Ricard had perhaps been born under an unlucky star; it had been only a week or two after his birth that the family learned his grandfather Enric Tosel had become the third Chelish army commander in a row to attempt to strategically pincer Cyprian only to be defeated in detail by the lightning-fast Republican forces.  At a stroke, the Tosel family had lost their patriarch and gone from favorites of the Thrunes to yet another of the dozens of military aristocrat families competing for high officer’s rank.  

His older brothers had been ideal Asmodean generals-to-be, ambitious and cruel; the fourth son of the Tosel family was a disappointment to match the family’s new status.  As his brothers diligently went about the business of training and studying, and viciously competing with each other for their parents’ favor, Ricard was a shy, lazy boy who couldn’t be bothered to properly try.  Ricard couldn’t shake the idea at the back of his head, that he was weak, weaker than his brothers, too weak to become a devil; his mortal life was but a short prelude to an anguished eternity as a block of flesh.  

Oh, Ricard would sometimes follow orders, and study with his tutors, and train in the yard, at least enough to avoid the worst beatings.  He’d come to executions, and help when he was told to.  But he never worked more than he had to, and never sought out cruelty for its own sake. (though he’d never been inclined towards heretical kindness, either; he rarely did things for others without prodding, and never paid much attention to whether his orders inconvenienced or hurt his servants, or whether his peasant lovers actually wanted him.  He might have been warned off if they rejected him, but how many Chelish tell their superiors no?)

With the time he carved out for himself, he usually spent reading.

When his brothers left one by one for the academy and the military, it was a relief, as he had some temporary relief from their domineering bullying.  His father was away most of the time soldiering, and his mother had seemingly come to terms with her mediocre son; even if he’d never gain his own glory he could at least support his brothers.  

But, of course, a day would come soon when he’d be sent off to a military academy, into the depths of a backbiting Chelish institution where he’d be surrounded by too many peers to all keep pacified, who’d eventually outmaneuver him… and then it didn’t.

The Four Day War was a second catastrophe for the Tosel family; Ricard’s father and his eldest brother died in the fighting at Otenso.  The two middle brothers would be purged later shortly after, and his mother would fall ill and die, leaving Ricard to inherit the county of Gualter.

Ricard was glad to never have to face his brother’s bullying, or his father’s beatings, but nevertheless, he missed them.  It was okay to miss them, loving your family was no longer a weakness… but then again they were Asmodeans, so perhaps he should want them gone?  He certainly missed his mother, at any rate, but there was nothing to do for it but adapt to the new world.

Despite his initial terror of the responsibility thrust upon him, his servants and clerks seemed to be able to manage most of the day-to-day maintenance on their own, leaving him to his hobbies.  He read voraciously, especially now that he had a whole new set of options from out of the country.  He’d dabbled in learning magic for a few months before realizing that he’d never be able to cast the actually interesting spells without risking his life more than he hoped.  He took an interest in history and philosophy, though he never thought much about the applications to his life. 

A few weeks ago, he received a letter inviting him to the queen’s Convention.  Things were running fine at home, and it was probably a good idea to show his loyalty to the crown?  And he was quite curious as to how it would play out.  At any rate, he’d have direct access to the newly stocked bookstores of Westcrown, and new people who weren’t former Asmodeans to talk to.

(And the truly breathtaking amount of embezzling the county managers might have been getting up could be a problem for later.)

Ricard had perhaps been born under an unlucky star; it had been only a week or two after his birth that the family learned his grandfather Enric Tosel had become the third Chelish army commander in a row to attempt to strategically pincer Cyprian only to be defeated in detail by the lightning-fast Republican forces.  At a stroke, the Tosel family had lost their patriarch and gone from favorites of the Thrunes to yet another of the dozens of military aristocrat families competing for high officer’s rank.  

