Post by Lord Gillian on Apr 19, 2011 0:29:04 GMT -8
(The video i worthless and is not intended to be related. Please enjoy the music as it will set the mood and theme).
The parking lot was poorly lit. The few lights that remained flickered obnoxiously. The building had likely seen better days. Perhaps its use had fallen by the wayside was only frequented by the immediate locals or the spontaneous passerby.
As he walked through the front doors a wave of nausea washed over him as the ambient smell of unwashed feet, sweat, and overused wax combined to a uniquely terrifying odor.
The older man behind the counter, maybe in his late forties, called out a greeting asking him what he could do for the potential customer.
Lord Gillian grimaced as he looked at the man's clothes. Stained with food and sweat he looked as if he had been picked up from before the shattering. But instead of a cart this peasant was tending a building, how curious.
Speaking to the peasant, "I seek the steward of this keep." Lord Gillian pronounced abruptly and then waited for the man to run off. But no such action. The man stood there dumbfounded. Lord Gillian looked puzzled. Then again pronounced, "If no steward, then I shall see your Chamberlain." This time the man managed to stammer, "Uhh...um, what?"
Lord Gillian began to feel the cool flame begin to burn in his belly. He stated calmly, eyes bright, "If you have not steward, nor chamberlain, then I will speak to who ever is you lord and master, I will speak to your superiors. I will not be denied." The man began to look a little worried, "Look, if there was a problem I can help you. I am the owner here."
Lord Gillian's terrible mien vanished suddenly. "You?!" He exclaimed. "You are the, what was that? Owner? You hold the title to this fief?"
The man nervously and confused as to the stranger's behavior nodded gently, "Yes, I am the owner. I run this location and manage the people who work here. Wait, what's a fief?"
Lord Gillian sighed at the man's ignorance. Then responded flatly in a instructional and dispassionate tone, "A fief is a is an inherited parcel of land granted by a lord to his vassal. Often given due to services rendered, and to maintain the fealty of the vassal."
The man looked bewildered, "Um, ok. Thanks?"
Lord Gillian smiled sweetly. "I am glad you understand. I will insure that you are not dispossessed from your lands should your continued fealty and service not be interrupted."
The man looked shocked, "Wait! Are you thinking that I some how gave you my place because you explained a weird word to me. Or is this a robbery?" His voice began to sound strained and agitated. "I am not gonna let you take what I have that easily!" He began to reach under the counter.
Lord Gillian sighed and placed a single golden coin on the counter. The man stopped, and slowly, then picked up the coin. As he did he watched before his eyes as Lord Gillian grew in beauty and majesty. The air of nobility the man merely sensed before could now felt crashing down on him with full force and magnitude beyond anything he had every imagined.
Lord Gillian pronounced, "You now reside in my domain. I will accept nothing less than your complete fealty. I am your lord and you will know no other. Provide to me the deed to your estate!" The last phrase was said with such force that the awed man felt compelled to comply.
After a few minutes of digging through the desk and some paper work he produced an official looking document. He presented it to Lord Gillian then looked slightly bewildered. "Hey!" The man exclaimed. "Give that back!" He lunged a little over the desk and Lord Gillian's burning gaze made the man think twice.
The man then commented, "It doesn't matter that you have that, I never signed anything over to you. I can just get another copy from the city." Lord Gillian raised an eyebrow and smirked, "I see, such bureaucracy. Then as my vassal you will give unto me your possessions and holdings, you will hold nothing in reserve."
For the next hour the man worked through folders and documents signing and requesting the Lord's signatures as he went. As the final papers were signed and handed off to Lord Gillian in a tight manila folder, the man again looked shocked at his actions. He shouted angrily, "I don't know what is going on! But I won't let you have my things! How dare yo..."
Lord Gillian flashed like the heart of a great fire. His mien terrible yet controlled. "YOU DO NOT DECIDE WHAT I DARE AND DARE NOT DO! I AM YOU LORD AND YOU WILL RESPECT AND HONOR ME. DO NOT TEMPT MY IRE!" His voice bellowed with such force and authority that the poor man feel back into his seat.
The man shaking and near tears unsteadily reached for the phone, "I am calling the police." He whimpered. As he mentioned this Lord Gillian noticed a photo, behind the desk, of a family. The man was in the photo along with a woman and three young girls. They were all smiling with such warmth. A monogrammed print at the bottom of the frame read 'The Bensons.'
