Appearance

Physical Description

ALthough advancing in years, Phillipe is generally in good health.



Occassionally has a slight limp from an old war wound.

Apparel & Accessories

Tool kit - lockpicks, magnifying glass, skeleton Key, files etc.



Spy glass



Pistol



Coin purse.



Throwing knives

Specialized Equipment

Daggers



Staff

Special abilities

Backstab



Hamstring



Limited poisoning skills

Mentality

Personal history

Born to a well off family in the Kingdom capital, Phillipe's childhood and early adolescents was mostly one of privilege.



Being the fourth child born, his planned future was none too pleasing to younger Phillipe - he rebelled.



The following story however, captures an important moment that changed Phillipe's path for ever...



The Mouse: 1212AE
1.


Three loud raps of the crier’s ceremonial mace upon the ornate marbled flooring echoed through the majestic chamber.


“All hail the King!” his deep voice boomed both inside the chamber and could be heard even by those going about their daily business outside the court.


The assembled crowd replied in unison,



“Hail King Egar, long live the King!”.



A cacophony or horns and drums drowned out all else as the King entered from a door towards the rear of the room, despite the “music” the collective gasp at his mostly unexpected arrival was felt as much as heard. He limped slowly towards the center dais. The leg he dragged a reminder of his foolhardiness some 36 years ago now as a child of 12 Autumns (his birth season), he grimaced only slightly as he made his way. Hints of gray flecked his long dark hair, his face, unwrinkled was strong and proud. Finally, he arrived at the “throne” replica – the always present reminder of his majesty whether he was present or not.


“Be seated.” He ordered as he took his own seat. The audience, as it were, paused before taking various seats in and around the chamber, all bar one.


One could have heard a pin drop as the silence descended upon the chamber. A lone figure stood front and centre before the King, his two guards, the crier and his son’s accuser.


“Dalgar Morley, you stand in the presence of his majesty to speak for your third born who is accused of murder!” The King’s Crier’s voice boomed. Morley, eyes front nodded once, somewhat curtly. He looked to be of similar age as the King, beneath his thin beard and moustache his skin was smooth faced but with no hint of grey to his hair. A minor noble. As the crier drew breath to continue, the King cleared his throat… The crier paused.


“Tell me fellow, why do you speak for your son and he is not here to speak for his self?” The King enquired peering at his subject intently, knowingly.


“Your Majesty I am sure is aware that my son” he almost spat the word,



“has fled the capital and, so far, has eluded capture. I am here sire to speak for my house as honour demands.” Answered Lord Morley returning the King’s gaze. It would be difficult for anyone presently to guess at this man’s emotion thought the King to himself.


“You understand the charge?” asked the King. Morley nodded noticing Lord Parmbaling, his son’s accuser, as if for the first time. Parmbaling glared and the King nodded to his always attentive crier.


“As it stands, Phillipe of house Morley did wilfully and with intent slay Tarl Parmbaling, his own brother-in-law by marriage and the son of Lord Archemad Parmbaling. What is the plea? The crier stated without preamble and turning to face Dalgar as he asked for a plea.


“Not guilty” was all Morley said. Clearly audible murmurs carried around the chamber, Lord Parmbaling let out a soft growl and his fists clenched. A slight gesture, one finger slightly tapping the arm of his throne and the crier banged his mace on the floor once, for silence. A slight nod from the King,


“The plea will be recorded, House Morley is reminded there were witnesses.” Said the crier, Morley stared blankly ahead. Morley understood full well almost everyone in the chamber could be a potential witness. He remained resolute as witnesses retold events as they saw them.


2.


Impetuous! The word had been a part of the colourful backdrop of his life since around age 12. He had never been inflicted with the responsibilities of his three older siblings, and they had been his protectors and often his enablers. His sister and second oldest brother were, without doubt the main two. His oldest brother Harold often busy with learning the workings of their house and all that came with that missed the fun. And, even despite the odd bump, bruise, broken bone or numerous other woundings, to Phillipe it had always been fun. Of course, his impetuousness and hot temper could also lead him into his own fair share of strife. No matter what though, his siblings had his back.


As he saw it, he had their backs also. He would fight to the death for them…
In the court chambers, the mood was high, business for the day had concluded and the fifth day feast was being prepared, this was a regular gathering as the name suggests, close of business in the court every fifth day of business. This was a final gathering prior to two days of rest and various recreations. Of course, some took longer breaks as needs required and likewise many were doing business in various ways during their rest days to keep the Kingdom (or at least their portion of it) going. The rest time was a sort of loose convention not strictly adhered to, the feast however was a ritual and all present remained and participated unless so ordered by Royal command.