His older brothers had been ideal Asmodean generals-to-be, ambitious and cruel; the fourth son of the Tosel family was a disappointment to match the family’s new status.  As his brothers diligently went about the business of training and studying, and viciously competing with each other for their parents’ favor, Ricard was a shy, lazy boy who couldn’t be bothered to properly try.  Ricard couldn’t shake the idea at the back of his head, that he was weak, weaker than his brothers, too weak to become a devil; his mortal life was but a short prelude to an anguished eternity as a block of flesh.  

Oh, Ricard would sometimes follow orders, and study with his tutors, and train in the yard, at least enough to avoid the worst beatings.  He’d come to executions, and help when he was told to.  But he never worked more than he had to, and never sought out cruelty for its own sake. (though he’d never been inclined towards heretical kindness, either; he rarely did things for others without prodding, and never paid much attention to whether his orders inconvenienced or hurt his servants, or whether his peasant lovers actually wanted him.  He might have been warned off if they rejected him, but how many Chelish tell their superiors no?)

With the time he carved out for himself, he usually spent reading.

When his brothers left one by one for the academy and the military, it was a relief, as he had some temporary relief from their domineering bullying.  His father was away most of the time soldiering, and his mother had seemingly come to terms with her mediocre son; even if he’d never gain his own glory he could at least support his brothers.  

But, of course, a day would come soon when he’d be sent off to a military academy, into the depths of a backbiting Chelish institution where he’d be surrounded by too many peers to all keep pacified, who’d eventually outmaneuver him… and then it didn’t.

The Four Day War was a second catastrophe for the Tosel family; Ricard’s father and his eldest brother died in the fighting at Otenso.  The two middle brothers would be purged later shortly after, and his mother would fall ill and die, leaving Ricard to inherit the county of Gualter.

Ricard was glad to never have to face his brother’s bullying, or his father’s beatings, but nevertheless, he missed them.  It was okay to miss them, loving your family was no longer a weakness… but then again they were Asmodeans, so perhaps he should want them gone?  He certainly missed his mother, at any rate, but there was nothing to do for it but adapt to the new world.

Despite his initial terror of the responsibility thrust upon him, his servants and clerks seemed to be able to manage most of the day-to-day maintenance on their own, leaving him to his hobbies.  He read voraciously, especially now that he had a whole new set of options from out of the country.  He’d dabbled in learning magic for a few months before realizing that he’d never be able to cast the actually interesting spells without risking his life more than he hoped.  He took an interest in history and philosophy, though he never thought much about the applications to his life. 

A few weeks ago, he received a letter inviting him to the queen’s Convention.  Things were running fine at home, and it was probably a good idea to show his loyalty to the crown?  And he was quite curious as to how it would play out.  At any rate, he’d have direct access to the newly stocked bookstores of Westcrown, and new people who weren’t former Asmodeans to talk to.

(And the truly breathtaking amount of embezzling the county managers might have been getting up could be a problem for later.)

Ricard had perhaps been born under an unlucky star; it had been only a week or two after his birth that the family learned his grandfather Enric Tosel had become the third Chelish army commander in a row to attempt to strategically pincer Cyprian only to be defeated in detail by the lightning-fast Republican forces.  At a stroke, the Tosel family had lost their patriarch and gone from favorites of the Thrunes to yet another of the dozens of military aristocrat families competing for high officer’s rank.  

His older brothers had been ideal Asmodean generals-to-be, ambitious and cruel; the fourth son of the Tosel family was a disappointment to match the family’s new status.  As his brothers diligently went about the business of training and studying, and viciously competing with each other for their parents’ favor, Ricard was a shy, lazy boy who couldn’t be bothered to properly try.  Ricard couldn’t shake the idea at the back of his head, that he was weak, weaker than his brothers, too weak to become a devil; his mortal life was but a short prelude to an anguished eternity as a block of flesh.  

