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[The Distinguished Mr. Rose] Chapter 59: The Truth Was What They Made of It
🕑 Added 2025-05-21 02:48:59 +0000 UTCThat evening, Lucius’s companions retired to their rooms with hearts heavy in doubt. Should they try to visit Ruggiero again? Confront Ganelon and demand for the Peer’s release? Each option was equally unlikely to work.
The players were but temporary visitors to these lands: outsiders. The citizens and native paladins treated them as friends for now. However, that was because they were obedient. Non-threatening. They had just escaped their negative reputation as brutes after the rumors began to die down, but it showed clearly how influential, and dangerous, word of mouth could be.
The Franks were an insular people. They grew up around the same neighbors, walked the same streets, toiled the same fields, and underwent the span of their life being told what was good and what was right by those they believed to be far above them: both spiritually and culturally.
The priests were the faithful of God: They decided what was ‘normal’. They were the voices the people followed, obeyed, and why shouldn’t they? Their lives were not difficult. They had wealth, luxury, safety and comfort. It was because of the Holy Order that they could be at ease without a care for the future, so why should they listen to the pleas of the players instead of those who brought them prosperity?
Lucius and his fellows were, at the moment, regarded as the Lord’s chosen warriors, but they could easily have that title be revoked by the very people who granted it. All it would take was one speech for the nation to turn against them in pitchforks and torches. The only reason the priests hadn’t decreed so yet was because the players were still of use.
So what could they do to change things, then? Marco, Mili, and Harper had all strained their heads in search for an answer, but they couldn’t find one. For as long as the group held the label of ‘otherworlder’, there was not a single thing they could do to make the people listen to them. Well, unless they resorted to more… unsavory tactics, to put it politely. But Lucius’s companions were far from the type to do so.
Thus, with no clear solutions and a dampened mood, they all left to at least get a good night’s sleep.
Except for Lucius.
The gentleman stood in front of a mirror and examined himself. He touched his cheek, his nose, his brow; and he ruffled his hand through hair, pulling it back until he could see his dashing appearance in all its glory.
If being an otherworlder was part of the problem, then Lucius would simply have to disguise himself as a native Frank.
It admittedly posed a bit of a challenge, for the people here had a different facial shape than the earthlings: a more evenly-distributed build. But such a thing was of no importance to Lucius. He grabbed his jaw, and then dislocated it. He adjusted the contour, cracked and snapped and popped the joints in his bones until they were in the right position. Then, he took his finger and pushed his cheeks in so that the flesh would sink farther in, lending a more sunken appearance. From there it was just a matter of fixing some minor details such as eye gap and nose length, and then… voila! Not a single soul would ever realize that the gentleman before them was not of Frankish origin.
To make himself more appealing according to their beauty culture, Lucius bought some makeup supplies from the Starlit Shop. He coated his skin in a color-fitting foundation and added a bit of blush, before applying gel to his hair and styling it similarly in appearance to that of the butlers of the castle.
With that, his transformation was finally complete. All that was left to do was run a quick test.
Lucius took a deep breath, and he began to practice his expressions.
He smiled. “This is the face I will make when I am happy.”
He frowned. “This is the face I will make when I am sad.”
He scrunched his brow. “This is the face I will make when I am upset.”
And to finish it all off, he gave himself a little wink. “Marvelous, my expressions are as natural as can be. No one will suspect a thing.”
A loud bell rang as Lucius finished getting in character. The midnight hour was here, but even though the players were required to head to bed, the citizens inside were still active and full of life—no doubt drowning the day’s woes in drinks at the taverns. That would be his destination.
There was no better place to spread rumors than where alcohol and merriment thrived without end.
He couldn’t go looking as distinguished and dandy as he did now, however. Fortunately, Lucius had purchased a common worker’s garb from one of the stalls while the party was touring the city earlier. It was a simple set: a dull black suit and thick pants, but it did the job. He quickly stripped himself, put on the new attire, and then registered it to his top hat’s skill. ‘Wardrobe Change’ if he recalled the name correctly. With it, he could freely change between outfits with the snap of a finger!