Although not having been at court earlier on, in fact his house was not highly enough placed to be a regular in the court and never in the presence of the King, Phillipe burst through a door of the chamber and crossed the floor briskly and with purpose. A few heads turned; some recognised the young adult son of a minor lord others had their eye simply drawn to commotion. He approached a particular group of Lordlings – all destined to ride at the very side of the King in the near future. A few turned to face him, including Tarl his sneering grin mocking Phillipe. Without a word, a short fast jab flew from Phillipe hitting Tarl squarely on the nose watering the larger man’s eyes as his knees buckled. Directly following the collective gasp echoing the room a deathly silence enveloped the space. The group cleared and a circle had formed around the pair, Phillipe and Tarl.


“I challenge you.” Phillipe snarled. He briefly considered if he was being impetuous.
Tarl stood and hissed to one of his colleagues to approach. His colleague helped remove the metal armour form his torso never once taking his eyes of Phillipe. He unceremoniously shoved his colleague aside and, sneering again, held up his fists to Phillipe then moving as though to hit his elbows and then cocking his head accepting the challenge. Phillipe unbuckled his weapons and let them fall to the floor all the while loosening his neck, his shoulders – he subtly stretched his spine and, as he dropped the belt relaxed into a stance – ready.


The bigger man immediately launched, pouncing forward with a flurry of attacks – Phillipe dodged or fended off the majority with a small few glancing off part of him with enough pain to be noticed. He realised he did not even allow one of those blows to count. When he retaliated in his mind time slowed, he saw a gap and struck hitting Tarl in the ribs, it stalled the bigger man, Phillipe’s quick upper cut made Tarl reel, but Phillipe noted with a pang of fear how quickly he simply shook it off. Another flurry, this time an elbow snuck through catching his head causing a brief shower of stars… He kept rolling and dodging he sensed a few more hits getting in variously – reaching out and up, he caught Tarl’s head and launched, his knee striking somewhere in the head or face of Tarl. This brought him down. Phillipe dropped and rolled as Tarl sat up, shaking his head slightly. Two swords clanged to the floor between them. Tarl moved fast, even fast considering he was not just tall he was bulky and solid. Rolling backwards his right hand immediately grasped the sword grip upon contact. His left hand groped for the other sword, however, Phillipe already had it in his somewhat fumbling grip.


Tarl steadied himself, his nose bleeding, he wiped it and spat blood. He relaxed sword in hand almost taunting Phillipe with his sneering grin. It was quickly evident that Tarl was the better sword fighter – as far as just sword fighting went. Phillipe however was somewhat adept at the other kind of fighting, so, after being sliced along his ribs, up one arm and on his thigh, he quickly realised he was being toyed with. He reversed his blade entirely and swung it hard in an arc. It so surprised Tarl that he almost fumbled parrying, his blade was at the worst possible angle and the cross guard of Phillipe’s sword snapped his blade with loud clang. It followed through hitting Tarl in the ribs solidly. Phillipe shifted his feet and his hands on his weapon, lunging forward with the point of the weapon at Tarl’s chest. It was Phillipe’s turn to be completely surprised as Tarl turned slightly, as he stepped forward catching the blade firmly in his grasp with one hand and punching Phillipe hard in the side of his jaw with the other. Phillipe’s legs buckled involuntarily.


“I will kill you little mouse.” Roared Tarl.


Through quite a blur, Phillipe saw the figure standing over him sword raised. He moved almost as if without thought, a leg striking out with a well-placed kick as he rolled away (he hoped) from the blade. Both men, unarmed again, were on their hands and knees racing in effect to recover.


Now, two daggers skidded across the floor between the pair. They pounced together, Phillipe somehow got both weapons, however, landed beneath Tarl who began raining punches down on him and probed for gaps to hurt him.


“I will kill you!” Growled Tarl again, louder still and somewhat out of control. Head ringing and lungs burning, Phillipe found a gap with his left hand, he struck out with the dagger along the shin of his adversary. A howl of pain and a slight shift of weight was all that he needed, he rolled to the side, freeing up his other hand to strike, Tarl realising reacted quickly attempting to roll away but not before blade slashed along his ribs. He paused and struck out blindly with his elbow feeling a satisfying crunch as it made contact, he slid away from his opponent and wheeled to face him. Phillipe staggered momentarily Tarl lunged at him, in the blink of an eye, Phillipe regained his composure, dropped his weight down ducking below the blow he struck rapidly with both daggers as he closed, the fatal blow was subtle severing artery and tendon near his opponent’s groin. Tarl staggered and collapsed blood spurting quite a distance from the wound.


Phillipe maintained his momentum as the crowd parted, he walked on straight out of the same door through which he had burst before the stunned audience could take their next breath. A few screams and gasps and Parmbaling barked orders to pursue the “murderer” of his son. Members of the council gathered around Parmbaling and a cohort of his people gathered together as Tarl drew his final breath.


3.