Oh, Ricard would sometimes follow orders, and study with his tutors, and train in the yard, at least enough to avoid the worst beatings.  He’d come to executions, and help when he was told to.  But he never worked more than he had to, and never sought out cruelty for its own sake. (though he’d never been inclined towards heretical kindness, either; he rarely did things for others without prodding, and never paid much attention to whether his orders inconvenienced or hurt his servants, or whether his peasant lovers were just going along with him because he was a nobleman.  He might have been warned off if they rejected him, but how many Chelish tell their superiors no?)

With the time he carved out for himself, he usually spent reading.

When his brothers left one by one for the academy and the military, it was a relief, as he had some temporary relief from their domineering bullying.  His father was away most of the time soldiering, and his mother had seemingly come to terms with her mediocre son; even if he’d never gain his own glory he could at least support his brothers.  

But, of course, a day would come soon when he’d be sent off to a military academy, into the depths of a backbiting Chelish institution where he’d be surrounded by too many peers to all keep pacified, who’d eventually outmaneuver him… and then it didn’t.

The Four Day War was a second catastrophe for the Tosel family; Ricard’s father and his eldest brother died in the fighting at Otenso.  The two middle brothers would be purged later shortly after, and his mother would fall ill and die, leaving Ricard to inherit the county of Gualter.

Ricard was glad to never have to face his brother’s bullying, or his father’s beatings, but nevertheless, he missed them.  It was okay to miss them, loving your family was no longer a weakness… but then again they were Asmodeans, so perhaps he should want them gone?  He certainly missed his mother, at any rate, but there was nothing to do for it but adapt to the new world.

Despite his initial terror of the responsibility thrust upon him, his servants and clerks seemed to be able to manage most of the day-to-day maintenance on their own, leaving him to his hobbies.  He read voraciously, especially now that he had a whole new set of options from out of the country.  He’d dabbled in learning magic for a few months before realizing that he’d never be able to cast the actually interesting spells without risking his life more than he hoped.  He took an interest in history and philosophy, though he never thought much about the applications to his life. 

A few weeks ago, he received a letter inviting him to the queen’s Convention.  Things were running fine at home, and it was probably a good idea to show his loyalty to the crown?  And he was quite curious as to how it would play out.  At any rate, he’d have direct access to the newly stocked bookstores of Westcrown, and new people who weren’t former Asmodeans to talk to.

(And the truly breathtaking amount of embezzling the county managers might have been getting up could be a problem for later.)

Ricard had perhaps been born under an unlucky star; it had been only a week or two after his birth that the family learned his grandfather Enric Tosel had become the third Chelish army commander in a row to attempt to strategically pincer Cyprian only to be defeated in detail by the lightning-fast Republican forces.  At a stroke, the Tosel family had lost their patriarch and gone from favorites of the Thrunes to yet another of the dozens of military aristocrat families competing for high officer’s rank.  

His older brothers had been ideal Asmodean generals-to-be, ambitious and cruel; the fourth son of the Tosel family was a disappointment to match the family’s new status.  As his brothers diligently went about the business of training and studying, and viciously competing with each other for their parents’ favor, Ricard was a shy, lazy boy who couldn’t be bothered to properly try.  Ricard couldn’t shake the idea at the back of his head, that he was weak, weaker than his brothers, too weak to become a devil; his mortal life was but a short prelude to an anguished eternity as a block of flesh.  

Oh, Ricard would sometimes follow orders, and study with his tutors, and train in the yard, at least enough to avoid the worst beatings.  He’d come to executions, and help when he was told to.  But he never worked more than he had to, and never sought out cruelty for its own sake. (though he’d never been inclined towards heretical kindness, either; he rarely did things for others without prodding, and never paid much attention to whether his orders inconvenienced or hurt his servants, or whether his peasant lovers were just going along with him because he was a nobleman.  He might have been warned off if they rejected him, but how many Chelish tell their superiors no?)

The time he carved out for himself, he usually spent reading.

When his brothers left one by one for the academy and the military, it was a relief, as he had some temporary relief from their domineering bullying.  His father was away most of the time soldiering, and his mother had seemingly come to terms with her mediocre son; even if he’d never gain his own glory he could at least support his brothers.  

