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[The Distinguished Mr. Rose] Chapter 60: Skin-Deep Comedy
🕑 Added 2025-05-22 01:18:26 +0000 UTCAbout a week later, Lucius and his companions had gathered together to visit more of the local fare; however, something was… different. Whispers and hushed voices crept about all around them, and a tense mood muddled the air until the people’s faces were darkened into a grim frown.
The Franks huddled in groups. They murmured and spread all that they had heard from their fellow locals: tales distorted from mouth to mouth, each detail subtly changed with each rendition. But though the content might be different, the message remained the same. They spoke of Ruggiero’s treachery,
This was not a recent development. Lucius had visited many more taverns after his first escapade, donning a different attire and alias, and he continued to promote Ruggiero’s heroics with a vigorous cheer. But just like at Mary’s Tavern, the reception was far from approving. More people came to know of the ‘truth’. They derived their own conclusions from the gentleman’s story.
Now, the nation was at its tipping point. Lucius could feel it: the tension about to break. It wouldn’t be long now before something drastic would occur.
“Seriously, what’s going on around here?” Mili said, staring at the people hurrying by. “Everyone was fine and dandy just a week ago. Now? It’s like… I dunno, it feels like being on stage right after a shady reporter released a scoop on you. Everyone’s mad.”
Marco adjusted his suit and grimaced. “That’s the weird thing, kid. Youda think it was directed at us, but… doesn’t seem like it. They ain’t glarin’ or shufflin’ away like those castle servants right after we came back. Nah, their sights are set on something, or someone, else.”
“Nothing’s really happened lately, though,” Harper said. “I heard the other players are keeping to themselves, and the paladins are busy enough building that new fortress out to the west. It’s weird—just what could have gotten the folks here so riled up?”
As the party busied themselves over conjuring theories and possible reasons, a Frankish man approached them, his expression hesitant yet burning with curiosity.
“Pardon me, o’ holy warriors,” he said. “Would you by chance grant me the favor of answering a question of mine?’
The group looked at each other, shrugged, and then nodded in affirmation.
“What’s on your mind, fella?” Marco asked.
The man quickly glanced behind, where what appeared to be a group of his friends urged him on with an enthusiastic wave, before turning around and clearing his throat.
“I have heard something most concerning regarding Sir Ogier’s death,” he said. “Is it… is it true that the one who slayed him was not a demon, but in fact the Peer from the Moors: Sir Ruggiero?”
Harper stepped back and scowled. “What? Where did you hear that from?”
“The source is not important. I wish to hear it from your own words—from the heroes who were there on that fateful day.”
The group hesitated, unsure how exactly to reply.
“Well…” Mili began. “He, um, didn’t have a choice. That bearded guy went completely mad and started attacking everyone. Ruggiero was only trying to protect us.”
She framed it so that Ruggiero was in the right, but it didn’t matter. The man only wished to confirm his prior suspicions, and now he had: straight from the lips of a witness.
His eyes widened, and he covered his mouth in shock. “So it was true after all. How terrifying.” The man gestured toward his friends with some sort of signal, after which they disbanded and quickly fled to different sections of the city—no doubt to convey what had been revealed here.
The man shook his head and turned to leave. Before he did, though, he gave the otherworlders a parting word of advice. “I do not know what lies that man has said to you, but I suggest you be cautious. The Moorish people command dark magics. It would not surprise me if that treacherous Peer was the one who caused our guardian’s madness to begin with.”
To that, Marco shook his fist in anger. “What’re ya even talkin’ about? You don’t know the man—all this nonsense about dark magic is hogwash.”
But his words fell on deaf ears. The Frankish man had already left, vanished into the alleyways.
“... I think we should go back,” Harper said, attempting her best to reign in her composure. “Something strange is going on here. No one should’ve known about that unless a player blabbed like a moron, or… that Ganelon guy purposely leaked it. We need to demand answers.”
“Fat chance that’ll do anything,” Mili replied bitterly. “That sleazy jerk is way too powerful. Even if we did somehow get close enough to talk to him, what next? He’s just gonna deny it and pretend to be innocent.”
The two women were stuck in a proper dilemma. They had neither the influence nor ability to confront the High Tribunal, but surely there had to be something they could do.
The good Mister Bernardi was the one to break the silence. “How about we talk to Sir Roland first? I doubt we can do anythin’ alone, but if we get them to investigate the punks who spread this junk, maybe they can find some dirt into that Ganelon fellow’s dirty dealings. Trust me: No matter how much you try to get rid of the evidence, there’s always some kinda trail left behind.”
That was all well and good, but unfortunately Marco’s suggestion would yield little of actual worth. Lucius would know, considering he was the… well, mastermind of this whole ordeal. But his companions didn’t need to know that: a gentleman had to practice discretion, after all.
Nonetheless, the party quickly returned to the marble-lined halls of the castle. A swarm of paladins and officials rushed past them - their expressions more weary than the usual - and upon arriving at Sir Roland’s office, they discovered that they weren’t the only ones to notice the unrest in the city.
The leader of the Peer’s sat haggard in his chair, surrounded by piles upon piles of documents. The man looked like the living dead; and when he looked up, Lucius saw in his eyes a murkiness wrought after countless nights without sleep.
“Ah, well met to you, Sir Lucius and fellows,” he said, standing up and extending a welcoming gesture. “Judging by your urgency, I believe I have an idea as to what has brought you here.”