Lord Gillian's voice took a cool and malicious tone. "If you dare to challenge me but once more, I will have you family turned out on the streets and sick the dogs on your children. I will hold your wife in my court as slave and concubine to those of disreputable company. Do you wish to challenge me?" The Lord's icy stare met the man's. The man at his wits end managed to whisper, "You wouldn't, not my wife and daughters?"
Lord Gillian observed the phone still in the man's hands and took out a pocket phone that had been given to him. He placed a call and set the phone on the desk. After a few rings a voice answered, the phone broadcast in speaker. The voice was low and abrasive, like gravel under the heel of a boot. "What?" The individual spoke with short and abrupt statements.
Lord Gillian's eye never left those of the dismal man behind the counter. "Do you know of where 'The Bensons' hamlet is?" he asked. "Uhh, no." Replied the voice on the other end. "Very well, I need you to locate these 'Bensons' and turn them out. It matters not what happens to them or how they are turned out. Any measure of force used is acceptable, barring death. Is that understood?" Lord Gillian's voice was cold and emotionless, but is eyes seem to be alight with fire. "Uh, ok. I think I can find them. What if I there are more than one family with that name?" asked the phone. "Then bring me the woman of each and we will stop once we have found the right ones." Lord Gillian replies tersely.
"NO!" Exclaimed the man behind the desk. He tossed the phone aside and ran around the desk and fell to his hands and knees. "I beg you please! Leave my family alone! I won't call the police I will do anything you ask! Just please, please don't harm them..." The man's voice trailed into pathetic heart wrenching, heaving, sobs. "...I beg you..."
Lord Gillian smiled and gently cleared his throat. The man looked up towards Lord Gillian's face and saw an expression of pleased expectancy, as if the Lord was waiting for something. The man slumped fully to the ground and half moaned, "I beg you my Lord, spare them."
Lord Gillian felt a rush of feeling and energy flow through his veins. "Very well. The 'Bensons' need not be turned from their hamlet, they in fact have shown that they are loyal members of my house and deserve all due protection that such association offers. Thank you for you time my friend." Lord Gillian announced to no one in particular and to the phone. "Uhhh, ok. So do nothing. Got it, bye." The phone clicked and hung up.
Lord Gillian left the man to compose himself and began to wander the location sensing for the entrance to his Freehold.
As he found it he took one last look at the surrounding building, the man wiping his face and resuming his place behind the desk. Perhaps his time spent here would not be such a waste. He had missed the commoners and peasants.
For how is a lord to know he is a lord if no one looks up when he looks down?
The parking lot was poorly lit. The few lights that remained flickered obnoxiously. The building had likely seen better days. Perhaps its use had fallen by the wayside was only frequented by the immediate locals or the spontaneous passerby.
As he walked through the front doors a wave of nausea washed over him as the ambient smell of unwashed feet, sweat, and overused wax combined to a uniquely terrifying odor.
The older man behind the counter, maybe in his late forties, called out a greeting asking him what he could do for the potential customer.
Lord Gillian grimaced as he looked at the man's clothes. Stained with food and sweat he looked as if he had been picked up from before the shattering. But instead of a cart this peasant was tending a building, how curious.
Speaking to the peasant, "I seek the steward of this keep." Lord Gillian pronounced abruptly and then waited for the man to run off. But no such action. The man stood there dumbfounded. Lord Gillian looked puzzled. Then again pronounced, "If no steward, then I shall see your Chamberlain." This time the man managed to stammer, "Uhh...um, what?"
Lord Gillian began to feel the cool flame begin to burn in his belly. He stated calmly, eyes bright, "If you have not steward, nor chamberlain, then I will speak to who ever is you lord and master, I will speak to your superiors. I will not be denied." The man began to look a little worried, "Look, if there was a problem I can help you. I am the owner here."
Lord Gillian's terrible mien vanished suddenly. "You?!" He exclaimed. "You are the, what was that? Owner? You hold the title to this fief?"
The man nervously and confused as to the stranger's behavior nodded gently, "Yes, I am the owner. I run this location and manage the people who work here. Wait, what's a fief?"
Lord Gillian sighed at the man's ignorance. Then responded flatly in a instructional and dispassionate tone, "A fief is a is an inherited parcel of land granted by a lord to his vassal. Often given due to services rendered, and to maintain the fealty of the vassal."
The man looked bewildered, "Um, ok. Thanks?"
Lord Gillian smiled sweetly. "I am glad you understand. I will insure that you are not dispossessed from your lands should your continued fealty and service not be interrupted."
The man looked shocked, "Wait! Are you thinking that I some how gave you my place because you explained a weird word to me. Or is this a robbery?" His voice began to sound strained and agitated. "I am not gonna let you take what I have that easily!" He began to reach under the counter.