But, of course, a day would come soon when he’d be sent off to a military academy, into the depths of a backbiting Chelish institution where he’d be surrounded by too many peers to all keep pacified, who’d eventually outmaneuver him… and then it didn’t.

The Four Day War was a second catastrophe for the Tosel family; Ricard’s father and his eldest brother died in the fighting at Otenso.  The two middle brothers would be purged later shortly after, and his mother would fall ill and die, leaving Ricard to inherit the county of Gualter.

Ricard was glad to never have to face his brother’s bullying, or his father’s beatings, but nevertheless, he missed them.  It was okay to miss them, loving your family was no longer a weakness… but then again they were Asmodeans, so perhaps he should want them gone?  He certainly missed his mother, at any rate, but there was nothing to do for it but adapt to the new world.

Despite his initial terror of the responsibility thrust upon him, his servants and clerks seemed to be able to manage most of the day-to-day maintenance on their own, leaving him to his hobbies.  He read voraciously, especially now that he had a whole new set of options from out of the country.  He’d dabbled in learning magic for a few months before realizing that he’d never be able to cast the actually interesting spells without risking his life more than he hoped.  He took an interest in history and philosophy, though he never thought much about the applications to his life. 

A few weeks ago, he received a letter inviting him to the queen’s Convention.  Things were running fine at home, and it was probably a good idea to show his loyalty to the crown?  And he was quite curious as to how it would play out.  At any rate, he’d have direct access to the newly stocked bookstores of Westcrown, and new people who weren’t former Asmodeans to talk to.

(And the truly breathtaking amount of embezzling the county managers might have been getting up could be a problem for later.)

Ricard had perhaps been born under an unlucky star; it had been only a week or two after his birth that the family learned his grandfather Enric Tosel had become the third Chelish army commander in a row to attempt to strategically pincer Cyprian only to be defeated in detail by the lightning-fast Republican forces.  At a stroke, the Tosel family had lost their patriarch and gone from favorites of the Thrunes to yet another of the dozens of military aristocrat families competing for high officer’s rank.  

His older brothers had been ideal Asmodean generals-to-be, ambitious and cruel; the fourth son of the Tosel family was a disappointment to match the family’s new status.  As his brothers diligently went about the business of training and studying, and viciously competing with each other for their parents’ favor, Ricard was a shy, lazy boy who couldn’t be bothered to properly try.  Ricard couldn’t shake the idea at the back of his head, that he was weak, weaker than his brothers, too weak to become a devil; his mortal life was but a short prelude to an anguished eternity as a block of flesh.  

Oh, Ricard would sometimes follow orders, and study with his tutors, and train in the yard, at least enough to avoid the worst beatings.  He’d come to executions, and help when he was told to.  But he never worked more than he had to, and never sought out cruelty for its own sake. (though he’d never been inclined towards heretical kindness, either; he rarely did things for others without prodding, and never paid much attention to whether his orders inconvenienced or hurt his servants, or whether his peasant lovers were just going along with him because he was a nobleman.  He might have been warned off if they rejected him, but how many Chelish tell their superiors no?)

The time he carved out for himself, he usually spent reading.

When his brothers left one by one for the academy and the military, it was a relief, as he had some temporary relief from their domineering bullying.  His father was away most of the time soldiering, and his mother had seemingly come to terms with her mediocre son; even if he’d never gain his own glory he could at least support his brothers.  

But, of course, a day would come soon when he’d be sent off to a military academy, into the depths of a backbiting Chelish institution where he’d be surrounded by too many peers to all keep pacified, who’d eventually outmaneuver him… and then it didn’t.

The Four Day War was a second catastrophe for the Tosel family; Ricard’s father and his eldest brother died in the fighting at Otenso.  The two middle brothers would be purged later shortly after, and his mother would fall ill and die, leaving Ricard to inherit the county of Gualter.

