Petria, The City of Stone [Historical RP - Solo RP]

[Vivanco]

Prologue
"Petrishah, Petria, and the Age of Counts"
Book by Dr. Lethan Widrowness, Master Archivist of the Government
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Ah, Petria, the capital of the Marquisate of Vivanco... A great sight for anyone who has been lucky enough to see it! From the great Cathedral of Our Lady Mother of Ledran, to the great Palace of Congress and the Junta, bathed by all the greatness Meterra, ney, Eras, can give. From the Gulf of the King, to the Hill of the Princess, the old city has been witness to most of this, most great, nation.

But things did not originate in our current marquisate, and Petria didn't exist from the dawn of humanity. As everything around us, we evolve, and so does our cities. Who could have guessed back in the day that the old, fishermen town of Petrishah, would be subject of such name that would shake the very foundation of our state!

We have to go way back, to what we now call the "Age of Counts", back when the Kingdom of Rethan stood where now we live.

​

 

[Vivanco]

Chapter 1- Sick king, sick lands.
1004 - Reign of Leophold the IIIrd, The Old.
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The royal city of Rethan was booming with energy and life all around the markets and the farms near the lake Garal, the walls of stone, protecting the city since the founding in the 836 year, were starting to crack, mirroring the state of the kingdom. The life keeps going as usual, but the state, what marked the founding of society was starting to crack. The once mighty king of Rethan was no longer mighty, having delegated most of his powers onto the council, and by the day, the problems just kept on coming by.

A man looks from the inner walls of the city, an elderly man. He's almost in his seventies, the hair that once was golden was now silvery, and the passing of time wasn't forgiving on his skin. His clothings were mundane, but not common, made of fine silk and cloth. Next to him, what appears to be a soldier, strapped in a metal chest piece, linen black beret and a spear, firm, both looking into the horizon.

The old man sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "...My time is coming to an end." he said to the wind, like a whisper to himself and the walls. The guard doesn't seem surprised at such display, as if this wasn't the first time the man was there. "Ever since my father ruled, I was always envious of his... resolve. And now, here I am. In the same place he was before me, and I am nothing but a shadow of what he was." He looked back to the guard with a complimentary smile, a calm smile, but an abnormally calm one. The smile of the hopeless, the road's ending. "You shouldn't be so rough on yourself, your highness." spoke a deepish and sheepish voice, as the door from the vigilance tower next to them shrieked open to reveal a man with crooked back, as if he was in a constant bow clothed in all black and with no hair. "Ah, Listranomos. You came at last."

The old man looked at him and, as if one looked at an old friend since long ago, he smiled. Listranomos, royal chancellor, walked near with a slow pace, his feet dragging, never leaving the ground, and once upon the man, he lightly bowed, a bow that was answered with a pat on his back. "What is what you needed, sir?" "Tell me, my old friend... For how long have we met?" "Hard to say, it's been very long ago. For most of our lives, sir. Why?" "You remember well how my father was. Admired by everyone, just, noble... No wonder he was acclaimed by the people." "You are no less, your grace. Your father, may the gods have him in their glory, had its flaws as well." "We are humans after all, but still, it's hard to bear." "Bear what, Leophold?" "The fact that for all I could have done, all the improvements that should have been done, I didn't do all I wanted to." "Your father, Thaderan, had the same doubts." "And how do you know so much?" "You've known me for a while now, your grace. You aren't the only one who comes from a lineage. Even if my blood is not as royale as yours, I still have some blood from the founders." "...I'm old. And I don't have a heir." "That is, indeed... A problem. And a big one."

Listranomos and Leophold begun to slowly walk over the inner walls, talking about themselves. About their lives in courts, for how long had they met. A king's life not only consists on acting as a ruler. A ruler also needs a friend.
"...Gather the Council for next month. I fear I shall not remain here for long, and we will need a heir. Or else... I fear a war will come" Leophold said with sadness and anxiety in his heart and soul, for he, deep down knew what would happen. His father expanded the kingdom far over its natural fronteirs, and was getting too hard to be mantained for only one person, so he convoqued a council to rule the kingdom with him. And as the years came by, the kingdom was more of a Councildom, for they ruled more and more, and the king ruled less and less, the noble families, the members of such assembly took the opportunity to seize power for themselves and away from the King. And under the appearance of normality, of loyality, a coup was starting to form.

That very same day, Listranomos gathered the scribes and, once the announcement was redacted, letters were sent with the personal messengers of the king to the counts, to the members of the Council.

Three days later, Leophold was struck with a deep sickness, his skin pale and severe delirium. And, on his chambers, only in company of his old friend Listranomos, Leophold gave his last breath.

The king is dead.

 

[Vivanco]

Chapter 2- Movement in the shadows.
1004 - Interregnum.​

The cold rains punished the carriage as the horses' hooves splashed over the mud. With such torrential rains, the comitive had to slow down. Fifteen men, no more, just enough to protect the carriage in their way. Inside, two men have a heated discussion. One of them is round as a barrel, more ball than men, clothed, or more rightfully, stuffed in a luxurious carmin and brownish silken wear, a curly beard that reached his chest and two tired and enraged eyes. The other is a mirror of the first from an upside down universe. While one is fat, the other is a stick, as skinny as one could be, with a sick pale skin, no beard, and wearing mostly blackened clothes.

