I could already tell he was a practised orator, as he let a pause linger, drawing in the crowd with silence, building the tension of the moment until he finally let it snap.
"You all know me, I am the Bastard Roderick, I have no right of inheritance, no legitimate claim, which of course is rightfully that of my fair sister Elsie. The only gift my dear father gave to me is a claim to my blood, the same blood which ran through the Baron's veins."
"I think you have been given quite a bit more than that brother," Elskia interrupted, "brought into the household, treated as near and dear to a trueborn son and brother as any could ask."
The rest of the room turned to the Elskia as she spoke but my gaze lingered on Roderick. I was the only one to see his eyes when he'd been interrupted, the flash of murderous rage that claimed him, and was then instantly buried.
"Of course Elsie, and I am eternally grateful for all I have been given. I do hope my words did make me appear ungrateful."
"No, what-what I meant—"
"Don't you worry little sister, I know there are no ill feelings between us. You have always been nothing but sweetness personified, the kindest and gentlest girl any of us have ever known."
I noticed the way he intoned certain phrases, pitched them to the dusty galleys so the words returned almost as echos from above. There was something lingering in them, something that squirmed into the mind like a worm. The gazes of the people on Elskia had grown affectionate, but condescending.
"...And that is what concerns me. We are in difficult times. The muck fields have been overdrawn, the peasantry grows restless, and dark tidings arise from court of stirrings in the south. The Barony requires a strong hand if we are to weather these challenges."
The crowd erupted into murmurs, many of them shocked, but most raised complaints or concerns of their own. The usual worries of any quiet hamlet: not enough calves with two heads being born; boils on the rise; stew being both too salty and not salty enough; and one particularly loud complainer insisting that the chickens had grown murderous.
"Surely you cannot mean yourself!" a woman shouted.
"Of course I do not presume madam, though it intrigues me that it was I whom you first thought of... No, I believe an appeal must be made to a greater authority."
“Well we can’t ask the Baroness, may she rest in peace,” spoke an anonymous bystander.
A chorus of whispered ‘may she rest in peace’ susurrated through the hall in response.
Elskia found her tongue in the meantime, dusty and dry, but found nonetheless.
"The law is the authority! I am to inherit, it was father's will that I ascend to Baroness,” a spotty murmur of ‘may she rest-’ cluttered the air before everyone realized a different prospective Baroness was being discussed, “... and everyone knows it!" Elskia tried to reclaim her train of thought, but she was clearly blindsided by the turn the conversation had taken.
Roderick looked like the cat who caught the canary and ate it too, I could see the smirk slinking beneath his collar as the exact words he had been waiting for arrived.
"Yes, the law. We cannot forget the importance of it now can we. But isn’t it you who always says the law must serve the people if it is to have any standing at all?" Roderick replied.
"Well, yes, bu-"
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"And are the people not disserved by weakness in hard times? It is a poor law that threatens those it is meant to serve. While it is true that the law must be followed... I ask you... which law? There is a more ancient law is there not? The means by which a rightful son or daughter was chosen in the past: the Inheritance Stone."
And that just about cinched it up.
The master of tradition was sent for, a gnarled old man clutching a massive tome. The single glimpse of the spidery scrawl filling its pages was enough to start a migraine crawling up my spine. After an initial failure to communicate the crowd was led in a synchronized chant of 'stone stone stone' until words finally pierced through seeming deafness of the man.
He confirmed the precedent of Roderick's challenge, and recognizing all the trouble everyone had already gone through, a consensus quickly formed that they may as well follow tradition and see whose claim was greater.
A series of trials would be determined by an impartial council, tasks that reflected the storied history of the Baron’s lineage. The magic of the stone would interpret their worth, and their adherence to the true spirit of the bloodline would choose the rightful successor.
Elskia had returned to her original state of stillness and tried so very hard to appear brave that everyone avoided looking at her altogether. As the gathering dispersed she caught my eye and, knowing my role, I followed her to her chambers. All of which returns us to now.
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"So what's the plan my lady? How are you going to get that special pebble to recognize you as the rightful heir?"
