Post by Admin on Feb 23, 2016 16:41:20 GMT
OOC: This is the culmination of several long-running intrigue battles.
Late in the evening, Buckingham received a letter, claiming that after a feast of spoiled seafood, several of the knights guarding the Princes had fallen ill. Fearing the worst, Buckingham assembled his bodyguard and set for the Tower of London. They arrived to find the streets cordoned off by a small army of around 500 men. Bravely they charged in, quickly scattering the assembled mob.
Buckingham made for the tower, passing the green upon which he had watched the children play earlier that day. He stormed in, his bodyguard clearing out some of the lingering soldiers. The guards manning the Tower had been butchered. They themselves had killed roughly 70 of the assailants though ill and fatigued, eventually they seemed to have tried to run, and were cut down upon leaving the area. Buckingham stood aghast, it would have been almost comical if not for the horror surrounding him. 'The Princes...' he murmured to himself, as he made for the stairs. Charging into their room, he fell to his knees. Two members of his bodyguard tried to drag him from the room, but he resisted, unable to wrest his eyes from the terrible visage before him.
The room was strewn with corpses, many were the guards defending the tower. Others were unmarked, baring no sign of their allegiance. Sir James Tyrell, one of Gloucester's most trusted Knights was laid, drenched in blood, sporting the signs of many fatal wounds, at the foot of the King-sized bed in the centre of the room. There the most horrific sight could be found. The two Princes, still clutching each other in fear as they were embraced by rigor mortis, had been hacked almost to pieces in a most brutal attack. There had been no mercy or compassion in the killers' minds.
Late in the evening, Buckingham received a letter, claiming that after a feast of spoiled seafood, several of the knights guarding the Princes had fallen ill. Fearing the worst, Buckingham assembled his bodyguard and set for the Tower of London. They arrived to find the streets cordoned off by a small army of around 500 men. Bravely they charged in, quickly scattering the assembled mob.
Buckingham made for the tower, passing the green upon which he had watched the children play earlier that day. He stormed in, his bodyguard clearing out some of the lingering soldiers. The guards manning the Tower had been butchered. They themselves had killed roughly 70 of the assailants though ill and fatigued, eventually they seemed to have tried to run, and were cut down upon leaving the area. Buckingham stood aghast, it would have been almost comical if not for the horror surrounding him. 'The Princes...' he murmured to himself, as he made for the stairs. Charging into their room, he fell to his knees. Two members of his bodyguard tried to drag him from the room, but he resisted, unable to wrest his eyes from the terrible visage before him.
The room was strewn with corpses, many were the guards defending the tower. Others were unmarked, baring no sign of their allegiance. Sir James Tyrell, one of Gloucester's most trusted Knights was laid, drenched in blood, sporting the signs of many fatal wounds, at the foot of the King-sized bed in the centre of the room. There the most horrific sight could be found. The two Princes, still clutching each other in fear as they were embraced by rigor mortis, had been hacked almost to pieces in a most brutal attack. There had been no mercy or compassion in the killers' minds.