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X-treme Wrestling Federation »  RP Archive » Archives » "Bad Medicine" RP Board (May 23, 2015)
Chasing Ghosts - Part I: RP 1
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Sebastian Duke Offline
Registered but either hasn't added self to a roster yet or doesn't RP


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(heel alignment but liked by many; has earned respect despite breaking the rules often)
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#1
05-16-2015, 04:01 AM

Friday, May 15, 2015 | 9:06 PM Local Time | The Chancellery | Berlin, Germany

”What is the reason for waking me?” asks the angered King of the Illuminatus as he enters the office of his father, the Chancellor. Since Jacob's funeral, the man has been somewhat unapproachable and has done a great deal of sleeping. Though its not just depression that has jilted the King. It is also the stress of the everyday occurrences within the Illuminatus and the Regime's government that has tired out the man.

The Regime's military has stood eyeball to eyeball with that of the Italians for the last few weeks along the Austrian border with both sides awaiting orders. Each side regrets that things must be the way they are and are reluctant to give the order that will send both nations into a bitter war.

”Come in, Sebastian,” the Chancellor says quietly. ”Please, sit,” Asmodeus requests of his eldest son.

Sebastian Duke takes a seat. He leans to his right, with his elbow supporting much of the weight of his upper body upon the arm of the chair. The King throws his right ankle over his left knee, then begins to run his fingers through his beard. ”What is it?” he asks quietly.

Asmodeus removes his eyeglasses and lays them on his desk, then stands up. ”We've discovered something interesting,” the Chancellor begins. ”As you well know, we have been boxing up Jacob's personal possessions. Not that there are very many, but,” he continues, choking back on his own emotion. ”Matthew was doing it. He dropped a notebook on the floor and when he went to pick it up, he discovered that it was a journal of some sort.”

”Jake kept a diary?” the King asks, his attention perking up at the idea that Jacob may have kept a journal.

”A journal, Sebastian,” Asmodeus replies. ”It seems that anything he did as it pertains to the Illuminatus, he wrote down in this notebook,” concludes the Chancellor. He takes a seat once more, this time in a chair adjacent to his son. Then he grabs the telephone from his desk and pulls it nearer to him and hits the COM button. ”Helga?” Asmodeus says, leaning toward the phone.

”Yes, Chancellor?” replies the quiet voice in her thick German accented English.

”Has Matthew arrived yet?” the Chancellor asks of her.

”He's walking up the corridor now, Chancellor,” she confirms.

”Please, send him right in,” Asmodeus commands, then presses the COM button once more, severing communication with his secretary. Seconds later, Matthew enters the office. The Chancellor stands up and retreats behind his desk. ”Matthew, please sit down,” Father Asmodeus requests.

”Absolutely, Father,” replies the young Intelligence operative as he takes a seat in the chair the Chancellor just vacated.

”Have you checked on this information?” asks the Chancellor.

”What information?” asks the increasingly impatient King.

Asmodeus eyeballs his son, then returns his stare to Matthew. ”Sebastian, please. Your patience will be well rewarded if this information checks out. Matthew?”

”Well Father, I haven't had a lot of time, but things included in his journal seem to hold quite a bit of water,” Matthew finally answers.

The King stands up, irritated that neither of the men in the room have told him a damn thing about just what the hell is going on here. ”Look!” he shouts out. ”Something is going on here and I demand answers! I demand to be let in on this big fucking secret that the two of you are continuing to keep from me!” he continues to shout, his anger increasing with every word. ”Now give me answers!” he shouts, bringing his face to within inches of Matthew's.

”Sit down!” the Chancellor snaps at his son. The King turns to face him, ”sit down, Sebastian! And you will have your answers!” he commands. Sebastian smiles, then retakes his seat. ”You rule with intimidation, Sebastian. Fear, even. But you do not, and you will not, intimidate me.

“Look, I know, Jacob is a delicate subject. To you. To me. All of us, really. Please, relax. Your answers are coming,” he informs the King, then returns his stare to Matthew. ”Matthew if you please, read journal entry number one,” he requests.

”Dated February twenty-two,” he begins. ”We've taken over Germany, but something isn't right. France gave in all too easily when it came to using their air space. France is a predominantly Catholic nation. One, that in my own mind, would stand and fight together with the Church and those that choose to protect them. It's unlikely that France would allow the mortal enemies of the Church the use of their airspace when they knew exactly who we are and what our intentions are. In any event,” Matthew pauses, looking up at his King, ”the Church will crumble. They will tremble in fear when they wake to the news of our arrival right on their doorstep. Still though. France? I need to look into this some more,” Matthew concludes.

”Does that conclude the first entry?” asks the Chancellor.

”It does, Father,” Matthew answers quickly.

”That's bugged me, too,” says the King. ”If he had questions, why did he never bring them up?” asks the Illuminatus leader.

”There's more, Sebastian,” answers the new era Illuminatus founder. ”Please. Do continue, Matthew,” requests Asmodeus.

”Dated February twenty-four,” he begins as a tear escapes his right tear duct. ”I have not yet had the chance to look into France and their motives for allowing us safe passage. I feel I should tell Sebastian what I'm thinking about, but I want to be sure first. The last thing we need is to get ourselves into a wild goose chase when it could just be a nation fearful of attack, surrendering quickly, as they normally do. Besides, the King has been busy lately. Distracted by his son and the news breaking to Thaddeus that it was Sebastian that killed his mother,” he looks up at Sebastian. ”My apologies, my King. I'm just reading verbatim,” he concludes, apologetic that he is using his King's given name.

”Nah, forget it,” replies the King.

”Go on, Matthew,” instructs the Chancellor.

”There's a bunch of entries that don't really pertain to this situation,” he says as he begins thumbing through the pages of the notebook.

