A Rough Change In Power

These events occurred over the course of ten days.

As most nights for the past few weeks, candlelight flickered in the dimly lit office, the moon's rays shining in through a nearby window to provide slightly more light. The desk where Leonzio sat was covered in various letters and paperwork ranging from guard chapter matters to invites to events to wine shipments. He plucked up one of the letters that oddly enough sported the Vanetti seal in its usual green and purple marble wax. As most knew, he normally avoided anything to do with the Vanettis but recently he had seemed to be secretly reconnecting with his father.

Letters had been going back and forth for a week or so before he finally decided that he would visit Montania. After penning a return letter he stood up and made his way to bed for the night. The Dressolini spent the next few days preparing for his trip with handling any Blusteel and state council business he had to and leaving out any information about why he was leaving the city. His emotions had started to tear at him as he knew very well what he was doing with this trip. It was far more than a simple friendly visit.

The day came where Leon would set sail to Montania and after saying his goodbyes to his family he did just that. The sail over seemed to drag on, his paranoia getting to him as his mind flooded with thoughts and questions. Is this right? Should I go through with this? He treated me so poorly but I'm better than him… Leon often found himself pacing while on the ship but once he arrived at the destination all emotions washed away. It was almost as if he knew he had to compose himself or maybe he felt at home. Either way, he was battling with his inner demons and would be for the majority of this trip.

After making his way to the Vanetti estate he met with his father who was the only one to greet Leonzio. Soon after the brief greeting which was tense as it always had been, Leon learned that Francesca had finally passed away and her children had left Montania, heading elsewhere. Franco took up the head of the family and thus was granted the viscounty. This was exactly what Leon was hoping for being his task was much easier now.

The first few days were quiet with Leon and Franco speaking very sparsely, the two having the occasional argument as they always had. Though the thought soon occurred that all Leon had to do was be what Franco wanted. A worthy Vanetti who could inherit. The two sat down for dinner one night and this is when he began to sway Franco. Spouting out various things about him going to scheme against the Vauclains to take their titles and then take up the Vanetti name once again. He also told him of all he had achieved after the Vanettis had left Regalia. Franco seemed interested as Leon knew he would be so he kept at it for few days longer. The two had actually started to connect and this tore at the confused Dressolini. He had always wanted his father's acceptance but he wasn't this way. He wasn't this scheming, spiteful person. The emotions tugged at Leon as his father finally showed his vague love for him.

Along with the reconnecting with his father, Leon, when he could, snooped through the various paperwork and documents the Vanettis withheld. Expectantly enough it was full of corruption. Not knowing what he expected he ceased this after a few days and the time finally came. Having been away for nearly a week now he had to fulfill the reason he came to Montania.

Plucking up a wine bottle and small loaf of sweet bread from one of his various bags he had brought with him, Leon sat on his bed, just staring at the bottle. Was this right? Are you willing to do this to your own blood? Could you live with yourself? Spending about an hour of staring at the deep red liquid in this bottle, he finally left his room in search for Franco. "Father, wish to share a drink with me? I have this bread too." Leon said with a strained smile on his face.

Franco thought nothing of it and so the two made their way through the manor and out to a porch. The porch looked over the vast gardens of the yard, the air warm and comfortable. Leon let out a small exhale as he settled in his seat and began to open the bottle soon pouring the glasses. "A toast. To health and to the Vanetti line." That hurt him to say. Franco nodded and indulged in the toast, taking a sip from his glass. Leon took a similar sip but then moved his wine glass to his lap. No going back now. The two then each had a slice of the bread, Franco having two. He fought off a worried expression as he began to converse with Franco. The process of the various toxins soon began to kick in and the two moved inside after having started to sweat. "Go to the washroom, you don't look so well." Leon suggested this to Franco before ordering a servant to assist him.

Franco waved off the servant and made his way to another room, moving sluggishly. The mere moment Franco was out of sight Leonzio panicked and rummaged through his person pulling out Avetyaben's Grace and Theomar's Fungus he had wrapped up and prepared prior to this trip. Downing both of those he nearly tumbled, the effects of the Shademarsh Mushroom kicking in. After composing himself he searched for Franco, needing to make sure he did not take a solution to stop the effects.

Still stumbling a servant stepped up and worriedly asked what was happening. "The bread. It must have had something growing on it. I hadn't noticed, agh." he lied to the servant as he still made his way to Franco only to find him laying on his bed. He looked terrible, his skin paling and his breathing heavily elevated. Leon stepped to the bedside and yelled for the servants to exit, panically yelling for them to grab medicine. The servant bolted out like idiots, bumping into one another before finally making their way down the hall.