Ricard was glad to never have to face his brother’s bullying, or his father’s beatings, but nevertheless, he missed them.  It was okay to miss them, loving your family was no longer a weakness… but then again they were Asmodeans, so perhaps he should want them gone?  He certainly missed his mother, at any rate, but there was nothing to do for it but adapt to the new world.

Despite his initial terror of the responsibility thrust upon him, his servants and clerks seemed to be able to manage most of the day-to-day maintenance on their own, leaving him to his hobbies.  He read voraciously, especially now that he had a whole new set of options from out of the country.  He’d dabbled in learning magic for a few months before realizing that he’d never be able to cast the actually interesting spells without risking his life more than he hoped.  He took an interest in history and philosophy, though he never thought much about the applications to his life. 

A few weeks ago, he received a letter inviting him to the queen’s Convention.  Things were running fine at home, and it was probably a good idea to show his loyalty to the crown?  And he was quite curious as to how it would play out.  At any rate, he’d have direct access to the newly stocked bookstores of Westcrown, and new people who weren’t former Asmodeans to talk to.

(And the truly breathtaking amount of embezzling the county managers might have been getting up could be a problem for later.)

Ricard had perhaps been born under an unlucky star; it had been only a week or two after his birth that the family learned his grandfather Enric Tosel had become the third Chelish army commander in a row to attempt to strategically pincer Cyprian only to be defeated in detail by the lightning-fast Republican forces.  At a stroke, the Tosel family had lost their patriarch and gone from favorites of the Thrunes to yet another of the dozens of military aristocrat families competing for high officer’s rank.  

His older brothers had been ideal Asmodean generals-to-be, ambitious and cruel; the fourth son of the Tosel family was a disappointment to match the family’s new status.  As his brothers diligently went about the business of training and studying, and viciously competing with each other for their parents’ favor, Ricard was a shy, lazy boy who couldn’t be bothered to properly try.  Ricard couldn’t shake the idea at the back of his head, that he was weak, weaker than his brothers, too weak to become a devil; his mortal life was but a short prelude to an anguished eternity as a block of flesh.  

Oh, Ricard would sometimes follow orders, and study with his tutors, and train in the yard, at least enough to avoid the worst beatings.  He’d come to executions, and help when he was told to.  But he never worked more than he had to, and never sought out cruelty for its own sake. (though he’d never been inclined towards heretical kindness, either; he rarely did things for others without prodding, and never paid much attention to whether his orders inconvenienced or hurt his servants, or whether his peasant lovers were just going along with him because he was a nobleman.  He might have been warned off if they rejected him, but how many Chelish tell their superiors no?)

The time he carved out for himself, he usually spent reading.

When his brothers left one by one for the academy and the military, it was a relief, as he had some temporary relief from their domineering bullying.  His father was away most of the time soldiering, and his mother had seemingly come to terms with her mediocre son; even if he’d never gain his own glory he could at least support his brothers.  

But, of course, a day would come soon when he’d be sent off to a military academy, into the depths of a backbiting Chelish institution where he’d be surrounded by too many peers to all keep pacified, who’d eventually outmaneuver him… and then it didn’t.

The Four Day War was a second catastrophe for the Tosel family; Ricard’s father and his eldest brother died in the fighting at Otenso.  The two middle brothers would be purged later shortly after, and his mother would fall ill and die, leaving Ricard to inherit the county of Gualter.

Ricard was glad to never have to face his brother’s bullying, or his father’s beatings, but nevertheless, he missed them.  It was okay to miss them, loving your family was no longer a weakness… but then again they were Asmodeans, so perhaps he should want them gone?  He certainly missed his mother, at any rate, but there was nothing to do for it but adapt to the new world.

