The Marquis De Merteuil is just over six feet tall. He has dark brown hair and dark eyes, a light smattering of facial hair, and a small cleft in his chin. Most would simply describe the man's appearance as intimidating. And they are probably very accurate.
His personality may be summed up in a nutshell as intense and multi-faceted. The Marquis Anton Guillaume de Merteuil is a nobleman by birth, and of high rank in the royal courts. Despite a life of ease and wealth, he is driven to push himself and everyone around him far beyond the mark of excellence. He never forgets a trespass, and never forgives a debt. His arrogance precedes him. His enemies fear him. And his own countrymen are glad that he has traveled far from home, taking his iron fist rigidity with him. Unknown to most, including his wife and immediate family -- Anton is quite the hedonist, sporting a sadistic streak a mile wide. There is a fine line betwixt love and hate. The Marquis Anton Guillaume de Merteuil completely obliterates it.
He is fond of torturing the masses in his public life, while harrowing the more desperate souls in private. Ironically, he is a wonderful husband and father.. though quite strict.
He likes: Power. Inflicting pain, both physical and mental. Strict order and routine. Absolute control.
He dislikes: Chaos. Boredom. Hunger. People whose spirits break too easily. The word "No."
Anton has a wife and four young children. He lives a double life, keeping countless liaisons discretely in the shadows -- some of which are lovers, and some of which who simply crave discipline at the hands of an exacting nobleman. More than two-thirds of the sovereign province of Angoulême's peasantry wishes he were dead. Needless to say, he will not be back home for quite awhile.
The Marquis Anton Guillaume de Merteuil left his father's home once he reached the age of consent, seeking out his own entitlements and prestige through hard work and tenacity. Within a year he married a young noble lady from the House of Créquy, fathering four children as well as securing his own rank within the royal courts. He successfully led a political faction for several years that only recently threatened to topple the delicate balance between wealthy land owners and the local peasantry by decreeing unusually stiff tax levies upon the poor. Needless to say, the insurgent peasants revolted.. leading to one of the bloodiest civil wars in all of Angoulême's thousand year history, and the hanging deaths of more than five hundred serfs believed to have instigated the riots.
Exactly one year after the dust and peace resettled over the the sovereign province of Angoulême, the Marquis Anton Guillaume de Merteuil grew restless with little else to conquer and subject to his iron-fisted political despotism. He journeys far from home, leaving behind his wife and family.. seeking out new exploits and conquests. He has heard rumors of the kingdom he journeys to. Wicked rumors.
He comes to see whether or not there is any truth in them.
---------------His personality may be summed up in a nutshell as intense and multi-faceted. The Marquis Anton Guillaume de Merteuil is a nobleman by birth, and of high rank in the royal courts. Despite a life of ease and wealth, he is driven to push himself and everyone around him far beyond the mark of excellence. He never forgets a trespass, and never forgives a debt. His arrogance precedes him. His enemies fear him. And his own countrymen are glad that he has traveled far from home, taking his iron fist rigidity with him. Unknown to most, including his wife and immediate family -- Anton is quite the hedonist, sporting a sadistic streak a mile wide. There is a fine line betwixt love and hate. The Marquis Anton Guillaume de Merteuil completely obliterates it.
He is fond of torturing the masses in his public life, while harrowing the more desperate souls in private. Ironically, he is a wonderful husband and father.. though quite strict.
He likes: Power. Inflicting pain, both physical and mental. Strict order and routine. Absolute control.
He dislikes: Chaos. Boredom. Hunger. People whose spirits break too easily. The word "No."
Anton has a wife and four young children. He lives a double life, keeping countless liaisons discretely in the shadows -- some of which are lovers, and some of which who simply crave discipline at the hands of an exacting nobleman. More than two-thirds of the sovereign province of Angoulême's peasantry wishes he were dead. Needless to say, he will not be back home for quite awhile.
