#court intrigue
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Gonzague is an interactive fiction game made with Twine, based on the novel Le Bossu by Paul Féval. It is a court intrigue and swashbuckling story set in early 18th-century France.
The game has two versions: one is rated 16+ for violence and suggestive content, the other is rated 18+ for explicit content.
The demo currently stops after chapter 1.
Story
You are the Prince de Gonzague, a title you acquired thanks to your ruthless ways. Your bloody past haunts your every step and you have taken measures to ensure a prosperous future as well as put away your blades and poisons for good.
You have made some rich and powerful friends in the persons of Philippe de Nevers and the King’s nephew. Now you just need money. Thankfully, the marriage you have arranged with the Marquis de Caylus’s daughter should provide you with the fortune you need.
Unless some unexpected revelations put your plans in peril…
Features
Play as the villain of your story and live with the consequences of your terrible deeds.
Choose your gender, pronouns, and appearance.
Make choices that will put you on the path of redemption — or damnation.
Make friends, enemies, or lovers throughout your tribulations.
Links
Demo | Characters page | FAQ | Support me on Patreon or Ko-Fi | Join the Discord server
You can find the link to the 18+ demo in this post.
#interactive fiction#twine game#le bossu#paul féval#swashbuckling#court intrigue#gonzague if#intro post
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Whee! Finally! This novel is just SO GOOD!
#qiang jin jiu#qjj#tang jiuqing#t97#danmei#books books books#ballad of sword and wine#this will definitely be at least 8 volumes#it’s a long novel#enemies to lovers#lots of politicking#court intrigue#rice trade#war tactics
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something something historical fantasy where vampires overtook humans and became our overlords but we're co-existing somewhat peacefully and everyone starts wearing high-neck dresses and shirts because the neck becomes somewhat of an erotic area of the body, and it's super scandalous to show in public
#also like#court intrigue#becoming a vampire is basically THE goal it's how you climb the social ladder#so you try to be their mistress their feeder their best friend etc#everyone's looking for the favors of a vampire#idk just thinking#shut up sissi#vampires
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Rival: Tiphennia Gain, the Duke’s Eyes
That’s the thing about people with secrets, in my experience they never seem to shut up about it.
Not even a woman grown when she exposed her first conspiracy, Tiphennia’s restless drive to uncover hidden truths elevated her from commonborn girl detective to one of the most effective spymasters in the realm over little more than a decade. “Tiff” was only twelve when her powers manifested, allowing her to communicate with and look through the eyes of beasts, eventually leading her and her owl familiar Otto to uncover a plot to depose the reigning duke, who’s philanthropy towards the poor of his realm (like Tiff’s family) was seen as a sign of weakness and irresponsibility by his underlings. Imagine the duke’s surprise when a sixteen year old girl, having shoved her way to the front of his petitioners began to recount the embarrassing inner thoughts of his advisors, courtiers, and attendants to all involved. Only when the whole room was laughing and hanging on what she would say next did she begin her accusations, outing each of the traitors in a room full of half a hundred witnesses and earning herself the duke’s eternal admiration.
Now serving as the hidden hand of a nobleman who recognizes and fosters her talents, Tiff now operates a network of informants both people and otherwise, scouring the realm for secrets from the salons of the well to do down to the darkest gutter. Wouldn't you know it, her gaze has fallen on a trouble making group of adventures who’ve just blown into town, and have a bad habit of discussing their plans for havoc loudly and within earshot of any number of Ms. Gain’s agents.
Hooks:
Tiphennia is best employed against a party with something to hide, be it a murder they’ve just committed or a heist they’re about to pull off. She might be that unpredictable element that swoops in to ruin all their plans or someone who’s trust they need to earn in order to get her duke on their side. Regardless, the party will need to watch their backs once Tiphennia has gotten their scent, being wary of not only mysterious figures trailing them but rats in the walls, or birds perched just outside their rooms.