Despite his initial terror of the responsibility thrust upon him, his servants and clerks seemed to be able to manage most of the day-to-day maintenance on their own, leaving him to his hobbies.  He read voraciously, especially now that he had a whole new set of options from out of the country.  He’d dabbled in learning magic for a few months before realizing that he’d never be able to cast the actually interesting spells without risking his life more than he hoped.  He took an interest in history and philosophy, though he never thought much about the applications to his life. 

A few weeks ago, he received a letter inviting him to the queen’s Convention.  Things were running fine at home, and it was probably a good idea to show his loyalty to the crown?  And he was quite curious as to how it would play out.  At any rate, he’d have direct access to the newly stocked bookstores of Westcrown, and new people who weren’t former Asmodeans to talk to.

(And the truly breathtaking amount of embezzling the county managers might have been getting up could be a problem for later.)

Ricard had perhaps been born under an unlucky star; it had been only a week or two after his birth that the family learned his grandfather Enric Tosel had become the third Chelish army commander in a row to attempt to strategically pincer Cyprian only to be defeated in detail by the lightning-fast Republican forces.  At a stroke, the Tosel family had lost their patriarch and gone from favorites of the Thrunes to yet another of the dozens of military aristocrat families competing for high officer’s rank.  

His older brothers had been ideal Asmodean generals-to-be, ambitious and cruel; the fourth son of the Tosel family was a disappointment to match the family’s new status.  As his brothers diligently went about the business of training and studying, and viciously competing with each other for their parents’ favor, Ricard was a shy, lazy boy who couldn’t be bothered to properly try.  Ricard couldn’t shake the idea at the back of his head, that he was weak, weaker than his brothers, too weak to become a devil; his mortal life was but a short prelude to an anguished eternity as a block of flesh.  

Oh, Ricard would sometimes follow orders, and study with his tutors, and train in the yard, at least enough to avoid the worst beatings.  He’d come to executions, and help when he was told to.  But he never worked more than he had to, and never sought out cruelty for its own sake. (though he’d never been inclined towards heretical kindness, either; he rarely did things for others without prodding, and never paid much attention to whether his orders inconvenienced or hurt his servants, or whether his peasant lovers were just going along with him because he was a nobleman.  He might have been warned off if they rejected him, but how many Chelish tell their superiors no?)

The time he carved out for himself, he usually spent reading.

When his brothers left one by one for the academy and the military, it was a relief, as he had some temporary relief from their domineering bullying.  His father was away most of the time soldiering, and his mother had seemingly come to terms with her mediocre son; even if he’d never gain his own glory he could at least support his brothers.  

But, of course, a day would come soon when he’d be sent off to a military academy, into the depths of a backbiting Chelish institution where he’d be surrounded by too many peers to all keep pacified, who’d eventually outmaneuver him… and then it didn’t.

The Four Day War was a second catastrophe for the Tosel family; Ricard’s father and his eldest brother died in the fighting at Otenso.  The two middle brothers would be purged later shortly after, and his mother would fall ill and die, leaving Ricard to inherit the county of Gualter.

Ricard was glad to never have to face his brother’s bullying, or his father’s beatings, but nevertheless, he missed them.  It was okay to miss them, loving your family was no longer a weakness… but then again they were Asmodeans, so perhaps he should want them gone?  He certainly missed his mother, at any rate, but there was nothing to do for it but adapt to the new world.

Despite his initial terror of the responsibility thrust upon him, his servants and clerks seemed to be able to manage most of the day-to-day maintenance on their own, leaving him to his hobbies.  He read voraciously, especially now that he had a whole new set of options from out of the country.  He’d dabbled in learning magic for a few months before realizing that he’d never be able to cast the actually interesting spells without risking his life more than he hoped.  He took an interest in history and philosophy, though he never thought much about the applications to his life. 

By all the new ideas coming in, it seemed that Hell wasn't as guaranteed as he thought.  He'd never really done much with his life, so he was probably neutral?