The Marquis Anton Guillaume de Merteuil left his father's home once he reached the age of consent, seeking out his own entitlements and prestige through hard work and tenacity. Within a year he married a young noble lady from the House of Créquy, fathering four children as well as securing his own rank within the royal courts. He successfully led a political faction for several years that only recently threatened to topple the delicate balance between wealthy land owners and the local peasantry by decreeing unusually stiff tax levies upon the poor. Needless to say, the insurgent peasants revolted.. leading to one of the bloodiest civil wars in all of Angoulême's thousand year history, and the hanging deaths of more than five hundred serfs believed to have instigated the riots.
Exactly one year after the dust and peace resettled over the the sovereign province of Angoulême, the Marquis Anton Guillaume de Merteuil grew restless with little else to conquer and subject to his iron-fisted political despotism. He journeys far from home, leaving behind his wife and family.. seeking out new exploits and conquests. He has heard rumors of the kingdom he journeys to. Wicked rumors.
He comes to see whether or not there is any truth in them.
A horse-drawn coach pulled away, heading back to the nearby village, and in its wake two men were left standing there by the roadside. They exchanged something between them from hand to hand, before one turned and led the way toward the castle. The other, obviously a subordinate, followed behind, keeping up with the brisk pace. 'Twas only when they reached the grand doors, that the lesser fellow was allowed to step ahead and announce the name of his superior to a doorman.
"The Marquis de Merteuil," was the name called above the din of noise within. It was crowded, as if the Queen and her son, the Prince were hosting some sort of lavish event, replete with live party favors on display for all to see and admire. Anton did not know the Queen, and neither did he know her son. Nor had any formal invitation been extended to him all the way to the sovereign province of Angoulême. Yet on a self-imposed exile from his homeland, coming here had been the most obvious and logical choice due to the dark and wicked rumors whispered amongst those of his own debauched inner circles.
Once inside, Anton gave over his coat and hat to the other fellow with whom he'd arrived, only to lean aside and whisper into the man's ear.
"Stay close, Lothair."
"Oui, Chevalier," the other fellow whispered back, giving a slight nod of his head in deference to his superior. Lothair was neither slave nor servant, but merely subordinate to such a high ranking dignitary of Angoulême's royal courts, and least likely to look any of them directly in the eye when conducting business. Insomuch as Lothair was paid handsomely to accompany Anton to a distant kingdom, he would as soon prefer to return home again to his own wife and family. For unlike the Marquis Anton Guillaume de Merteuil, Lothair actually missed his family.
Soon enough they would be mingling in the pleasant crowd of folks with Anton leading the way and his hired gentleman following close at his heel, bearing the man's coat and hat upon his arm. Anton exchanged several cordial glances of acknowledgment with various souls, though rarely ever to any of the eye-candy upon display. No.. it was the Queen herself he'd be keeping an eye out for. Why start at the bottom, when the top would suffice, after all? And yes.. he was just that arrogant.
---------------"The Marquis de Merteuil," was the name called above the din of noise within. It was crowded, as if the Queen and her son, the Prince were hosting some sort of lavish event, replete with live party favors on display for all to see and admire. Anton did not know the Queen, and neither did he know her son. Nor had any formal invitation been extended to him all the way to the sovereign province of Angoulême. Yet on a self-imposed exile from his homeland, coming here had been the most obvious and logical choice due to the dark and wicked rumors whispered amongst those of his own debauched inner circles.
Once inside, Anton gave over his coat and hat to the other fellow with whom he'd arrived, only to lean aside and whisper into the man's ear.
"Stay close, Lothair."
"Oui, Chevalier," the other fellow whispered back, giving a slight nod of his head in deference to his superior. Lothair was neither slave nor servant, but merely subordinate to such a high ranking dignitary of Angoulême's royal courts, and least likely to look any of them directly in the eye when conducting business. Insomuch as Lothair was paid handsomely to accompany Anton to a distant kingdom, he would as soon prefer to return home again to his own wife and family. For unlike the Marquis Anton Guillaume de Merteuil, Lothair actually missed his family.