”Dated March twenty-one,” Matthew begins again. ”I fear something big is coming. I've met the stares of those on the street and most often, they smile, then continue about their business. Lately though, there have been a handful that catch my glance and they immediately walk in another direction. My curiosity sometimes gets the better of me, but tonight, as I was finishing up my usual nightly conversation with the Prince, I drew back a curtain in his room. I just happened to see a man in the building across the way, looking back. I ended our talk abruptly and went it alone. I entered the building across the street and to the floor in which I saw the man. A door was wide open so I stepped inside. The room was bare except for one thing- a small plastic cover similar to that of a camera lens. The name on the cover read: REMINGTON.

I should alert the rest of the leadership, but paranoia runs rampant in times of war. Instead, I will keep my eye out for anything suspicious from here on out. The King's Messenger is on high alert. There is no doubt that Prince Thaddeus has a great big bulls eye on his back. I will protect that young man at all cost,” Matthew pauses and wipes a tear from his cheek. ”I feel an attempt is eminent, and I will sacrifice myself for the cause. I have complete faith that when I am dead, Sebastian will avenge my death and get to the bottom of whatever plot is out there. They will end me, that much I am certain of,” he pauses again, wiping more tears from his eyes. ”But the Illuminatus will end their reign of lies,” he concludes.

A deafening silence fills the room. The King's right hand trembles as he runs his fingers through his beard. He stands up and slowly makes his way to the bar, sitting against the wall off to his right. He grabs the unopened bottle of Jim Beam Devil's Cut Bourbon and pours himself a glass, then swallows it quickly. His best-friend prophesied his own death. What's worse than that revelation, is that he never let on about it.

”Son,” says the father of the King, quietly. He stands up and walks toward his troubled son, ”Are you going to be okay?” asks his father.

”What could possibly be wrong, dad?” the King asks rhetorically. ”I mean, my best-friend didn't trust me enough to tell me there was a threat on all of us,” he concludes, then takes a large swallow from the Jim Beam bottle.

”He did what he thought was right, Sebastian,” the Chancellor says softly. ”Let's not lose our head here. Drowning your sorrows in liquor is never the answer,” he states.

Sebastian walks back and takes a seat in his chair. He placed the lid firmly on the liquor bottle and spins it around between his two index fingers. ”Had he told me what he knew, we could have done something. I could have saved him,” states the King.

”Maybe so,” his father replies, retaking his seat behind his desk. ”The way I see it, is with the war going on, Thaddeus going missing, your wrestling, he didn't want to burden you with more problems,” he concludes.

”I think there was a point to what he did,” Matthew chimes in. Father Asmodeus and his King both stare at him. ”In fact he says so in his last entry.

“He sacrificed himself because he wasn't even sure there was a plot against us. He didn't want to take the risk of us wasting valuable time and resources and attention if there was no real plot. He sacrificed himself in order to expose the plot if there indeed was one,” he concludes.

”We would have found it out, Matt,” the King replies as he tries to balance the liquor bottle on his right index finger.

”There's one more entry I need to read,” Matthew chimes in. ”If you thought the last entry was a big one, then I assure you, your Highness, you haven't heard anything yet.”

”Let's get on with it then,” Asmodeus commands.

”Dated March thirty-one,” he states, then takes a deep breath and sighs. ”Today is a bittersweet kind of day. My France suspicions have finally come to fruition. I will bring it up after dinner. I don't want to rain on our victory over Poland. After all, we all deserve some much needed rest and relaxation. Of course, I have the distinct feeling I won't make it to dinner. If that's the case, I'm sure my brothers will find this journal and all will be known.

“I had to work in secret because if my suspicions were unfounded, I did not want to waste valuable resources on them. Anytime I found myself free of Prince Thaddeus, which admittedly, is not a great deal, I was working to discover the truth about France. I started looking at satellite imagery and noticed something rather unusual. I'm unaware of whether this plan originated in Italy and France was cooperating, or if France themselves initiated this plan.

“What I discovered, took a lot of time and patience, but once I started thinking of that airplane, things began to fall right in place. A small cargo plane departed France at almost the exact same time every day, beginning the day after Father Asmodeus spoke to the French Premier about using their airspace. It was a painstaking effort to track this plane using only satellite imagery. Most satellites snap photographs at several minute intervals. Ours, snaps photos about once per minute. So I watched the plane as it departed Paris. I watched as it soared into the heavens. I watched as it landed in Rome.

“See, in Paris, the plane would offload cargo, but never load any onto it. In Rome, it was exactly the opposite. The plane would get loaded with the contents of the van, but never offloaded anything into the van.

“For several days worth of photographs, I watched as this plane met time and time again with a white Mercedes cargo van. Then I began to track the van. It took several different routes which made it difficult to track, but once I got a clear view of the identification plate attached to its front bumper, I knew I had the smoking gun. I tracked that van, from the airport near Rome, all the way inside the gates of Vatican City.

“It made me start to think harder. What was on this plane? Why was it heading to France? So I started to watch the French end of the transit. The French armored van stayed at the airport until after dusk, then slowly began its journey, with its Vatican cargo locked securely inside. Much to my surprise, that van was easier to track. Also to my surprise, was the vans destination to perhaps the most famous Catholic Cathedral in the entire history of their Church: the Notre Dame Cathedral.

“If I live to see tomorrow,” Matthew pauses, knowing full well that the last day of March, the day of this final journal entry, was the day Jacob drew his final breath. ”If I live to see tomorrow,” Matthew repeats, ”I shall head to Paris and begin to investigate just what is really going on in France,” he concludes.

Silence, once again, fills the room. This time, a stunned and confused silence.

To Be Continued.


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