Lord Gillian sighed and placed a single golden coin on the counter. The man stopped, and slowly, then picked up the coin. As he did he watched before his eyes as Lord Gillian grew in beauty and majesty. The air of nobility the man merely sensed before could now felt crashing down on him with full force and magnitude beyond anything he had every imagined.
Lord Gillian pronounced, "You now reside in my domain. I will accept nothing less than your complete fealty. I am your lord and you will know no other. Provide to me the deed to your estate!" The last phrase was said with such force that the awed man felt compelled to comply.
After a few minutes of digging through the desk and some paper work he produced an official looking document. He presented it to Lord Gillian then looked slightly bewildered. "Hey!" The man exclaimed. "Give that back!" He lunged a little over the desk and Lord Gillian's burning gaze made the man think twice.
The man then commented, "It doesn't matter that you have that, I never signed anything over to you. I can just get another copy from the city." Lord Gillian raised an eyebrow and smirked, "I see, such bureaucracy. Then as my vassal you will give unto me your possessions and holdings, you will hold nothing in reserve."
For the next hour the man worked through folders and documents signing and requesting the Lord's signatures as he went. As the final papers were signed and handed off to Lord Gillian in a tight manila folder, the man again looked shocked at his actions. He shouted angrily, "I don't know what is going on! But I won't let you have my things! How dare yo..."
Lord Gillian flashed like the heart of a great fire. His mien terrible yet controlled. "YOU DO NOT DECIDE WHAT I DARE AND DARE NOT DO! I AM YOU LORD AND YOU WILL RESPECT AND HONOR ME. DO NOT TEMPT MY IRE!" His voice bellowed with such force and authority that the poor man feel back into his seat.
The man shaking and near tears unsteadily reached for the phone, "I am calling the police." He whimpered. As he mentioned this Lord Gillian noticed a photo, behind the desk, of a family. The man was in the photo along with a woman and three young girls. They were all smiling with such warmth. A monogrammed print at the bottom of the frame read 'The Bensons.'
Lord Gillian's voice took a cool and malicious tone. "If you dare to challenge me but once more, I will have you family turned out on the streets and sick the dogs on your children. I will hold your wife in my court as slave and concubine to those of disreputable company. Do you wish to challenge me?" The Lord's icy stare met the man's. The man at his wits end managed to whisper, "You wouldn't, not my wife and daughters?"
Lord Gillian observed the phone still in the man's hands and took out a pocket phone that had been given to him. He placed a call and set the phone on the desk. After a few rings a voice answered, the phone broadcast in speaker. The voice was low and abrasive, like gravel under the heel of a boot. "What?" The individual spoke with short and abrupt statements.
Lord Gillian's eye never left those of the dismal man behind the counter. "Do you know of where 'The Bensons' hamlet is?" he asked. "Uhh, no." Replied the voice on the other end. "Very well, I need you to locate these 'Bensons' and turn them out. It matters not what happens to them or how they are turned out. Any measure of force used is acceptable, barring death. Is that understood?" Lord Gillian's voice was cold and emotionless, but is eyes seem to be alight with fire. "Uh, ok. I think I can find them. What if I there are more than one family with that name?" asked the phone. "Then bring me the woman of each and we will stop once we have found the right ones." Lord Gillian replies tersely.
"NO!" Exclaimed the man behind the desk. He tossed the phone aside and ran around the desk and fell to his hands and knees. "I beg you please! Leave my family alone! I won't call the police I will do anything you ask! Just please, please don't harm them..." The man's voice trailed into pathetic heart wrenching, heaving, sobs. "...I beg you..."
Lord Gillian smiled and gently cleared his throat. The man looked up towards Lord Gillian's face and saw an expression of pleased expectancy, as if the Lord was waiting for something. The man slumped fully to the ground and half moaned, "I beg you my Lord, spare them."
Lord Gillian felt a rush of feeling and energy flow through his veins. "Very well. The 'Bensons' need not be turned from their hamlet, they in fact have shown that they are loyal members of my house and deserve all due protection that such association offers. Thank you for you time my friend." Lord Gillian announced to no one in particular and to the phone. "Uhhh, ok. So do nothing. Got it, bye." The phone clicked and hung up.
Lord Gillian left the man to compose himself and began to wander the location sensing for the entrance to his Freehold.
As he found it he took one last look at the surrounding building, the man wiping his face and resuming his place behind the desk. Perhaps his time spent here would not be such a waste. He had missed the commoners and peasants.
For how is a lord to know he is a lord if no one looks up when he looks down?