Soon enough they would be mingling in the pleasant crowd of folks with Anton leading the way and his hired gentleman following close at his heel, bearing the man's coat and hat upon his arm. Anton exchanged several cordial glances of acknowledgment with various souls, though rarely ever to any of the eye-candy upon display. No.. it was the Queen herself he'd be keeping an eye out for. Why start at the bottom, when the top would suffice, after all? And yes.. he was just that arrogant.
After quite some time it seemed the queen was either being fashionably late, or simply not showing up to the party at all. Pity that. But as Anton continued to mingle for appearances' sake, he eventually came across a red haired woman standing near her chair with a slave kneeling nearby. Lothair held back more than an arm's distance with his eyes down, so that none would suspect the two men were friends.. or even peers. Their classes were miles apart.
Anton tipped his head slightly and offered a brief, cordial smile to the woman.. whom he'd not readily suspected as somewhat blind. Her eyes didn't do that strange, random uncontrollable roaming that the eyes of someone born blind did.
"Pardonnez-moi," the Marquis spoke rather discretely to her. "But I wonder if you could point the way to the privy."
He held a white handkerchief right up to his mouth and coughed into it before tucking it away again. The trip had been a rather long and arduous one, and it seemed to him suddenly stifling in the grand hall with so many people crowding. Everything soon began to take its toll. The Marquis decided, too, that he and Lothair might not be staying too long.. for he was anxious to head back into the small, provençial town where he'd already rented a fine room in one of several inns. The downside was, he'd arranged for his coach to return at a specific hour of the night. And now his plans seemed to be changing.
Lothair stuffed a hand down into his coat pocket after following his superior's conversation, where he fingered a small paper packet containing a powdered mixture that had been prepared by an apothecary back in the sovereign province of Angoulême. It was only one of several identical packets.. though the medicinal value of each was somewhat questionable.
Anton never looked back at his subordinate, but merely snapped his fingers off to the side as he prepared to follow the woman's directions. Or better yet.. maybe she would simply lead the way. She wasn't the least bit unpleasant to look upon, afterall. And he'd run out of idle chit chat for Lothair, already bored to tears by the fellow's presence. But then again, The Marquis Anton Guillaume de Merteuil was easily bored by a lot of things, and Lothair never took it personally. There was a name for people like Anton. And not a very nice one at that.
Patrick S. © 2010
Anton tipped his head slightly and offered a brief, cordial smile to the woman.. whom he'd not readily suspected as somewhat blind. Her eyes didn't do that strange, random uncontrollable roaming that the eyes of someone born blind did.
"Pardonnez-moi," the Marquis spoke rather discretely to her. "But I wonder if you could point the way to the privy."
He held a white handkerchief right up to his mouth and coughed into it before tucking it away again. The trip had been a rather long and arduous one, and it seemed to him suddenly stifling in the grand hall with so many people crowding. Everything soon began to take its toll. The Marquis decided, too, that he and Lothair might not be staying too long.. for he was anxious to head back into the small, provençial town where he'd already rented a fine room in one of several inns. The downside was, he'd arranged for his coach to return at a specific hour of the night. And now his plans seemed to be changing.
Lothair stuffed a hand down into his coat pocket after following his superior's conversation, where he fingered a small paper packet containing a powdered mixture that had been prepared by an apothecary back in the sovereign province of Angoulême. It was only one of several identical packets.. though the medicinal value of each was somewhat questionable.
Anton never looked back at his subordinate, but merely snapped his fingers off to the side as he prepared to follow the woman's directions. Or better yet.. maybe she would simply lead the way. She wasn't the least bit unpleasant to look upon, afterall. And he'd run out of idle chit chat for Lothair, already bored to tears by the fellow's presence. But then again, The Marquis Anton Guillaume de Merteuil was easily bored by a lot of things, and Lothair never took it personally. There was a name for people like Anton. And not a very nice one at that.
Patrick S. © 2010
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