Lucius strode forth and offered the man a hot cup of peppermint tea, to which he gratefully accepted. The mint added a nice, cool refreshing taste: perfect for giving the body energy in times of great stress.
“I see you are already privy to the accusations being flung about?” the gentleman said.
Roland sighed and waved toward the haphazardly-stacked papers. “It was two nights ago when I received the first notice. A paladin stationed near the gate had overheard a couple talking of Sir Ruggiero’s supposed treachery. Ever since then, the reports have only increased in occurrence. I have done my best to quell the rumors, but it is no use; I suspect there’s not a soul in this city that hasn’t been told of some variation of his involvement now.”
The peer gritted his teeth and uttered a low grumble. “I should have known Ganelon would turn back on his word. What he hopes to accomplish propagating this strife, I cannot possibly fathom. But make no mistake: I will utilize every tool in my position to unveil the truth and bring him to justice. He will not get away with this scheme—not this time.”
Lucius was almost starting to feel sorry for the poor fellow. Almost. “What goes around comes around” or as the saying went.
“You need not join this fight,” Roland continued. “It is shameful that we’ve shown you this discord, but Francia will deal with its own matters. Slaying the demons, or prioritizing thine safety, should be your only concern.”
The other three tried to protest Roland’s firm decree; however, they were quickly shown out of the room by his attendants before they could have the chance.
Lucius gathered his downtrodden fellows together and addressed them with a soft plea. “Let us trust in the paladins, hm? I’m sure Sir Roland has his methods—involving ourselves now would only get in his way.”
His party reluctantly nodded, and after a final chat, they departed to their rooms in the hopes that tomorrow would be slightly more hopeful.
Lucius was about to head back himself, when he spied a familiar ruggish face. The gentleman quickly hid himself within the ceilings shadows and watched as the High Tribunal, Ganelon himself, scrambled by with a disgruntled expression.
“Alright, who the hells did it?” he barked toward a following of elderly priests. “Answer me, damn it! Who went against my order and leaked that info about Ruggiero? I explicitly said we needed him to protect the new fortress later—ruining his reputation now goes against everything we’ve set up.”
One of the priests stammered and tried to appease his anger. “We… we’ve had no involvement in this affair. You must believe us! It is true we wish that savage removed from Peership, but we have followed your every command diligently.”
Ganelon eyed them with a doubtful look. “Blessed Mother give me patience… are you old fools still going on about that? For Stars’ sake, the war is over! Who cares that he’s from the Moors? I’d welcome a bloody beast if it could be of use to me. And Ruggiero is a pawn we desperately need, so fess up right now before I make my own investigations later.”
“What else are we to say? No amount of threats will change the truth: We do not know. Could it be possible that one of the paladins on Sir Roland’s side is responsible?”
The roguish Peer groaned and had to stop himself from clawing his own face in frustration. “Your stupidity never ceases to amaze me. Tell me, what would they have to gain from doing that, hm? Those damn fools know full well how the people here regard foreigners. And that used to be good. I prevented him from freely mingling with the citizens to maintain that prejudice and keep him in check. But lo and behold, it now comes back to bite me in the arse. Damn it all!”
Before Ganelon could continue, a frantic servant rushed toward him to give an emergency report. “Sir Ganelon, there’s trouble in the city!”
“What?”
A loud shout suddenly flooded the halls: angry, wrathful, filled with rage. It came from beyond the castle grounds, the roars and discontent of the masses embroiled in hysteria.
“Oh no,” Ganelon uttered. “No, no, no… it isn’t what I think it is, is it?”
He didn’t stay to find out. Ganelon and his followers quickly rushed to the outside, where Sir Roland, Bradamante, and the other members of the opposing faction stood aghast whilst on the courtyard.
There, outside the gates, was a sea of flame. Torches and crude weapons were raised up high as a mob marched through the streets. They chanted in unison, sung in a feverish, haunting choir as they slowly made their way toward the Eastern Ward. They cried out for blood; they demanded for the traitor to be hung.
Sir Roland turned towards Ganelon, his eyes glinting in a murderous sheen. “Is this what you wanted, uncle? Are you satisfied now that the city has devolved into a storm of carnage?”
Ganelon awkwardly laughed and tried to motion for peace. “Roland, my boy. I know this all seems, haha, quite suspicious, but you must believe me when I say I had absolutely no involvement in this situation.”
Roland obviously didn’t believe in him, but now was not the time for accusations. They had to hurry—and quick.
“Follow me!” he roared to the nearby paladins. “We must fortify the eastern gate. Prevent anyone from entering, but do not, under any circumstance, point your blade at the people. We must not aggravate this riot any more than already wrought.”
The paladins saluted him in acknowledgement and dashed off. Before the final warrior could leave, however, Roland took a trembling Bradamante aside and entrusted her with an important mission. “Go, my friend. I know the turmoil you must feel at this moment. You are the fastest among us—hurry to Ruggiero’s side and lead him to safety.”
She swallowed a dry gulp and nodded. With a snap of her finger, a giant levitating lance suddenly manifested from thin air, and she leapt onto the handle before speeding off into the distance.
The nation was in chaos. Madness thrived far as the eye could see.
But in the midst of it all, a certain gentleman smiled. For he knew something beautiful was about to blossom.
Comments
Arexio R.
oh lucius what are we to do with you
Jonas
Thank you!
forgetfulposum
his friends urged on him -> his friends urged him on