Flight from the Kingdom strong hold had been a blur. Encountering a covered wagon with a subtle house insignia on one spoke of a wheel almost shocked him, the older man with reigns in hand nodded to Phillipe wordlessly as he climbed aboard, with a nod of the head he signalled Phillipe into the back of the covered wagon.


Phillipe had sunk into sleep/unconsciousness quickly despite his intense stress.


Considering everything, the journey to the border lands had gone without incident. Phillipe’s driver was an old hand from house Morley, he had been ticketed to freedom by Phillipe’s father and, plausibly was returning to neutral lands where his kin lived. The house insignia removed, the wagon was not unlike many other traders’ drays and various other wanderers across the lands of Ashnoor.


“You worked at the Smithy, didn’t you?” Phillipe enquired as they bounced along the roads becoming increasingly “rough” the closer they came to the contested territories.


“Aye M’lord, Bevel is the name.” he nodded as he spoke never taking his eyes off the road.
Phillipe smiled to himself,



“Oh, I doubt very much I am a lord at all master Bevel.” He replied.



“I hope my family retains their title though.” He said sombrely. Phillipe was certain that Lord Parmbaling would seek revenge upon his entire household, yet father insisted he was to leave and that he was no longer part of the house, as it were. The chest of silver in the wagon would be reported stolen. He was formerly disowned and hope this would suffice.
They crossed out of Kingdom lands without ceremony or much notice. The only change as Bevel bursting into song as the rode along. Phillipe climbed into the back again and dozed as he contemplated how bleak his future might be. Despite the risk of arrest, he decides he would make for Doomsayer’s keep seeking gainful employment, he did not fancy a future as a sell sword, but he did not see many other options.


Bevel agreed to take Phillipe to the Keep and then double back to his home village. They shared driving duties and Bevel demonstrated genuine surprise when Phillipe set a campfire and cooked their meal – he did not think the young lordling would have the requisite skills. Likewise, Phillipe was impressed with Bevel’s worldliness despite being illiterate. A mutual respect developed between the pair that never would have happened in faction lands. They parted company with the beginnings of a friendship developing despite their differences, age, station, education, and experience. Bevel’s large hand enveloped Phillipe’s with a firm grasp as they shook hands to part ways. The wagon slowly turned about, Phillipe paused and watched the wagon disappear in the distance before turning on his heal to enter Doomsayer’s Keep and embark upon his future.

Education

Phillipe is well educated, steeped in history, mathematics and intrigue (politics). Phillipe is literate and can read and write quite well.



Trained for a few years at the School of Silent Steps faculty in Bannockthorpe.

Employment

Phillipe is now loyal to the Hadovean Empire, he is "employed" by a benefactor (who remains anonymous) whom Phillipe suspects is part of the court - he does not enquire though, nor does he seek evidence of this.



He is hired, he does the job and he gets paid...well. Whilst that is maintained Phillipe has no need to seek further information.

Personality

Motivation

Initially he was motivated by merely surviving.



These days though he has brought into Empire intrigue as it has paid him well for a number of decades. He is motivated by earning some gold, ensuring Empire security/safety and loyalty.

Personality Quirks

Phillipe indicates he is "bored" with a discussion or event by picking lint from his sleeve.



However, this quirk has become such the habit that he often does not even realise he is doing it even when not bored per se.

Hygiene

Phillipe has impeccible hygene as a general rule.



Obviously, in the field this can be difficult, however, according to Phillipe, not impossible - "we do what we must to be well presented..."

Social

Birthplace

Bannockthorpe

Current Residence

The Mouse Trap Estate.

Contacts & Relations

Phillipe has not seen most of his family since being exiled.



He encountered a brother some years ago on a battlefield - his brother was mortally wounded, Phillipe remained with him whilst he died.



Phillipe has a wide range of "contacts" in Hadovean regions. He also has some reliable contacts in the Contested Lands among the "free folk" and, of little suprise, has maintained a few contacts from Geldheim over several decades.

Honorary & Occupational Titles

Lord.



Phillipe never uses his title and outwardly rejects it.



He would never have risen to being Lord of his house firstly and he is very aware that his title is relatively meaningless in Kingdom lands.

Wealth & Financial state

Phillipe is moderately wealthy.



He was given a "gift" by a sibling when he fled Kingdom lands and has consistently earned a better than average income doing his high risk job.



Phillipe owns a modest cottage in Earlmand and a small apartment in Bade Cloven.

Religious Views

Phillipe is not particularly devout.



He follows (very losely) some of Elyendals teachings mostly due to his involvement with the School of SIlent Steps.

Social Aptitude

Phillipe is socially adept in almost any setting.



He is shrewd enough to be able to mix it with the hoy poloy of the upper classes and can mix it with the common soldiery if need be.



Phillipe can be a little snobbish though.

Speech

Phillipe is generally quietly spoken, but, well spoken.



He has no catch phrases per se.