A few weeks ago, he received a letter inviting him to the queen’s Convention.  Things were running fine at home, and it was probably a good idea to show his loyalty to the crown?  And he was quite curious as to how it would play out.  At any rate, he’d have direct access to the newly stocked bookstores of Westcrown, and new people who weren’t former Asmodeans to talk to.

(And the truly breathtaking amount of embezzling the county managers might have been getting up could be a problem for later.)

Ricard had perhaps been born under an unlucky star; it had been only a week or two after his birth that the family learned his grandfather Enric Tosel had become the third Chelish army commander in a row to attempt to strategically pincer Cyprian only to be defeated in detail by the lightning-fast Republican forces.  At a stroke, the Tosel family had lost their patriarch and gone from favorites of the Thrunes to yet another of the dozens of military aristocrat families competing for high officer’s rank.  

His older brothers had been ideal Asmodean generals-to-be, ambitious and cruel; the fourth son of the Tosel family was a disappointment to match the family’s new status.  As his brothers diligently went about the business of training and studying, and viciously competing with each other for their parents’ favor, Ricard was a shy, lazy boy who couldn’t be bothered to properly try.  Ricard couldn’t shake the idea at the back of his head, that he was weak, weaker than his brothers, too weak to become a devil; his mortal life was but a short prelude to an anguished eternity as a block of flesh.  

Oh, Ricard would sometimes follow orders, and study with his tutors, and train in the yard, at least enough to avoid the worst beatings.  He’d come to executions, and help when he was told to.  But he never worked more than he had to, and never sought out cruelty for its own sake. (though he’d never been inclined towards heretical kindness, either; he rarely did things for others without prodding, and never paid much attention to whether his orders inconvenienced or hurt his servants, or whether his peasant lovers were just going along with him because he was a nobleman.  He might have been warned off if they rejected him, but how many Chelish tell their superiors no?)

The time he carved out for himself, he usually spent reading.

When his brothers left one by one for the academy and the military, it was a relief, as he had some temporary relief from their domineering bullying.  His father was away most of the time soldiering, and his mother had seemingly come to terms with her mediocre son; even if he’d never gain his own glory he could at least support his brothers.  

But, of course, a day would come soon when he’d be sent off to a military academy, into the depths of a backbiting Chelish institution where he’d be surrounded by too many peers to all keep pacified, who’d eventually outmaneuver him… and then it didn’t.

The Four Day War was a second catastrophe for the Tosel family; Ricard’s father and his eldest brother died in the fighting at Otenso.  The two middle brothers would be purged later shortly after, and his mother would fall ill and die, leaving Ricard to inherit the county of Gualter.

Ricard was glad to never have to face his brother’s bullying, or his father’s beatings, but nevertheless, he missed them.  It was okay to miss them, loving your family was no longer a weakness… but then again they were Asmodeans, so perhaps he should want them gone?  He certainly missed his mother, at any rate, but there was nothing to do for it but adapt to the new world.

Despite his initial terror of the responsibility thrust upon him, his servants and clerks seemed to be able to manage most of the day-to-day maintenance on their own, leaving him to his hobbies.  He read voraciously, especially now that he had a whole new set of options from out of the country.  He’d dabbled in learning magic for a few months before realizing that he’d never be able to cast the actually interesting spells without risking his life more than he hoped.  He took an interest in history and philosophy, though he never thought much about the applications to his life. 

By all the new ideas coming in, it seemed that Hell wasn't as guaranteed as he thought.  If he'd been a pathetic, weak creature, utterly devoid of Asmodean virtue... he's probably not even Evil.  Maybe even Good.  The Good conquerors had seen fit to spare him after all.

A few weeks ago, he received a letter inviting him to the queen’s Convention.  Things were running fine at home, and it was probably a good idea to show his loyalty to the crown?  And he was quite curious as to how it would play out.  At any rate, he’d have direct access to the newly stocked bookstores of Westcrown, and new people who weren’t former Asmodeans to talk to.

(And the truly breathtaking amount of embezzling the county managers might have been getting up could be a problem for later.)