The room froze around Leon as he stood over his father, his expression having grown cold. Nodding to himself he turned and locked the door before sitting next to his father. The room was eerily still barring the heavy breaths that came from Franco. "You forced my hand. You did this." Leon spoke coldly. Calmly. Franco reached out and grabbed for Leon. The grip made contact and was weak. Leon simply continued. "Always treated the fool better than me. The one who was ready to run this family, to make us prosper." He stood again pulling from his father's grip, starting to pace as his voice raised briefly. "No! You never had faith in me!"

Franco was reaching out towards his son, his breath escaping him, his eyes watering. This would be his last breath and he knew this. Leon glared at his helpless father on his grandiose bed and continued. "The fool above me? The boot licker? Hmph. I am going to watch you die you know. Right here, right now. This is where your last breath leaves you." Knocking was heard on the door along with panicked voices. Leon dismissed them. "My father passed away… You were too slow. Now leave me to grieve." The noises grew quiet and stayed that way for a long while as Leon just watched his father drift off.

Franco soon fell unconscious and breathless. "You forced my hand…" he whispered to himself, tears welling in his eyes from a mixture of emotion. Leaning down to the body he pressed a kiss to the forehead and turned to exit the room.



The funeral was made the next day on Leon's command. It was peaceful, to say the least. Franco was placed to rest in the catacombs and Leon made the Viscount of Montania and head of the Vanettis. He had achieved what he had come here for…



OOC No one has any knowledge of why Leonzio decided to visit Montania and the death is assumed to have been from bad bread or wine alongside Franco's few health issues he had acquired in his older age. Leonzio is now the Viscount of Montania, Duke of Auletta and heads the Vanetti family. He would state such as he returned to Regalia.

For the sake of me playing my character, a time skip is being done.

 

[AtticCat]

Go Leonzio ;-;

 

[ElderShrub]

The rain bet down, its tiny footsteps echoing in the empty halls. The curtains lay flat against the window and a deep stillness pervaded the room. Menardo pulled his quill from the ink, watching as the black liquid slowly settled. His scrawling melted with the rain outside. It was another drab midday of upkeeping the family bank with Franco away. As time drifted away, the stillness of the room was shattered by three quick raps upon the outer wall. "What is it?" Menardo spoke dryly.
"A letter from Montania." As the door creaked open. The small scroll was delivered without fuss, and the messenger made a note of exiting the room quickly. At first the young Dressolini thought little of the message, finishing his calculation before tearing open the frail wax seal.

'Dear Mr Vanetti. It is with deep regret that we must inform you that your father, one Franco Vanetti, has passed away. –'


Menardo felt his stomach wrench its way up his throat. The gentle pattering of the rain fell away as mind staggered from the neatly carved words on the page. He was still, he could not tell for how long. A moment, two, a whole minute perhaps? Yet he had to force his eyes downwards from the words, hands stiff and unwilling.

'He died peacefully of the illness of bad food, and his age, upon the Vanetti Estate. A fitting funeral was held as he was laid to rest in the catacombs under the estate. As per tradition, Leonzio Vanetti has inherited the titles and position now left vacant. We sincerely apologise for your loss.'

For the longest time Menardo found himself unable to move, trying to piece together the information. His entire existence had found itself suddenly turned upon its head. While even to his closest child Franco had been distant, the man never seemed in poor health. Whatever it was that ailed him in his age had not had him at death's door. 'Bad food' was never a phrase that sat well with the Vanettis. First it was Sandro who had befallen poor wine, and then his aunt Francesca, whose illness he was not foolish enough to not put under suspect. He had known his father had many enemies, yet still the man had seemed so confidant. And now a deep unease gripped his very core.


When his trembling hands returned to him, they clenched tightly. He barely found the strength to stand as tears threatened to burst from his eyes. In desperation, frustration and fear, he slumped over in the chair, head against the cold desk. The rain returned again, thunderous now, pervading his thoughts and giving him no peace. How could he be abandoned so quickly? The wind howled. The room shook. What was he to do now? Leon had taken the family. While he respected his brother, he had little doubt this foreshadowed ills to come. The room shrunk. The parchment's texture grinded at his hands. His heart pounded and head swelled. Was all he had done for nothing? Had in one fell swoop he been undone? He stood. The chair flew back at the force, slamming into the floor. As the table shook the black ink toppled. Glass broke as the floor was painted a night raven. Menardo pushed his father's face to mind. The grim and aged man seemed to be ever-cautious of the world. His stern look bet down upon Menardo's back, the eyes piercing flesh, prying for weakness. He could see now, how such a thing was needed. How his father had wished to help him, to train him for the world. A world where you do what you must, and under the guise of integrity your cunning survives. As the eyes peeled away at his confidence, he snapped up to the man who he owed so much. He wished to scream, to demand an explanation for his forsakenness, and yet no words came. And after bleeding under those accusatory eyes, the door slammed shut. He was gone, to try to reconcile himself. And again, the rain fell like tiny footsteps as the room drifted into quietness.​

 

[Timisc]

This has been voided.