iniquiticity | (no subject) (Reply)

let’s go back to thinking about tyrant!washington’s lafayette. no name, just the marquis. appeared out of nowhere when Your Exalted Savior the King emerged victorious from the war. really fancy plate armor but so well designed and supported that he moves like lightening in it. doesn’t wear a veil like other Kingsguard; that would be less scary than his permanent little smirk, just a hitch at the corner his lip. while His Excellency is the Stone King, made of ice - the marquis looks like he would grind you up for fun & pleasure. in fact it is very likely he would do so because of his known work as chief interrogator.

there is no man more loyal to the cause of His Excellency’s leadership. there is no man you wish less to see if you are disloyal. there is no one who serves more unquestionably, who carries out His Excellency’s will with ruthless, vicious precision.

the marquis’ mysterious beginnings are a constant cause of rumors, as things are: perhaps he was raised secretly, and brainwashed to think His Majesty was always right, and true, and correct? Or does he owe some sort of terrible blood-debt? Or perhaps - perhaps he is not human at all. he has never been seen outside of the armor, in fact. perhaps he is some sort of magical servant, animated by pure violence. perhaps he is some kind of murder-spirit that His Excellency has bound to his will. Perhaps a battlefield ghost, forever forced to seek out another kill. Perhaps he is some kind of daemon that had agreed, for some reason, to serve His Highness. could a real human revel in viciousness, in murder in suffering, in torture and pain, the way the marquis did? it was an unsettling thought to think one could. easier to think the marquis was immortal or from Beyond.

(perhaps, it is quietly, quietly whispered, that the marquis is in fact the leader, and the king is his puppet, although this thought is disloyal, that His Excellency could be ruled.)

he does not only carry a sword, of course, and then the Kingsguard whip, but also a peculiar sheath, almost-but-not-quite horizontal across his back. it was much too large for a sword, made of hardened, riveted leather. in a way there was something comical about it, almost like a very large stocking or a drinking horn - only out of the open end was an intricate wooden haft, which the marquis’ hand occasionally strayed to, when he was in the process of his duties, which pretended to be making conversation but was in fact spreading fear, and the persistent knowledge that the King Knew All, Saw All, Heard All, and sent his agents when he sensed disloyalty.

there was great amount of rumor to this haft, and what the marquis might be carrying in stocking-like sheath. the fact was was that this haft was attached to a length of chain approximately the length of a man’s forearm, and other end of the chain was a spiked iron ball: a flail. it generally bode very badly for a man or woman to see the flail, becuase it was not the sort of weapon that one recovered well from. it was the sort of weapon that the marquis cleaned the splinters of bone out of while merrily whistling to himself, or, if he was exceptionally lucky, small bits of brain. it was generally an extraordinarily terrible sign for a man or woman to see the gleaming silver head of the flail, and while would have not known it at the time, it should be an extraordinarily relief for a man to see the marquis’ hand go to his whip or his sword, for these indicated a person might live to tell about the encounter, where as the sight of the spiked ball of the flail, of which the marquis could spin and twist so expertly that one could not even follow it, usually indicated one’s loved ones (if they were not disappeared into the castle’s torture dungeons) would be cleaning their splattered limbs off wherever the marquis had fallen them.

the marquis likely had many other weapons - knives in his boots or sleeves, poison vials, and the such, although these were secret. the marquis did not eat or drink in the city, but he was sometimes seen taking meandering walks, and looking into shop windows, while their proprietors wished him gone. the marquis could silence a tavern with his appearance alone.

the marquis lead a raid, when one was made to be lead, to strike down rebels and the Disloyal. the marquis could spin the flail into a person’s life and work, breaking furniture and walls, crunching limbs, sending supplies flying, kicking up a whirl of splattered life. you have cast away the gift his excellency has given you, of a free life - and so he will revoke it.

His Excellency touched the marquis’ shoulder. you are my most precious gift.

of course, the marquis would always say, and put his hand over his heart or at least where one might be, had there been one. i am but your most humble and obedient servant.