《The Herald》


 Prologue of The Gods

    The Space. Darkness spread to infinity. Ancientness given the lack of form. No light. Nothing to see if there were light. Not cold and not hot. Empty. Void. Still. And yet, the darkness has a sense of purpose. Some hidden purpose that is eons old. As if this place had been waiting since before man, before the Gods, before time itself. Then... a Voice.


    "Enough Anwar!!" Said the Voice. Slightly high pitched for a man, with a subtle hiss, the effect was sinister in its sound.


    "Its been 1,000 years! Enough waiting, enough of your endless watching! Let Us begin!"


    "You are prepared then, Marduk?"Another Voice. Far different in its timbre. Calm, deep, and soothing with a hint of humor. As if the start of a smile is on his face as he talks.


    "You know very well that I''ve been prepared for three centuries you doddering old do-gooder! Now stop delaying! Whether you like it or not 1,000 years was the limit! Your time is up and My vengeance is at hand! Let... Us... Begin..."


    Marduk''s last three words said in a gravelly tone signifying his rage.


    Suddenly a sucking sound and then a loud crack burst forth in the darkness followed by the appearance of a man. He''s tall and thin, but not overly so, with an obvious inborn strength emanating from his body. Long hair slightly past His shoulders, which is so dark grey it appears almost black, He stands in the darkness wearing a long dark grey hooded jacket. Pants black, light grey shirt, and a scowl on His pale face, which is handsome in an off beat way. He cuts a striking figure, but the most striking of His features are His eyes. The color can only be described as darkness. Not black. These two orbs are much darker than that, almost seeming to devour light and color and hope. Matching perfectly with the emptiness of The Space around Him, in this scenery if you were to look Him in the face it would seem as though instead of eyes He simply has two eye shaped holes with which you could see straight through His head into the void behind Him. Unsettling, powerful, and sinister.


    "Hahahah... Good Marduk, surely You wouldn''t begrudge Me My full reign as Victor would You?" Says Anwar, laughing good naturedly. With a repeat of the sucking, popping sound another man is standing in front of Marduk.


    This new man, though seemingly identical in height and stature, had taken obvious efforts to be a polar opposite to Marduk. Dressed in identical clothes which had been bleached white from top to bottom, His hair was close cropped and such a light shade of grey it too appeared nearly platinum white. And of course His eyes. With no color or pupil they are completely white and a soft light subtlely emits from them. Seeing Marduk''s scowl the slight grin on His faced widened into a full smile making his already handsome features blossom into a face that would make women swoon and blush at the sight of it. This action in turn made Marduk''s cruel scowl become even more furious. In short by merely glancing at these two for half a second it would be obvious to anyone that they are enemies and rivals.


    "Pah! Your reign ends today." Says Marduk in a calmer tone. Scowl slowly shifting into a sneer as disdain crosses his features. "A thousand years.... I do so hope You''ve enjoyed Yourself. The memory may help to sustain You in the future."


    "Hahahah.... I see Your tongue has not lost its edge. Is that wit what has sustained You all these years?" speaks Anwar laughing and sporting a mischievous grin.


    Sneer and eyebrow twitching, its plain to see Marduk is suppressing His rage. When quickly His face relaxes and with sudden abruptness a smile emerges on His face that reaches His eyes. Dark thoughts swirling in His mind He begins to focus on His task and remember His goal.


    "As You say Anwar, its was My wit. Tell Me... did You bring It?" asks Marduk smile fading but no anger showing anymore.


    "What? Did You think I would leave It at home?" retorts Anwar lifting his nose in mock indignation.


    "No games Anwar!" shouts Marduk. "Show It to Me!"


    Frowning Anwar reaches into the inner pocket of his white long coat and fishes out something which stays cupped in his fist as he retracts his hand.


    "It''s here." He says opening His hand with a frown. Immediately light, golden bright light, shines out from His palm bathing both men in a golden radiance. Before now there had been no obvious light source in The Space. The men themselves gave off a feint glow as if they were always cast in the light, but this glow only lit themselves and did not reflect on anything else. The golden light the object in Anwar''s hand was different. The gold radiance reflected off the men and even lit up the surroundings making the absolute void of The Space seem slightly less dark, slightly less deep.