Alternatively, a party might seek the spymaster out for information, whether that be digging up dirt on an enemy or with assistance into one of their own ongoing mysteries. Tiphennia is slow to trust and will likely send the party away for a few days while she considers their request. These three days will of course be spent obsessively stalking them by proxy and using various agents to orchestrate character revealing moments as she attempts to glean their true intent.
Unbeknownst to her, as a girl Tiphennia struck an unwitting pact with NokolOb-Zich, an outergod of probing questions and paranoia. Though she has for now found a healthy and socially constructive outlet to the endless suspicion channelled through her by this eldritch entity, a solid push could unmoor her from her from that stability and cause her more destructive, warlock-like tendancies to blossom. Such a push could come in the form of a defeat by the party, or by an assailant slipping through her net to do harm to the duke.
#rival#spy#conspiracy#ally#seeking knowledge#politics#warlock#Occult#low level#mid level#town#Crime#npc#court intrigue
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Quite a sad story, where all the good people died, save for our protagonist.
The Night Owl (Korean: 올빼미; RR: Olbbaemi; lit. Owl) is a 2022 South Korean period thriller drama film directed by Ahn Tae-jin, starring Ryu Jun-yeol and Yoo Hae-jin.
#the night owl#korean movie#court intrigue#period movies#thriller movies#drama movies#ryu jun yeol#yoo hae jin#movie review#2022#acupuncture
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Angstober 10: Can't Go Home
Ugh, I'm so behind at posting these. 😅 I've been producing flash fics fairly reliably, but getting into the right mindset for editing them is another matter.
Anyway, this is another instance at poking at that one ever-growing plot bunny. Links to previous installments: [1], [2], [3], [4]
Alita longed to go home, and she didn’t even know what she meant by that.
The capital steered up a whirlwind old memories. The kind of memories she’d firmly believed were her sister’s domain. She had been, after all, too young when she was spirited away to the outskirts of the kingdom. How could she possibly retain anything but the vaguest impressions of being a babe here at court, hiding behind her mother’s skirts or bouncing on her father’s knee? Surely every image that ever flickered in her mind was at least halfway a product of her imagination.
And yet now that she walked the marble-lined paths of the indoors garden, she was struck by the familiarity of it all. She’d round a corner, and recognize something: a red-barked tree with its leaves eternally gilded, or a peculiar formation of rose bushes. A scent in the air. A particularly slippery patch of stone under the soft soles of her shoes. All of it felt like something she’d once had and could never get back again, even though here she was, existing awkwardly in the middle of it all.
Perhaps it was her imagination. After all, it had been a decade. Even more than that. It seemed inconceivable for the palace to spend all that time suspended in limbo, awaiting her return. Within this buoyant heart of the kingdom, changed happened rapidly. Styles went out of fashion as swiftly as summer butterflies back in Longhills changed their colors. It must be true for gardening as well as hairdos and dresses.
Longhills. Another home she painfully missed. The comfort of her uncle’s mansion, the predictability of her days there. Long evenings by the fire. Books and chess. Helping the old cook, Ghilta, around the kitchen even though she wasn’t supposed to. Feeding seeds and fresh peas to the starlings that lived in the garden right outside her room. Planting gardenias and lilies. Finding purpose in every moment of the day.
Here, she had nothing to do except follow her uncle around—and even that wasn’t always an option. Like now. He’d brought her here to the gardens so that they could discreetly observe the courtiers, then find a secluded place to discuss the recent developments. However, they’d barely stepped inside when a servant called after them, an old man with a bushy beard and the King’s personal insignia plastered proudly over his blue livery. He’d spoken to Uncle Rythan in a whisper too low for Alita to hear and pushed something into his hands before disappearing behind a wall of vibrant succulents. Alita watched her uncle grow tight-lipped and still.
“It won’t take long,” he had promised her, neglecting as usual to explain what it meant. “You just take a walk here, all right? Keep your eyes and ears open and make sure not to wander too far from the gates. I’ll be with you anon.”
At least an hour had elapsed since, if her inner clock could be trusted at all. Alita had done her best to follow her uncle’s guidance, strolling back and forth along the same semi-circular path, except she must have got lost in thought and taken a wrong turn at some point, because she could no longer see the entrance. Everywhere she turned her gaze, there were trees and blossoms, hedges and complicated arrangements of rocks. She heard no voices and saw no bejeweled fabrics.
