#king's gambit

in this chapter: the girlies chat over some chess, and echo spends some more time with his new associates...

@ataraxixx HAPPY (LATE?) BIRTHDAY IM SORRY ITS LIKE MIDNIGHT :P

Anyways kings gambit fanart 👍 happy birthday and happy new years!!

SLAMS HANDS DOWN ON MY FUCKING DESK!!! OK!!!!!

king's gambit is a quest campaign i gm for my friends :3 the basic gist of the story is that in this country called katinia, a nationwide hunt takes place. the target is the king, and the prize is the throne and the haunted house that keeps it, the Last House. the current monarch, King Halina, has steered the country through war, famine, and civil unrest for 99 years -- and with the very recent announcement of her pregnancy, it seems that she shows no intention of abdicating the throne any time soon.

however, just 73 days before the tournament begins, a deadly earthquake rocks the capital to its core. when its revealed that the epicenter sat in the belly of the Last House, it sets off a chain of events that not only highlight how deep the rot goes, but also leads to the inevitable fall of the House.

and it all falls into the hands of a duty-bound mother and knight, an addict squire bound for sainthood, a handmaiden dragging herself through a suicide mission, and a gardener that tends to the roots of the House.

...and what will be the price i pay?

[image description:

Page 1:

A man stands in the woods, looking down in horror. He has messy, long black hair and wears a scarf.

A square panel is split in two: the man’s horrified face, and the stump he is looking at. An axe is embedded in it and it is bleeding red blood

A profile of the same man, horrified and set against a black background. Text reads: “my father was a woodcutter.”

Hands snapping an axe in two. Text reads: “but he abandoned the axe the day he saw magic.”

The man stands in the doorway of a log cabin. He says: “I have seen the veins of the world, and now I cannot bear to strike true. The Redwoods will be farmers from this day on. We will feed the Earth with the blood we have shed.”

Page 2:

A child sits on grass, focusing on a mound of dirt. Text reads: “what he couldn’t unsee, he bestowed upon me. What he failed to notice, I observed.”

A sprout from the dirt mound pops up. In contrast to the monochrome world, it is bright green. Text reads: “I learned if I gave a little something, the world would give back in return.”

A panel of the child, now a teen with long hair, tending to a raised garden of green cabbages in xyr wheelchair. Bits of grass is embedded in xyr hair. Text reads, “I gave bits of myself away to feed my community,”

Text reads, “later, bits of myself to tend to the queen’s gardens.” A panel of the teen with xyr hair in a bun, leaves embedded throughout it now. Xe prunes a green bush.

Page 3:

The teen is now an adult, xe bows and looks up at a figure off screen as a branch touches xyr shoulder. Red petals and a green leaf is embedded in xyr hair. Text reads: “I am named the Tender of the Last House’s living Throne, the same branch of the stump touches me as it touched my father, and I wonder…”

tw: sa, neglect, mc death

He wanted change. Wanted to make things better than his father had, wanted to make a new system where men could walk hand in hand with each other, not as friends, but as more. He pushed and pushed for his wants until his body ached from the force.They called him crazy. Called him naive for his ideas. The filled his head with shame and deceit as they pushed their rhetoric as his own, killing the creative minds of the people. His hopes, his dreams, even his ideals withered under the gazes of his advisers, rotted in the tainted soil he was born into. They pushed him into corners and shadows as they argued what to do with his Kingdom. Shouted out ideas to oppress his people. Came to an agreement without him.

He had stood by, accepted the role of child King and all that came with it for far too long. He was a child no more, years of training, of being pushed to the side and ignored by those assigned to watch him, have prepared him for this day. The day he had planned with only one person by his side. Poison, for those too strong for them to fight. Knives in the silence of the night for those too crowded during the day. Public execution for the woman who led his father into an already lost battle on the grounds of pride and honour. Together, the child King and the child Soldier who played together and trained together and fought together, they would rid their kingdom of the disease in one day and one night. Nothing would stop them.

As he had readied the knife over the throat of the older looking man, his first kill in an act of vengeance and justice, he never got the chance. Pushed away like he always is, guards readied their spears and swords at him, the inner circle of advisers stood at the door with disapproving stares. Betrayal stung deep, took root in the young King’s heart and lungs and poisoned his brain like the drinks he’d given his youngest advisers that evening. A fire burned and filled his lungs with smoke as the guards led him down further into the castle. 

The Soldier stood, hands bound and mouth gagged, in the farthest corner of the holding cell, eyes wide with fear and regret. Neither slept during those first few hours, they held each other close and whispered nonsense into ears that couldn’t hear. Until those words the King had waited for slipped through to his brain.

“I tried to resist. Bed linens are slick and he was too strong and I wanted you to be the first for me. I’ve failed us, the kingdom, you.”

The Soldier, eyes blurred behind dark lashes, couldn’t have looked more beautiful to the King. Calloused hands, still dirty from tending to his own garden that afternoon, cupped scarred cheeks and wiped stray tears. Sweet nothings slithered into open ears and the Soldier’s mask, one he had built and perfected before the King had taken the throne, started to crack. Splintered slowly and unsure, waiting for the consequence of showing emotions. The King pulled him closer, let the Soldier head his rest on broad shoulders as his body jerked with violent, quiet sobs.

5 days later, the trial was to be held at high sun, the advising court council looking as if their King’s trial was nothing more than an annoyance. They looked at the gap in power that was to come from this trial.

Execution. His Soldier was to hang for his crimes against the King. Manipulation, assault in the royal bedroom, murder of the Royal Council. He was to be killed for nothing he had done. And while his Soldier moved to dance with Death that waited patiently for all to meet it, the King was to continue with his life as a puppet. Never too loud, never outspoken, never opposed to an idea his advisers have. Never to say no. The King tried, begged and sobbed and pleaded with the council, the Soldier had done none of it. It had been him who poisoned the men, it had been him who seduced the Soldier. He shouted and howled,

“Please! Let us leave, we’ll never return! If you must, let us die together! I’m begging you! I am your ruler! Listen to me! I love him!”

The council looked at him with mild disgust, making a decision without looking to each other as they shared their silent opinion. The King smiled with a bittersweet sense of calm as a guard led him next to the Soldier. With shackled wrists and wet eyes, they held what they could of each other as the floor dropped from beneath them, ropes tightening and vision drawing dark.

A Demacian plays fair, but a Demacian plays to win.