    After only a second or two Anwar closes his hand with a snap and replaces the object into his coat pocket and an audible hitch in Marduk''s breathing can be heard.


    "And so.. You have seen It. Let Us not waste anymore time." speaks Anwar with no more humor in His voice. Instead there is a profound and respectful tone. In His mind he understands. The time has come, there can be no hesitation or mistake. The Contest is soon to begin and only one may bask in Eternal Victory.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "Agreed." says Marduk quietly turning and taking several strides from Anwar. Turning back to face His adversary He raises both arms slowly into the sky and the darkness in His eyes spreads almost shining out from his eyes and obscuring his face. Opposite him several paces away Anwar too is slowly raising His arms as His eyes glow a brilliant white blotting out His face as well. Soon a muffled rumbling sound escapes into the darkness. Sonorous and grinding like an earthquake at the bottom of the deepest parts of the ocean. A thin plane slightly less dark than the surroundings emerges, quickly rising to be waist level with the two. 2 meters wide by 4 meters long the surface of the plane begins to undulate as varying landscapes rise up from the surface. Mountains, desserts, forests, great sweeping swathes of frozen tundra and soon rivers, lakes, oceans fill. Following that villages, towns, and cities rise until a perfect miniaturized landscape of some great continent takes shape. Soon the noise and movement ends and the two step forward to stand 2 meters apart facing each other with the long plane stretching out to either of Their sides.


    "You have chosen?" asks a stone faced Anwar


    "Of course." replies Marduk curtly


    "Speak then trickster, whom do you chose?" asks a frowning Anwar.


    "Elethan Mordred, second son of Kennethan Mordred, lord and descended ruler of The Eastern Moonrise Empire." answers Marduk with no hesitation.


    "Second son?" asks Anwar frown growing deeper "He''s not a king."


    "Does it matter?" asks Marduk "Should I review The Rule for you? It has been a thousand yea.."


    "Enough!" says Anwar sternly "I know The Rule, having written a good portion of it Myself, as You well know. It matters little to Me if You chose a youth who, as of yet, has no guarantee of even becoming king. It works quite well for Me, in fact. Should Your chosen die or lose the fight for king I win with ease!"


    Smiling slyly Marduk chuckles and says "Heheh.... King or not my decision stands. And Your chosen?"


    "Chand Hawking. Lord and descended ruler of The Hawking Kingdom." intones Anwar smiling pleasedly at His choice. Taking into account how young Chand had been he when had been crowned, 15, the king had done wonders. The Hawks, as their enemies called them, had for hundreds of years been nearly undefeatable in defending their homeland. Weathering countless attempts of conquer from neighboring kingdoms, the small land focused on securing their borders. Being small and surrounded by enemies the people of the hawk were known to be ferocious but they had little resources and even less trade.  Using its centralized location Chand developed safe and protected trade routes through his lands. With not only shorter but safer tradeways available the neighboring lands quickly signed non aggression treaties and trade deals. During the 20 years of Chand''s rule the kingdom had transformed into something almost unrecognizable to its former self. While wealth and prosperity have inspired intense loyalty from the citizenry, a large influx in taxes has pushed the kingdoms armed forces to be one of the best trained, most armed, and most well fed armies on the continent. Anwar nodded His head in satisfaction. Surrounded by allies, with a fortified interior, a booming economy, and fiercely loyal subordinates this kingdom would be the bastions of His Divine Will.


    "Chand?... How... expected." says Marduk dryly.


    Smiling widely Anwar laughs and says "Hahah... Expected or not, I will watch as you break Your teeth on THIS nut."


    "Perhaps.." says Marduk with a sneer "Have you chosen a champion yet?"


    "I have." replies Anwar smile widening "And you?"


    "There is one I like.. but nothing is certain yet." says Marduk turning his head acting aloof.