We were standing on her balcony, my offer of total abandonment of responsibilities having been soundly rejected.
"I don’t know Hero... Perhaps it’s for the best, that Roderick take the Barony. I could never trust myself with the challenges he believes are coming..." she looked stoically into the distance, sunlight pooling on her shoulders despite the utterly overcast day.
"Are you... are you dim?"
"What?!" she squawked, my question breaking her from the cliche loop she'd found herself in.
"I mean, it's alright if you are, some of my best friends are," I saw the looming abyss and neatly sidestepped, "anyway, loads of rulers aren't the sharpest bulbs. You might even argue that it's a prerequisite. I just think that if you're, y'know," I switched to a whisper, "slow—That you should tell me. So I can account for it in my plans."
Her expression rippled out of the serene calm that she’d been locked into since Roderick had outmanoeuvred her, and her face turned sharper than the bite of winter, I felt as if shadows flew to her sides as the light that once kissed her skin abandoned her in an instant.
"How dare you! I could have you flogged within an inch of your miserable life! Your skin peeled into strips of leather to floss my teeth, scrap by miserable scrap you'd be flayed into a crippled red worm, a lingering stain of humanity so tortured all who looked upon you could only despair that such a fate was allowed by the fallen gods," Elskia hissed.
And then, just as suddenly, it was gone. Shock swept over her face and the light sprung back to her, "Oh I'm so sorry Hero,” she entreated, grasping my arm, “it's just my mother coming out in me. I know you’re just trying to help.”
I ordered my muscles to relax, managing to convince all but a stubbornly paralyzed calf muscle to at least feign normalcy.
"Dug you out of that pit didn't I? So glad to see you're like your old self again," I managed to say with complete sincerity. Painfully aware of the pressure her hands were putting—purely incidentally I'm sure—directly on my elbow joint, "And I'll just add... I think you have nothing to fear with regards to buckling under the 'challenges' Roderick spun up, if you have any of the Baroness in you at all."
"May she rest in peace," Elskia immediately murmured, a phrase I was beginning to realize was a widely distributed tic among the household. "Oh you're right Hero, Roderick's words just overwhelmed me, made me feel so small and vulnerable, like I'd just left my shell."
I nodded sagely, holding the thought for later that Roderick's 'words' had seemed to be much more than they appeared.
"What's important is that now we can plan... and I may have the beginnings of an idea. Roderick clearly thinks he'll overwhelm you in the trials, what we just need to do is ensure you do well, or at least well enough that you can push your greater legitimacy."
"But how can we possibly guarantee that?"
"I need to get inside of that 'impartial council' and learn what the upcoming trial is before it comes. From there we can prepare you for the task... and tilt things as much in your favour as we need to."
"They won't just let you in Hero, and if you're caught meddling with the succession I won't be able to protect you."
"Ahh but Hero won't be going in at all. Now give me a hand for a moment, I need scissors and thread..."
I was finally going to get a chance to test my chosen skills. I had already seen where the traditional heroic types would have been lead: the warrior rising to the occasion by acting as Elskia’s champion; the mage deciphering whatever glamour seemed to be affecting Roderick’s speech.
Neither of those suited me. I wasn’t here to provide good data to the dungeon, I was here to corrupt it. I would succeed, yes I would succeed, but I would do it through every underhanded means I could possibly manage. The natural choice had of course been Rogue's Guile.
At my instruction Elskia helped me take down one of the thick black curtains stretching over her windows, and summoned a serving girl to bring the other materials I needed from one of the seamstresses. Then I sent Elskia out and got to work.
It didn't need to be perfect, just... close enough. I crudely cut and stitched the black cloth into a semblance of regular clothing, leaving an absurd balloon of extra material around the neck and back. I stuffed a pillow in the excess fabric, adorned my work and looked critically in the mirror. From the right angle... yes... I looked like a much taller man stooping with an incredible hunch. I took a handful of ash from the fireplace and dabbed until my face took on the appropriate pallor, then I used bits of untouched charcoal to shadow and add harshness my features. There was only one thing left to do.
Skill Activation: Disguise.