Lucius was all set. He whistled a merry tone and then slipped out of his room with a smooth slide, before leaping onto the ceiling and making his escape out of the castle. The paladins were none the wiser to his skulking, not even when the doors creaked slightly ajar and they were left scratching their heads as a certain gentleman snuck through right above.
Now on the outside, he simply climbed the gate while the guards were looking away and then landed with a thud back onto the city grounds. The entertainment district wasn’t too far away, and soon, he found himself amidst a busy crowd as the people hopped between inn to bar.
It was time to put his plan in motion.
>[Sinister Interdimensional Bureaucrat says that it would be to your benefit, both now and in the future, to accept their proposals. Great riches await you should the mission be completed to the Star’s satisfaction]<
>[Virtual Goddess of the Wired urges you to listen to the good inside your heart. Ruggiero has suffered long enough—help the people see him as the kind-hearted warrior he is]<
Lucius entered the first place that caught his attention: a charming building of red brick and mortar that was the largest and most active out of the other establishments. A never-ending stream of drunken patrons flowed in and out of a swinging door as sounds of laughter from within filled the ale-ridden air.
A sign that read ‘Mary’s Tavern’ was displayed on the front, at least when translated from the Frankish language to English. There were some minor discrepancies between the two, so some phrases weren’t exactly the same; but the overall intent was similar.
Speaking of languages, Lucius couldn’t just go in there as he was now. It was time to put his pronunciation study to the test.
“System, would you be so kind as to turn off the automatic translation?” he thought in his head.
>[Acknowledged. Automatic Cross-World Translation Service will be temporarily switched off]<
“Thank you, my friend.”
Lucius cleared his throat, tidied his attire, and then boldly strode into the establishment… only to then suddenly duck and narrowly avoid being struck by a crudely-thrown mug.
“Oh dear, now what’s this all about?” the gentleman said.
Right in front of him, two large red-faced men were brawling it out in a flurry of sloppy punches and inebriated grunts. Despite the show, however, none of the other guests reacted and continued to drink without a care in the world. Lucius thought this to be merely Frankish culture for a moment, but he was soon proven otherwise; for a red-haired woman walked up to the two, flexed her muscles, and then slammed them in the guts with a blow that would make even a paladin whimper. The men crumbled without so much as a sound.
“Alrighty, now. Listen here you sorry sons of whores!” she yelled, dragging the two out while grabbing onto their ears. “I like a good brawl as much as the next gal, but when you start gettin’ my customers involved, that’s when I gotta put my foot down. Git outta here! If I ever see y’all again, I’ll rip yer manhood clean off and feed it to the beasts.”
With a shout, she tossed them out into the streets like a sack of potatoes and then clapped her hands together for a job well done, before turning toward Lucius. “Sorry about that, fella. Didn’t expect to be dodgin’ rogue drinks tonight, huh? But you’ve got a nice step—mighty impressive. How about I give ya some drinks on the house as an apology?”
Interestingly enough, the Frankish people were much more casual sounding with the translation turned off.
Lucius chuckled and bid her to lead the way. “Why, I would be delighted. And please do not worry. What’s a life without a little tussle every now and then?”
The lady broke out into a wide grin. “A man after my own heart. Come on, I’ll put ya in a seat near the counter—nifty spot for the people watchers out there. And you look like the type to appreciate a good view.”
The woman took Lucius to a calmer corner of the tavern right next to an elaborate display showcasing the bottles available for purchase. Lucius didn’t recognize any of the names, but they seemed to be similar to those back on earth—albeit more colorful. He had never seen a green wine before; however, there was a first for everything.
“The name’s Mary, by the way,” she said from behind the bar top. “I’m the proprietress of this here den of debauchery.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Mary,” Lucius said, extending his hand out in greeting. Mary obliged and shook it, the rough creases of her palm denoting a strength far greater than her bubbly appearance implied. “I go by many names, but you may call me Satanael.”
