Royal Bastards
21 November 2006 19:53![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skonen_bladesThey prowl the streets in military dress that was fresh in the morning and is hopelessly damaged by the evening. The women wear satin dresses stained with wine and sweat. They all look a little like royalty.
Their faces are tattooed.
These are the Royal Bastards. There are twenty six of them in all.
Royalty is still a family affair here. The offspring of cousins, brothers, and sisters is still preferred. The royal family here is large, though, and whoring is frequent. So is sleeping with women who are stupid and hopeful of making an entrance in high society.
Illegitimate offspring litter the dirty kitchen floors of common houses like rats.
They are kept track of. A capital R is tattooed above their right eye in the ornate stamp of the royal family. They are untouchable. They are given money on the one condition that they never contact their royal brothers and sisters. Other than that, the law is told to turn a blind eye to them.
They stumble loudly and sing and fight on the cobblestone streets amidst the stone buildings and brick alleyways. They are ignored by pedestrians and a hindrance to carriages.
To harm a Royal Bastard is a death sentence.
They are consumed with hatred and physically stronger than their privileged relatives thanks to fresh genes. All the more fuel for the anger at the injustice of their existence.
They have a palatial house in the middle of the city that always hosts the best parties. They live to excess and don’t live very long. They have cleaners and their wallets are always full. All of their friends are fair-weather and the weather’s always fair. They are prone to duels. They are prone to anger. They are prone to cynicism and depression.
Until now, they’ve fought each other and held their very lives in contempt.
Until now, they’ve been kept so drunk and sexed that the thought of banding together never entered their minds.
Until now, they would never think of taking back what should be theirs.
Until Anshion Rephale. The Older Brother. One eyed with long red hair, his hatred was always the blackest. He took a hot poker to the eye that had the tattoo above it in a sign of protest. Afterwards, he scarred the tattooed R on the bottom to make the form of a crude B. For bastard.
He’s an excellent swordsman and huntsman and friend to no one. He’s not actually the eldest. It’s just a nickname. He called this meeting and they all came to listen.
All the bastard brothers and sisters and cousins are here. Even the young ones. The two that can’t walk are being carried. They are all on the ground floor of the mansion gathered around the fireplace that Anshion is standing beside. There is silence. The constant party that has raged through this baroque bawdy house for decades has stopped for this evening.
Anshion turns to them with a contemptuous smile and the fire pops. His red hair seems to take on the glow of the flames. The unblinking dark shadow of his eye socket stares them down. When he speaks, they all know that change is coming.
tags
Their faces are tattooed.
These are the Royal Bastards. There are twenty six of them in all.
Royalty is still a family affair here. The offspring of cousins, brothers, and sisters is still preferred. The royal family here is large, though, and whoring is frequent. So is sleeping with women who are stupid and hopeful of making an entrance in high society.
Illegitimate offspring litter the dirty kitchen floors of common houses like rats.
They are kept track of. A capital R is tattooed above their right eye in the ornate stamp of the royal family. They are untouchable. They are given money on the one condition that they never contact their royal brothers and sisters. Other than that, the law is told to turn a blind eye to them.
They stumble loudly and sing and fight on the cobblestone streets amidst the stone buildings and brick alleyways. They are ignored by pedestrians and a hindrance to carriages.
To harm a Royal Bastard is a death sentence.
They are consumed with hatred and physically stronger than their privileged relatives thanks to fresh genes. All the more fuel for the anger at the injustice of their existence.
They have a palatial house in the middle of the city that always hosts the best parties. They live to excess and don’t live very long. They have cleaners and their wallets are always full. All of their friends are fair-weather and the weather’s always fair. They are prone to duels. They are prone to anger. They are prone to cynicism and depression.
Until now, they’ve fought each other and held their very lives in contempt.
Until now, they’ve been kept so drunk and sexed that the thought of banding together never entered their minds.
Until now, they would never think of taking back what should be theirs.
Until Anshion Rephale. The Older Brother. One eyed with long red hair, his hatred was always the blackest. He took a hot poker to the eye that had the tattoo above it in a sign of protest. Afterwards, he scarred the tattooed R on the bottom to make the form of a crude B. For bastard.
He’s an excellent swordsman and huntsman and friend to no one. He’s not actually the eldest. It’s just a nickname. He called this meeting and they all came to listen.
All the bastard brothers and sisters and cousins are here. Even the young ones. The two that can’t walk are being carried. They are all on the ground floor of the mansion gathered around the fireplace that Anshion is standing beside. There is silence. The constant party that has raged through this baroque bawdy house for decades has stopped for this evening.
Anshion turns to them with a contemptuous smile and the fire pops. His red hair seems to take on the glow of the flames. The unblinking dark shadow of his eye socket stares them down. When he speaks, they all know that change is coming.
tags