"I still don't think it's a good idea... What if it's a trap?" the feeble one spoke meekly as the carriage shook around them. "If that's so, we will find whoever gave the word and chop off his head! It's just so easy" answered the other one, his voice booming loudly as he gathered some kind of canteen made of leather, and with his mouth open under it, the man let wine fall from such canteen into his mouth. "It's more complicated than that, milord. We were convoqued in Rethan four days ago, by the king himself, and now word has spread of his death. Something is not right..." "He had it coming. Fucker didn't do much anyway, there won't be any much change." "He was the king!" "A king that didn't do anything! All he did was write stupid nonesense and lock himself in his library. A king has to be a strong leader, fierce against their foes! Not that kind of monk." "And yet you've defended him" "Pffft. Because he had the power. And thanks to that, now it's us who have such power." Gonzael smirked to his companion in black with mischief. "Now, once we get to Rethan I will seize the throne to myself and then, rebuild our army." "How... are you so sure about that?" "Who would in their right stand before me?" "Well... Any of the other cou-" "They can suck my cock for all I care. I have the bigger army, and I always was 'the king's favourite'. They wouldn't dare."

"...And then, I would poison their beverages, and the throne would be mine." softly whispered a young man into a woman's ear in their personal chambers a macabre yet calm, silent chuckle came from him, as his lips softly pressed against the blonde woman's neck, who sighed. "You don't have the balls, don't try to amaze me just to gain my body." She said as she turned around to face him, glaring at him right in the eyes. The curly, dark haired man stuttered for a moment, and would try to talk again, but the woman continued. "Either you get the crown, or you stop pretending to plot. Grow some balls." She accused him, and he averted her gaze, guilty. "...This time won't be like last time." "It better not, Lath. I don't like losers. And let's just sleep. Tomorrow, that pig of Gonzael will arrive." "I still don't know why we have to stay here and not go directly to Rethan. What is Vicarino planning?" "The same thing than you lot. He's just getting time for his ally." "His ally?" "And you call yourself count. Ordulez and Vicarino are of the same family. While we gather here to go the three of us, Gonzael, Vicarino and you, Ordulez is already going to the capital and making a name for himself." "He wouldn't dare, he was the most loyal!" "And you were supposed to kill your father for your house. But you felt bad, you didn't have the guts, and he died of old age. You got this far only thanks to me." "... Watch your tongue, witch." "Whatever you say."

 

[Vivanco]

Chapter 3- A veil of thorns.
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The bells of the chapel of the Lady of Rethan rang loud and clear, crying with pain and grief. The gates of the castle oppened up, and from it, several guards guarding a coffin came. The pace in which they walked was a slow, penitent one. The coffin was no simple coffin, of wood and no shape at all. Like his father, and his father's father, a king's final rest is to keep its face, carved in the wood they will go, so the earth recognices them and embraces them at long last. Leophold, son of Thaderan, son of Ervige, was no other, but the end of this line of succesion. He would be remember as a good king, but a failure of a ruler for his time. A weak man, of poor decision, regularly sick and in no way a warrior. He wasn't supposed to be the heir, he was taught to join the cleric life. But the strings of power are dangerous, and his brother died in misterious circunstances. The people of the city stood in the streets in complete silence as the funeral march kept walking upon what once was his rule. There were no cries of pain, nor cheers of joy. Just the never forgiving, never forgetting narrowing eyes of the plebe.

In the head of the march, the hunchback of the court, Listranomos, in a complete black tunic, and with no shoes at all. His head was low, and he kept mumbling what one could say were prayers, or curses, depending on whom you asked. His head, covered by a cloak, were locked on the ground, absent on what went on, as if he knew the road by memory (which he did), and his hands held together. Nobody showed any pain, any happiness. Not out loud, but for sure, once each were on their respective homes or within the inns, words would begin to flow, like fire on powder.
The main gates were open to let the king exit the city one last time, and later, in a mount nearby, a small cave was carved in, and the coffin was left inside, just to let the cave collapse on it again. And such were the royal burings in that time.

Later, that day in the palace, in a fair and sour hall of stone, without many decorations except the ever vigilant statues of ancient kings, a new statue was held up; Leophold's. And once such statue was put, most of the heralds left, leaving only Listranomos and the guard. Alone in the halls, infront of the new statue, Listranomos stood, looking up.

"Well, my friend... One could call you some sort of seer. You acted in time to call the council, and yet... It was already too late. You were old, but... I still can't believe you're now gone. We've known eachother since we both were born. My father was your father's councellor, such as I was yours. And I didn't imagine it would be this hard to say goodbye not to a monarch, but to a friend. I remember still the mornings we spent in the gardens of the palace, running around when we were young and full of energy. Your mother did not like it at all, oh no! She was the true head of the kingdom, as your father used to say. But then, darkness fell upon your brother and everything changed. We stopped talking untill the day of your crowning, and still less untill your mother, may the Lady keep her in her glory, passed away. I ... I still cannot believe you are gone. I have the illusion of a young lad that it's merely a prank, that you will come back like nothing ever happened and drown me again in your thoughts. But... But you won't. And now... And now what? What shall I do? Forever I've known what to do, what advice to give, but now I am who needs advice. I'm lost, my friend. I'm lost without you..."