Paris, 1114

A hulk of a man sat silently in the corner of the dark and dingy inn, silently grumbling about his lot in life.

He had everything – strength in both mind and body, faith in his heart, and perhaps most importantly, his dashing good looks which sent many a fair maiden falling to the ground. His family was wealthy enough to support their favoured son and a small retinue of retainers on campaign for one of the nobles of the Realm, and with luck, he probably would have risen to the very top, becoming one of the great Dukes that rules the ever expanding Kingdom.

All of that would have happened had that pig-headed excuse of an older brother not been born three years earlier than Villain.

Thanks to him, Villain is now reduced to being merely a landless slave to his father, managing their estates whilst his irksome brother sent back daily reports of his glorious conquests, if guarding some snotty noble could be counted as ‘glorious’ and seducing illiterate barmaids counts as ‘conquests’.

Villain hated this. To drown his sorrows, he has taken to frequenting this shabby tavern on the outskirt of Paris, hoping that the drinks would somehow mollify his indignation.

He was so engrossed in the details of downing his third bottle that he didn’t notice a messenger wearing the livery of Villain’s father entering the drinking house. The messenger walked delicately through tavern, as though touching any of its patrons would somehow contaminate him with some sort of disease. ‘In God’s name! How can the son of Lord de la Salle sit in this place… let alone eat and drink!?!’ thought the messenger as he gingerly approached Villain.

“My lord?” The messenger asked cautiously, hoping that Villain de la Salle is at least somewhat sober.

Villain glanced at the messenger; no doubt his father has more tasks regarding the state of their farmlands to bestow upon his son. Rather than giving the messenger a reply, he merely nodded.

“I bear grave news, Sire. Your brother… Théophile… is dead.”

That shook Villain out of his reverie, he stood up, suddenly alert to the fact that this could be his chance to escape his mundane duties. “What… how… what happened to him?”

“Sir Théophile followed his commander, a Bertin de Montsault, into battle against the vile Germans. Unfortunately, no man escaped the skirmish to tell the tale. As such, you are now the heir to the de la Salle fortune. Your father commands you to ret-”

A feral grin came over Villain’s face. With his older brother dead, a large amount of the family fortune is freed up that could be diverted to another use instead – Villain’s advancement as a Chevalier of France.

He quickly left the shabby building before the messenger could finish and climbed up on the messenger’s horse, before riding full speed towards the family manor. In his giddy imagination, he thought of battle and glory, of women and gold, but most importantly – power, pure unadulterated power over his subjects.

They would all be mine…