Helplessly, she looked around once more. Now how was her uncle going to find her? The entrance was in the western part of this fake park, she remembered that much. It did little to help her, though. If this was a real garden, she could have relied on the position of the sun and the natural growth patterns of plants to orient herself. Here, it was useless. Everything was artificial. Whatever light filtered through the vaulted stained glass ceiling got hopelessly distorted by the kaleidoscopic mosaic.
What a stupid fool she was, to get lost in what was essentially a single big room full of plants! Alita drew a shuddery breath, wrapping her arms around herself. Uncle Rythan had misjudged her. He should have brought Norra. Her sister would take to court like a bird to the sky. So what if she would be a little distracted? Uncle Rythan didn’t need as much input as he’d claimed he would. They’d hardly been talking at all this entire week.
I don’t know what I’m doing, she admitted to herself with a sinking heart, and the thought applied to so much more than her current predicament.
The paths and the trees that had felt so achingly familiar a moment ago were now a strange maze, a trap closing in on her. Alita gulped. She needed to retrace her steps—an obvious, sane choice—but she’d been stuck in place for a little too long and she didn’t know whether she should go left or right.
Norra would go for a third option. But there wasn’t—
Wait. No. There was.
Between two swirling flower beds, there lay another path, a narrower one leading deep into a copse of unnaturally lush lilac trees.
Weren’t there lilacs in front of the entrance, too?
It was this, or do nothing. Alita squared her shoulders and stepped forth. The lace-trimmed hem of her dress kissed golden sand instead of marble; her silk-clad feet drowned in the softness. Was this passage even made for the noble guests’ walking, or was she intruding upon the servants’ territory? How absurd was this thought?
The trees closed rank in front of her, branches covered in thorns that lilacs weren’t supposed to have. She pushed one aside, then another. A thorn caught on one of her narrow sleeves, digging deep into the seam and her goosebump-covered flesh underneath. Alita yelped.
“Who goes there?”
She froze at the sharp male voice, then hastened to step back. Too late.
The branches unfolded in front of her, as if by magic, revealing a small clearing. Two men stood there, intimately close together. One of them was of a smaller height than average, with a nondescript face and shrewd eyes. The other...
Alita barely suppressed a gasp.
“Your Highness.” She fumbled with her skirts in the best version of a formal curtsy she was capable of. She suspected it wasn’t a seemly sight. It never was with her, no matter how often she practiced. “I’m so incredibly sorry to intrude—”
“I’m certain you are.” It was a wonder no leaves shriveled or frosted over from the chill in Prince Cassar’s voice. “I would expect nothing less from a court guest devoid of any rights or privileges, intentionally caught in the act of spying on the heir to the throne.”
“I wasn’t...” She made the mistake of looking up. Under the weight of his glare, the words withered in her throat.
What had she got herself into?
#warden's random scribbles#writeblr#original fiction#snippet#angstober2023#day 10#fantasy#court intrigue#homesickness#writers on tumblr#my writing
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Holliday Grainger and Luke Pasqualino in The Borgias (2011–2013) The French King
S1E6
Lucrezia tends to her husband's injuries and with him unable to rise from his bed, spends more time with the stable boy Paulo, who becomes her lover. The King of Naples proposes a political between his daughter and Juan Borgia, who is not keen on the idea but suggests the younger Gioffre as a more suitable candidate. Upon seeing her he reconsiders but soon becomes her lover.Cesare meanwhile continues to pursue Ursula, whose husband has disappeared.When she learns of her husband's death, she knows Cesare is responsible and refuses to be with him. In France, Cardinal Della Rovere meets King Charles VIII who agrees to try and unseat the Borgia Pope, especially after he hears of the proposed union through marriage of Rome and Naples.
*By inviting him to cross his borders with no resistance, it was the Duke of Milan, not Cardinal Della Rovere that encouraged King Charles to invade Italy to pursue his Neapolitan claims.
