. Young King Marten retires from the crowds as graciously as he can, before stumbling up the stairs and to his chambers. The parties continue without their beloved matriarch with gusto.
Come morning, a servant knocks with the meekness of one with a hangover. "M'lord," the fellow says, equal to the man he attends to in age and demeanor, but nothing more. Not fully expecting an answer, he pushes the door between their quarters slightly ajar. The servant hisses at the stream of light. "It's so bright," he mutters, rushing over to the offending pillar of light to close the open window and hurriedly shut the blinds. Normally such an act would cause quite the protest, as the king insisted on having access to fresh air at all times. When nothing is said, the servant turns and laughs. "You're quite a bit more drunk than I thought! Here, it's a big day! Your last day as a freed man, if I might be so bold." The servant reaches forward to pull the sheets back. Revealed beneath is the king laying flat on his back, looking very much like a statue with his neatly folded hands and closed eyelids. Someone must have spent some time setting this up. "M...lord?"
The servant cries out and rushes into the halls for help. One of the head healers of the castle scrambles to check on him. With her mundane abilities, the herbalist looks him over from head to toe. Rumors spread like wildfire of her findings. King Marten had supposedly died most regally of no apparent cause. Even with a thorough autopsy, she cannot determine any strangulation, poisoning of any sort, or signs of his body failing him in any sort of way. "He was perfectly healthy," she'll sob to anyone that will listen for the next few days.
Within a week, the matter of succession is on everyone's mind. The young monarch hadn't left an heir to the throne. The more ambitious lords and ladies and even some desperate social climbers begin making alliances and choosing who among them should be king. Some think they should honor the proposed alliance and make the king's betrothed ruler over all. Others say it's time for new blood, maybe even a man of the people.
[Needed: Judge for the trial, commoners, the betrothed queen, the healer, mages, lords, ladies, social climbers, clever bandits, and more! Paragraph plus only. If you'd like to be the king's killer, message me and say how and why your toon did it for the sake of continuity. Only one killer accepted. The goal of this setting is to promote back-stabbing, alliances, double-crossing, and political scandal, but let the thread evolve where it will. Perhaps some demon or mythical creature decides to take over. Be literate, be active (at least one post a day), and have fun.]
Come morning, a servant knocks with the meekness of one with a hangover. "M'lord," the fellow says, equal to the man he attends to in age and demeanor, but nothing more. Not fully expecting an answer, he pushes the door between their quarters slightly ajar. The servant hisses at the stream of light. "It's so bright," he mutters, rushing over to the offending pillar of light to close the open window and hurriedly shut the blinds. Normally such an act would cause quite the protest, as the king insisted on having access to fresh air at all times. When nothing is said, the servant turns and laughs. "You're quite a bit more drunk than I thought! Here, it's a big day! Your last day as a freed man, if I might be so bold." The servant reaches forward to pull the sheets back. Revealed beneath is the king laying flat on his back, looking very much like a statue with his neatly folded hands and closed eyelids. Someone must have spent some time setting this up. "M...lord?"
The servant cries out and rushes into the halls for help. One of the head healers of the castle scrambles to check on him. With her mundane abilities, the herbalist looks him over from head to toe. Rumors spread like wildfire of her findings. King Marten had supposedly died most regally of no apparent cause. Even with a thorough autopsy, she cannot determine any strangulation, poisoning of any sort, or signs of his body failing him in any sort of way. "He was perfectly healthy," she'll sob to anyone that will listen for the next few days.
Within a week, the matter of succession is on everyone's mind. The young monarch hadn't left an heir to the throne. The more ambitious lords and ladies and even some desperate social climbers begin making alliances and choosing who among them should be king. Some think they should honor the proposed alliance and make the king's betrothed ruler over all. Others say it's time for new blood, maybe even a man of the people.
[Needed: Judge for the trial, commoners, the betrothed queen, the healer, mages, lords, ladies, social climbers, clever bandits, and more! Paragraph plus only. If you'd like to be the king's killer, message me and say how and why your toon did it for the sake of continuity. Only one killer accepted. The goal of this setting is to promote back-stabbing, alliances, double-crossing, and political scandal, but let the thread evolve where it will. Perhaps some demon or mythical creature decides to take over. Be literate, be active (at least one post a day), and have fun.]
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