Lord Percival Langdon

Lord Percival Langdon was born into privilege. As the son of a highly influential noble, his future was meant to be illustrious, his path paved by his father’s reputation and connections. Yet, despite the wealth and status that surrounded him, Percival never lived up to the legacy he was expected to inherit.     Where his father was known for his diplomatic brilliance and keen intellect, Percival possessed none of his foresight or strategic acumen. He lacked the patience required for negotiation and the subtlety needed for political maneuvering. While his father could sway courts and councils with words alone, Percival was better known for his petty grievances and sense of entitlement.     He was invited to Duke Samuel Greeve’s grand dinner party not for his own merits, but as a courtesy to his father’s memory. Everyone knew it, including Percival himself. This knowledge gnawed at him, making him bitter and resentful. He longed for the respect his father once commanded, but respect could not be inherited—it had to be earned. And Lord Percival Langdon was not a man known for earning anything.     A Mask of Charm   In his late twenties, Percival was a man of handsome features, with an amiable face and sandy hair that was carefully styled to give him an air of effortless charm. His blue eyes were sharp, yet lacking the depth of thought or contemplation. He had a smile that, at first glance, seemed friendly and welcoming. But beneath the surface, it was shallow, revealing little of his true thoughts.     For the banquet, Percival had chosen an elegant ensemble to reflect his noble heritage—a light gray tunic adorned with delicate teal embroidery, paired with matching breeches and a dark green cloak that draped gracefully over his shoulders. A silver brooch fastened his cloak, subtly engraved with his family’s crest, a reminder to everyone present of his esteemed lineage. Yet, despite his finery, there was an air of discontent about him, a restlessness that lingered as he scanned the hall for validation that never came.     An Inflated Ego, a Fragile Heart   Percival was known for his sociability, but not for his kindness. He mingled with the upper echelons of society not out of genuine interest, but out of a desire to bolster his own standing. He was quick to laugh at others’ jokes and quicker still to belittle those he deemed beneath him. He was especially prone to outbursts when he felt slighted—a frequent occurrence, given his inflated sense of entitlement.     At Duke Greeve’s banquet, his discontent was palpable. He was outraged when he saw his seat at the banquet table. It was not at the Duke’s table, nor even among the more esteemed guests. Instead, he was placed at a table he deemed far beneath his status, among “peasants” and, to his great indignation, a Venator—one of the empire’s monster hunters, whom Percival dismissed as uncivilized ruffians. He made his displeasure known with biting remarks, but his complaints were met with little sympathy.     Duke Samuel Greeve himself overheard Percival’s sneering comments and, in a calm yet firm manner, corrected him. The Duke reminded Percival that titles did not grant superiority of character. Each guest had earned their place at the table through merit and service to the empire—achievements that spoke louder than any inherited title. The rebuke left Percival seething with indignation, his pride wounded in front of those he had meant to impress.     Cowardice and Death   When the assassins struck, Lord Percival’s bravado shattered. The hall descended into chaos as masked figures attacked without mercy, and blood flowed freely upon the polished floors. Terror gripped him as he watched nobles fall and servants reveal themselves as murderers. But despite his panic, fortune initially favored him.     The Venator, whom Percival had scorned, sprang into action, standing between him and the onslaught of assassins. With swift precision and unmatched skill, the monster hunter cut down attackers, buying Percival time to escape. Yet Percival was frozen in place, paralyzed by fear as the violence unfolded before him. He was safe as long as he stayed behind his protector.     But fear overtook reason. His mind clouded by panic, he abandoned his only chance of survival and ran. He fled the hall, his silk cloak billowing behind him, his polished boots slipping on the blood-slicked floors. And in his flight, he sealed his own fate.     A crossbow bolt whistled through the air, its deadly point aimed with cruel precision. It struck him square in the back, piercing his lung and sending him sprawling to the ground. His body crumpled where he fell, face twisted in shock and pain, his fine clothes stained with blood. There were no last words, no heroic end. He died alone, surrounded by the carnage he had tried so desperately to escape.     Reason for Invitation: A Legacy of Expectations   Lord Percival Langdon was invited to the banquet not for his own deeds, but because he was his father’s son. His father’s influence and contributions to the empire had been vast, his legacy respected by nobles and commoners alike. The invitation was a gesture of respect to that legacy—a courtesy to the name Langdon.     Yet, in death as in life, Percival failed to live up to his heritage. He was remembered not for his deeds or his character, but for his cowardice and his scorn. Those who survived the massacre spoke of how the Venator had tried to protect him, how he would have lived had he stayed, and how he had squandered his chance at survival through his own panic and arrogance.     In the end, Lord Percival Langdon became a cautionary tale—an heir who inherited wealth and status but lacked the courage and honor to bear his family’s name. He was mourned out of duty, not out of love, and his death was just one more tragedy among many on that fateful night.