#The Borgias#tv series#2011#The French King#S1E6#crime#drama#history#Lucrezia Borgia#Holliday Grainger#Luke Pasqualino#1490s#Rome#court intrigue#relationships#just watched
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Cover Art for Five Lords!!!
Courtesy of wonderful designer Alex Albornoz, Five Lords now has a cover 🥳🥳🥳🥳
From here, I’ll be focusing on finishing writing the next novel in the series, tentatively titled The First King’s Court, to pass the time till the February edit comes around. And from there, it’ll be a matter of fixing up Five Lords and getting it out there!
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#five lords of dusk#original writing#original novel#FLoD#Dusk Lords series#fantasy#original fantasy novel#queer characters#nonbinary bounty hunter#magically gifted cabin boy#court intrigue#fantasy light romance#found family#Australian Fantasy
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TSTS Chapter 17 & 18 - Snippet 1
Soooo my goal is now to try and post on the 19th of Feb to make the one year anniversary since my last update. I still have a while to go, so to do that I need to be working on the text every day. As a little self induced peer pressure incentive, I'll post a snippet of my progress on here every day until the 19th.
"Jonathan," Nadia called out to him in concern, but he wasn't listening. He was busy staring down at his right hand where his palm was bandaged a second time from his journey to Nevarra. The same wound he got from clutching the blade of a dagger in a darkened street as he was returning from Samahl's home. The pain, the fear it had caused. Could he even be sure of that?
Nadia grasped his hands on the desk and his head jerked up to look at her. Jonathan had never seen anything like it coming from his older sister. The arrogance and poise usually falling around her like a satin shawl had evaporated, and the silvery shimmer in her eyes glinted with genuine regret, as if watching something about to break.
"I'm sorry he lied to you."
I've been avoiding writing these paragraphs for many many, many months :)))
#dragon age fanfiction#dragon age ocs#tsts#trevelyan origin#family drama#court intrigue#back to#ostwick shenanigans#a little angst never hurt anyone#right?
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Exploring the Tropes in The Fall of Wolfsbane
As readers, many of us find a certain joy in understanding the tropes that make our favorite stories tick.
Tropes, after all, are more than just recurring themes or motifs in literature; they offer a shorthand that helps us dive deeper into the world of a book, understand its characters better, and appreciate the narrative’s nuances.
They are the threads that weave together the tapestry of a…
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#betrayal in fiction#Character Development in Fantasy#court intrigue#dark fantasy#epic fantasy tropes#epic saga tropes#fantasy family dynamics#Fantasy Genre Exploration#fantasy literary elements#fantasy novel analysis#fantasy novel themes#fantasy world-building#Hero&039;s Journey#identity struggle#mentor figures in literature#political intrigue fantasy#Ragnar and Maja#Ravenglass Legends#survival in fantasy#The Fall of Wolfsbane
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attending a christmas concert put on by the emperor's mistress | carol loop 4hrs
the empress has been so long apart from society, and the emperor’s mistress so long a staple within it, that aligning yourself with his mistress by way of your attendance at this concert is no cause for scandal. at least, that’s what your escort has assured. you are still so new to the court and its ways, still only a very few months removed from your provincial home, that you have not yet found the confidence to move among these sophisticates as one of their own.
and yet your presence here still fills you with some sense of unease. your mother had been a member of the empress’s court when first she arrived in the kingdom. she had always spoken to you of the empress with respect and even fondness. you had been looking forward to meeting her. but when you arrived you were told that she had not left her wing of the castle in many years. that, indeed, no one had seen her in all that time.
the way people talk about her, when you’ve asked, has made you wonder. how? how could no one at court have seen her in years? no ladies in waiting, none of the staff? if she is, as you suspect, fled or worse, what could possibly be gained by the insistence that she remains?
the emperor’s mistress greets you warmly before you take your seats for the concert.