Lucius figured it would be best to go by a pseudonym, lest his involvement here be discovered down the road.
“Ooh, fancy name you got,” Mary giggled. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around these parts before, Satanael. New in town?”
The gentleman molded his expression to appear a bit somber, and then looked up as if reflecting on painful memories. “Indeed, although I wish it were under happier circumstances. I am one of the refugees fleeing from the western border.”
Mary’s smile quickly turned upside down, and she laid her hand over his as a sign of comfort. “Sorry to hear that. I’ve heard it’s been real hard for you folks after Sir Ogier’s passing.”
“Yes, it’s certainly a stressful experience,” he replied. “I am fortunate that a relative introduced me to a housekeeping position at House Dordognes. Otherwise, I would still be like the others, waiting for reprieve at the temporary bastion.”
“House Dordognes, huh? That’s a sweet gig! Good for you,” Mary said, offering Lucius a shot of the oddly-colored wine. He took a sip and was pleasantly surprised by the taste: a little sour, a little acidic, similar to a crisp green apple. “But yeah, we’ve been gettin’ a couple of folks like you here lately. Dark times. Honestly, who woulda thought that Sir Ogier of all people would fall to the demons?”
Lucius raised his brow and made a big show of acting confused. “To the demons? Whatever do you mean?”
Mary looked at him weirdly. “Is.. that not right?”
“No. No, I… did the castle not notify the people?” he asked.
The lady shook her head, and spoke in a low, careful tone. “No, they haven’t said anything actually. Huh, now that I think about it, all they did was confirm Sir Ogier’s death—not how it happened…”
Lucius took a deep breath and said aloud with just enough oomph so that the patrons nearby could hear him, but not too loudly that it seemed he was purposely attracting attention.
“Sir Ogier… went mad,” he declared, to which the eavesdroppers collectively gasped in surprise. “I know not why, exactly. But I was there at the fortress that day. The paladins had just suffered many casualties after the Evil of Eyes’s assault, and everyone's spirits were understandably low—most of all our beloved Peer. I saw him converse with that knight from the Moors, Sir Ruggiero, before leaving. The next I saw him, he was frothing at the mouth: delirious and crazed.”
The tavern patrons leaned in close, enthralled by Lucius’s tale. But some weren’t convinced just yet.
“What… uh, what do you mean you were there?” one of the guests drunkenly slurred. “You a priest or something?”
Lucius shook his head, now fully entranced into his storyteller role. “No, my family had been supplying the fortress with additional harvests for years. I was there on a routine delivery as I always had done before, when… oh may the Mother give me strength. What I saw was just too tragic.”
He fanned his face and beckoned for another glass of wine, which Mary dutifully gave him, before continuing on. “He went on a rampage. The paladins, the priests, even the otherworldly heroes… he slayed them all while mindless. I could only cower in the corner while the air filled with screams, and cries, and… and…”
Mary patted Lucius’s back and shooed away the others, telling them to give some space. “You don’t have to tell us any more than you want to, darling.”
“I appreciate the gesture, but I am alright now,” Lucius said after a moment. “I thought everyone was fated to die there that day, but fortunately we were saved by the good Sir Ruggiero.”
“Saved?” another person said, squinting their eyes in suspicion.
“Yes. The man valiantly took the initiative to protect us by putting an end to Sir Ogier’s madness. They fought to a standstill along with the heroes, until eventually… Sir Ruggiero emerged victorious, and he impaled the Peer’s heart with a thrust of his greatsword.”
Despite Lucius’s passionate rendition of his and Ruggiero’s fight against the delirious giant, the tavern goers did not react with the same relief. No, quite the opposite. Horror masked their expressions. It was not the fact that Sir Ogier went mad that disturbed them… but rather who it was that delivered the final blow.
“So, it was that foreigner Ruggiero who killed him, then?” one of them angrily said.
