The Rostan Family's Sunset
html, body { margin:0; padding:0; } Actor: Derek Walker 8
Rostan Family
They say it's a house wielding considerable influence in the Dove Kingdom, rivaled only by the Benellia family. In the kingdom's south, no other family has more sway than the Rostans—except the Benellias.
While the Benellias handle the critical duty of educating the crown prince, the Rostans monopolize the kingdom's ceremonies and protocols. With so much overlap at the royal palace, there's a long history of bad blood between the two houses.
Public perception ranks the Benellias a cut above, which fuels the Rostans' intense inferiority complex. That backstory explains Viscount Balt Rostan's outrageous behavior.
"The Benellia family has crumbled spectacularly in this scandal, but the Rostans' future doesn't look much brighter either."
The bald man said this while drying a glass with a thin cloth.
It didn't make much sense. With their arch-rivals the Benellias in ruins, the Rostans should be rising like the sun.
"Why's that?"
"Because of Marquis Valet Rostan, of course. He's the worst scoundrel the Rostan family ever produced. Though, that's common knowledge—no need to buy it from an information guild."
His words brought the image of Valet Rostan back to mind.
A bat-like man with a distinctive white mustache.
The kind of sleazy flatterer who'd surely bring disaster if kept close. And his recent actions were so petty, even a typical sycophant would be impressed.
"Word is the Rostan marquis pulled another outrageous stunt."
"You mean publicly declaring he'd turn the Benellia heirs into human toilets?"
"Looks like you heard about that too. Utterly absurd."
Thinking about it, the marquis's behavior was utterly irrational. Crushing enemies is commonplace in politics, but few go to such extremes.
From a pragmatic standpoint, showing that level of brutality is a massive liability.
Even at that slave market, witnesses to his reckless antics viewed him warily, not warmly. No one wants to ally with a ruthless bastard like that.
"The Rostan marquis, once renowned for wealth and prestige, is now a setting sun. Ever since Valet Rostan took over, the family's fortunes have gone straight to hell. The marquis lacks any business sense—he overextended into reckless ventures. Fell for sweet-talking fake wizards and got scammed, then blew through the vaults like water."
This was valuable intel.
"Rumor has it most of their estates are mortgaged to the hilt. Impressive, really. Driving a 500-year-old house to the brink in one generation. They say even if the rich fall, they last three years—but old sayings aren't always true."
The bald man slotted the cleaned glass into the display case.
At the auction, the Rostan marquis had spent 14 gold.
For a noble house, 14 gold isn't pocket change, but with foreclosure notices everywhere, it's not something to toss around lightly.
Was it a flex, starving for a day to buy luxury?
Or did he have other funding sources?
From the man's account, probably the former. No economic sense—that's how he tanked the family.
"Are you with the Benellia family, by chance?"
The bald man asked suddenly. I shook my head.
"No. Do I look like it?"
"To my eyes, yes. Though you'd hardly admit it outright."
Right now in Dove Kingdom, the Benellias are traitors. Confessing ties to them is like begging a thug to kill you.
"The Benellias must be framed, I suppose."
He dropped the unexpected line casually, despite the crowded tavern—no glance around for eavesdroppers.
Seeing my puzzled look, he shrugged.
"Anyone who matters knows it. Just look at the kingdom's mess. The Benellias had no reason to betray Dove. It's probably the second or third prince—or both colluding—to bury them."
"Never bought that kind of intel."
"On the house. Our guild's got a soft spot for goodwill."
His gaze locked on my eyes. He seemed convinced I was Benellia-aligned.
I'm not family. But assisting Lady Isabel Benellia right now makes me an honorary member.
"The Benellias were our guild's biggest patrons. We see this as a tragedy."
That explained his candor. High-end info should flow easier now.
I spoke slowly.
"Straight to the point: any way to retrieve the Benellia heirs the Rostan marquis just bought?"
"Information guilds deal in facts, not fixes."
His reply was surprisingly cold.
"Let me rephrase. I'm buying intel to solve the problem. Even the Rostans' fatal weakness would do."
Personal weaknesses are the priciest wares—overstating it isn't hyperbole.
Like gossips get shunned, guilds trading dirt earn universal disdain. Balancing that hate is their skill.
They never sell such premium intel lightly. It could doom the guild.
"We couldn't sell that unless royalty asked in person."
He sighed softly. Even as top patrons, the Benellias are now traitors.
Hitting a declining but still powerful Rostan house now would be suicidal.
"If the Benellias clear their name and rise again, we won't forget the guild's loyalty."
I met his eyes. He sighed deeply.
"Recently, the Rostan marquis bought intel himself. Wanted someone resembling the Benellia heirs—commoners."
"A body double?"
"Exactly. You can guess the rest."
"Parades a fake as a human toilet publicly, while smuggling the real ones away."
My deduction stopped there.
Why bother with a double? The real ones would serve just fine.
Unless... he wants the originals for himself?
Questions spawned more questions.
"Spot on. He plans to use the real ones elsewhere."
"Elsewhere? Where?"
He hesitated long, then spoke.
"A deal with the Witch of the Snow Mountains."
I left the information guild. How's Lady Benellia holding up?
She might be conscious by now.
Stopping there was a masterstroke. I heard a name I never expected.
Witch of the Snow Mountains
What hooked me wasn't "witch," but "Snow Mountains." That was my travel goal all along.
I started this journey for the golden apple in Dove Kingdom's Snow Mountains—from the witch NPC there.
—From here, it's unverified rumors our guild hasn't cross-checked. Don't take it as gospel.
—Got it. So, what’s this deal with the witch?
—The marquis trades with her periodically. Gives gold, supplies, or slaves—for beauty in return.
—Beauty?
—He was notoriously ugly and vile. Post-deals, his face gradually changed—to what it is now.
—Did the witch want the Benellia heirs?
—Sources say a noble-blooded pair, male and female. Again, unconfirmed—don't bet on it.
Maybe I can snag the golden apple without the trek. If she's the NPC I think.
Back to the inn to plan. I turned that way—then a boy in gray leather approached stealthily.
Pickpocket?
"Sir, first time in Kegen?"
"Yeah. What's up?"
"Heehee! First-timers gotta try our shop—Kegen's pride and joy!"
"Your shop?"
I eyed him up and down. Tout?
"Yep. Kegen's most famous establishment. You look loaded, sir."
It's been about 12 hours since my last fuck. Yeah, I'm backed up.
"Brothel?"
"Exactly! And not just any—these are beauties you won't find elsewhere. Keeek! Interested?"
Beauties piqued my interest. New town, time to sightsee the red-light district. Gives Lady Benellia more recovery time too.
I followed the tout boy into an alley. There loomed a sizable brothel—about four times the Dwarf's Breath I'd visited earlier.
That wasn't a tiny tavern, so this place was huge. Quality should match, right?
"Right this way."
I entered per his lead. Portraits lined the entrance—prostitute profiles, all high caliber.
"These photoshopped?"
"No way! Flat rate: 1 silver each."
1 silver? Way too cheap for the looks. Really no edits?
"Crazy cheap, right? Haha, doubting the price? We don't upsell or scam. Enjoy worry-free."