concert dans la galerie des guise a eu - eugene lami c.1844 | o come all ye faithful
#christmas carol#christmas carols#ambiance#study playlist#classical lofi#court intrigue#the other boleyn girl#reign#the tudors#ganymede's cups#original fiction#flash fiction#Youtube
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Top 10 Medieval Fantasy DND Campaign Themes
Adventurers and storytellers! 🎲✨ Discover the secrets to a truly captivating #DnD campaign. From the eerie whispers of brooding forests to the power struggles of royal courts, our latest article has it all. #dungeonsanddragons
Many Dungeon Masters know the thrill of crafting a captivating scene that leaves their players mesmerized. Delving into Medieval Fantasy DND Campaign Themes presents a world rich with endless opportunities for epic tales. Picture this: adventurers weaving through a bustling market, not for trade, but to unmask a secret spy for a local baron, a move that could reshape the kingdom’s balance of…
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#Campaign Themes#Court Intrigue#D&D#Dark Forests#dnd#dungeon master#fantasy#Game master tips#Great Wars#Holy Relics#Knights#Lost Civilizations#Mythical Beasts#Storytelling#Underworld
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Anne Boleyn: A Queen's Tragic Fall - A Poem Written By Samantha James
Anne Boleyn’s life was led by a fierce determination to succeed in a world dominated by men, and her marriage was the culmination of effort and sacrifice. Anne’s rise to the throne was a triumph; However, her reign was short-lived, and her fall from power was just as dramatic as her rise.
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#Anne Boleyn#Court intrigue#Executed queens#famous women in history#Henry VIII#Historical poetry#history#poems about anne boleyn#Queen of England#ROYAL HISTORY#Royal scandal#tudor history
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need to be fucked by a big rough scarred knight who holds my face down into a pillow and coos and growls about how soft i am and calls me ‘my lady’ or other such titles whilst he treats me so filthily i forget all of my court manners
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being a bad liar + unable to let people be incorrect about things = a very unsubtle man
#the side eye some of things he says gets#solas#there is only so much you can blame on the fade mr “I-miss-court-intrigue”#dragon age#dai#fen’harel#don’t even get me started on his tevinter nights undercover mission
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Daylight
The smallest of stones, the greatest of ripples.
Summary: Eris learns that Lucien is not Beron's son (one-shot).
Eris paced the small room, his steps soundless. Barefoot, ready for bed, cold rough stone to warm soft carpet. Over and over, again and again, a comfort.
The smell of copper, sharp like night blooming flowers, hung in the air. Eris noticed that he had bitten through the inside of his cheek. He traced the wound with his tongue, the salt and metal of his blood enough to ground him, to clear his mind.
Eris took a deep breath. He knew all the flames of this world, it was his birthright. Centuries he had lived, had witnessed much, gained enough wisdom.
Eyes like gold, glowing unlike any fire made of Autumn, Eris had seen only a glimpse of it and had known. Magic was ancient, but simple, responding like a trained hound to those who had taken the time to learn its secrets. Stoked to life in the court he had been raised in, Eris would have recognised the flames as his own.
Daylight.
Sunbright, lovely, Lucien’s eyes had been twin stars in the darkness.
It had taken every ounce of self control Eris possessed not to rear back at the sight, a death sentence.
An oath taken, a promise made in blood, Eris had nearly forgotten. His mother’s hands, claws as she had gripped his arm, begged her eldest son to grant her strange request. Everything had been made clear as Eris had silently watched the Lady of Autumn gently stroke Lucien’s curls from his face, eyes half-lidded and gold only like sunlight could be.
Small for his age and precious as all fae children were, Lucien was coddled by everyone in the Forest House.
Half a decade, nothing in the grand scheme of things, and yet enough to change everything. The smallest of stones, the greatest of ripples.
The flames in the fireplace flared, Eris tugged at the short strands of blood red hair at the nape of his neck. He felt like he was drowning, his head already below the water’s surface, Eris choked on his own fear.
“Eris, please.” His mother’s voice was quiet, a tremor in her words as she took to begging him once more. For what, Eris did not know, and in the moment he could not be bothered to care.