Lucius leaned back in mock innocence. “Well, yes. I suppose you could put it that way, but it was not out of ill intent. The good sir merely did it to save us!”
A different patron sucked in their breath and tapped their foot erratically against the floor. “But did he really? Something about this doesn’t seem right. You’re saying that a man who was perfectly sane just a day ago suddenly turned mad after a few hours? Not just a man, but a Peer, a hero of the war, at that?”
“Right, right!” another chimed in. “And it happened right after he talked to that Moorish paladin. I heard the savages from his land command dark and strange magic. What if he casted a hex on Sir Ogier while no one else was looking?”
“Hah, wouldn’t surprise me! They call him a Peer, but honestly who here has heard of anything he’s actually done for this nation? The others are fighting the demons or helping with the castle while he shuts himself off to practice his curses.”
“I heard he frightened a poor maid to death with his fearsome eyes!”
“Well I heard he roams the city at night and kidnaps people to cook in his cauldron!”
“Hah, that’s nothing. I’ve heard he’s even enthralled Lady Bradamante and uses her as a puppet to protect his position!”
“I heard—”
“What about—”
“A friend told me—”
Soon, the tavern descended into a storm of conspiracy and fear and rumors that were likely conjured up on the spot. Hate and loathing. Frenzy and scorn. This and all spread amongst them like an infectious wave, burrowing and seizing them with a hysteria lacking any logical basis. It was a display of pure, undilated, fear mongering.
Lucius had spoken only the truth, save for some minor details about his involvement, and even proclaimed Ruggiero as a hero. So why were the people reacting in this way?
Because the truth didn’t matter. It never did, not to those still so filled with prejudice. In a perfect world, everyone would react to gossip with doubt—an impartial leaning. But inside every person was an already established bias: their experiences, their preconceived notions, stories and disinformation and slander ingrained into them unknowingly through interactions with those in their everyday life. Parents passing on their discriminatory views to their children. Neighbors recounting negative interactions and in turn spreading further stereotypes.
A person’s worldview was molded by the environment around them. What would they become, then, when taught in a nation that proclaimed themselves to be superior: that their religion was right; that others were but heathens; and lived isolated in a land where they had scarce chance to interact with different cultures and values?
They would become fearful of whoever deviated from their ‘normality’.
That is why the truth didn’t matter. Lucius could sing Ruggiero’s praises all he wanted, but not a person would care. No, what they focused on was what they wanted to hear: that a foreigner was the one who killed their beloved guardian. How darkly humorous that was, considering Ogier was a foreigner himself; but the people were oblivious. They thought him a native Frank solely because of his name and the color of his skin.
They took only what they could use to further their own prejudices, and then twisted it to fit within their cause. The truth was what they decided it to be.
“Damnit, what’s gotten into you crazy people?” Mary shouted, attempting to calm them all down. But it was no use. There was no stopping a seed from growing once suitably fed. “For Stars’ sake, Satanael already said that Ruggiero was just trying to help. Why’re you all actin’ this damn repulsive all of a sudden?”
>[Sinister Interdimensional Bureaucrat is intrigued by this outcome and asks if this is what you intended]<
>[Virtual Goddess of the Wired clutches her head, confused on why your good-natured attempt to spread Ruggiero’s achievements has turned out this way]<
Lucius chuckled to himself, paid for his drinks, and left a good tip for the frustrated Miss Mary who was struggling to reign the chaos in, before leaving his seat and heading out back into the moonlit streets.
What started here this day was only the beginning. Soon, the ‘truth’ would spread all throughout the city, until not an ear would be left that hadn’t heard of Ruggiero’s actions.
When that time came, Lucius would be here. Waiting. For he knew that something quite entertaining was soon to unfold.
Comments
Jonas
Oof, skipped a word. Thank you!
forgetfulposum
“I’m the proprietress of this here den of debauchery.” (it feels like the word order is wrong, but maybe thats just her style of speaking) "Honestly, who woulda (thought) that Sir Ogier of all people would fall to the demons." "until not a(n) ear would be left"