Eris whirled around to face her, smaller than he remembered, the Lady of Autumn looked up at her son. His fear was reflected in her eyes, the weight of knowing that an executioner’s axe hung just above Lucien’s head.
“How could you?” Eris snarled, the words biting, accusatory. Never had he spoken to his mother in such a way, the softest of tones always reserved for her.
She shook her head, loose strands falling from her braid and framing her thin face. Defeated, her shoulders curved as she curled in on herself. Eris hoped she felt guilty. “You wouldn’t understand,” she murmured, dismissive and soft.
A strangled laugh, short and unamused, was dragged from deep within Eris. His mother took a careful step towards him, and Eris took a measured step back. Closer in age than half his brothers, Eris had always understood the Lady of Autumn. “Six sons were not enough?” Eris snapped harshly.
“All children are a blessing,” she did not look at Eris as she said it, more to herself than to him anyway.
Eris wondered if those were the words his mother had told herself when she had first married the High Lord. A half truth quietly whispered when she had been alone, but not entirely convincing despite how often it was said.
“A fate worse than death awaits him,” Eris argued, sure that flames had come to life in his amber eyes, voice louder. “You’re lucky father is in Spring, or Lucien would be dead already.”
“You don’t know that,” hands clenched into fists at her side, the Lady of Autumn raised her own voice to match.
Eris felt as the temperature in the room changed, uncomfortably hot, the flames in the fireplace and in the torches along the wall responding to the raging emotions of them both. “It’s cruel,” he hissed, “it’s wrong.”
A child born of an affair, Lucien was well and truly doomed, and who else was Eris to blame but the Lady of the Autumn Court.
“And you know much about cruelty,” the condemnation was clear in the tone his mother used.
If Eris had taken a moment to think, to consider how worried and frightened she was, perhaps he would have known to stop their argument. Instead, Eris pointed a shaking finger, angry, at the female that had raised him as best she knew how. “And whose fault is that?” The question was bitter, all poison, meant to hurt.
“You can be so much like your father.”
The last word a growl, the statement hung between them. Eris would have rather she had taken a knife to his chest.
Almost as though the Lady of Autumn had struck him, Eris flinched back.
With a startled gasp, eyes wide in shock and lips parted, his mother put out her hand. Regret, clear as river water, flashed on her sharp features. But the words had been said. “Eris,” she took a step towards him, “I didn’t–”
The door opened suddenly, the ancient hinges screaming in protest, cutting her sentence short. Eris was glad for it, wished he had not come home, would have preferred the war camps to this.
Eris had assumed the door was locked, panic coursed through his veins as he wondered who might have heard. Relief, like rain during a drought, came over Eris as Lucien walked into the room. Only the crackling of the fire could be heard, Eris and his mother silent.
Eyes half shut with sleep, russet once more, Lucien dragged his bare feet along with a small blanket behind him. Eris watched as he rubbed at his eyes with one hand, as he broke into a little yawn.
“Ris?” He mumbled, voice heavy. “I thought I heard your voice.”
Eris watched as his mother moved towards her youngest son, expecting him to go to her. Instead, Lucien made his way to Eris, nearly tripping on the blanket he had brought with him.
“Why aren’t you asleep?” Eris barely recognised his own voice.
With a half-hearted shrug, Lucien knocked into Eris’s legs. “I heard you talking in the hall,” another yawn before he continued, “You didn’t come say goodnight.” Completely trusting and entirely unaware of all that had happened moments before he had entered the room, Lucien clung to Eris.
The Lady of Autumn watched with wary eyes as Eris lifted Lucien into his arms gently. “Let’s get you back to bed.” He murmured.
Lucien merely hummed his response, tired. Resting his head on Eris’s shoulder, his breaths slowing once more.
Eris could see the pleading on his mother’s face, but he did not look at her long. He turned his attention to the arched window, watching the first rays of the sun inching over the horizon.
Daylight.
#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#autumn court#eris vanserra#lady of autumn#the lady of the autumn court#lucien vanserra#but he is young#i just have many autumn court thoughts#the vanserra family dynamics intrigue me#thank you for reading <3#ashes writes sometimes
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