    Snapping his head back suddenly Marduk gives his patent sneer and says "You just keep It safe for me. I''ll be taking It from you shortly."


    Laughing once again and waving his hand Anwar says "Hahahah.... Of course, of course. But until then, shall we make contact?"


    Eyebrows raising, eyes widening, corners of the mouth rising Marduk finally gives a full faced smile and excitedly says "Yes.. Let''s."


    A sucking POP! and both men are gone. Only the miniature model of the continent remains. Watching it for some time the light on the model begins to dim and the colors of night paint the landscape. Lights begin to spring up across the land. First single dots of light spring up signifying the flame from bonfires that villages in the outlands keep burning all night long. Next lightowers along the coast brighten with their slow strobing turns. And soon the thousands of little lights from the bigger towns and cities begin to shine as the lampmen light their lamps to illuminate the streets at night. In one such city, in the north central part of the continent a prince sleeps a dreamless sleep, wholly unaware of the great events that will soon swirl about him and even hinge upon his every decision.

 Elethan

    Eastern Moonrise Empire-


    His sleep was dreamless. The night was quiet. Still... He woke with a deep and uneasy feeling. The second his mind


    came to wakefulness and he experienced the unpleasant feeling he knew. Something was wrong. Opening his eyes


    and staring at the white ceiling he thinks back on the nights events. Training to be his brother''s adviser his schedule


    was archery, swordplay, philosophy, economics, military tactics, medicine, and agriculture. From sun up to sun


    down preparing to be the best Royal Aide for his brother, the future king, was the single focus of his life. After that it


    was dinner with a minor noble to keep familiarity with lower nobility and finally a few moments for himself which


    consisted of drinks with the ruffs down at Dock''s End and picking up a petite little whore from Shelly''s. All very


    normal. Vividly recalling Shelly''s Moonlight Consortium a warm smile spreads across his face. "Aahhh Shelly''s" he


    thinks as the unpleasant feeling temporarily flees from his mind. After turning 18 this year his father had rented


    out the large and private establishment, and he had camped out there for 10 days. Good food, strong liqour, and


    clean girls. Each one inspected every week, mind you, guaranteed clean and, of course, beautiful.


    With pleasant memories filling his mind Elethan stretches out spread eagle, his arms and legs reaching left and


    right. Even like this there could be another one of him stretched out just the same on either side and they still


    wouldn''t touch each other or reach the edge of the bed. Thinking this with a smile, his eyes suddenly widen and he


    turns his head left and right.


    "The whore" he says quietly to himself. Of course. That must have been his uneasy feeling. She wasn''t in his bed. What was her name again? Korin?... Karin? The fading look of curiosity on his face seems to signify that it doesn''t really matter that much. Anyway she probably left in the night. Under normal circumstances a person would be worried that her fingers might have been a bit sticky on the way out the door but not Elethan. Thinking of his guards using her late departure as an excuse to "search" her and then having their own fun made Elethan smirk a bit.


    "Ah.. well. Can''t be helped i suppose. Not like they''d ever be able to afford such a fine woman on their own." he voices into the darkness of the room smiling.


    Just then, as if in answer to his comment, a high pitched, boyish voice spoke back from the area of his giant 3 meter wide balcony windows. "Oh... I don''t know... I''ve noticed most commoner guards to be quite thrifty with their pay. In but a few months they could save up the gold if they chose to, i think." the voice spoke in a casual tone. Not threatening but not weak, like it had been part of a conversation and it was only natural to respond.


    Elethan froze. His mind spinning quickly into panic but not quite. Feelings before thoughts flashed through his mind. Shock, fear, subtle anger, quickly replaced with understanding. This person wasn''t here to kill him. Only a professional assassin would be able to come to his room without the whole palace going bat shit crazy and professional assassins don''t warn their targets of their presence... ever. "So..." he thinks his breathing and heart rate slowly calming from the shock "He''s an extremely skilled person that doesn''t want me dead. Otherwise I''d be dead already."


    Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly he deliberately sits up in his bed, with no sudden or quick movements, and looks toward the direction of the voice. The moment his gaze lands on the person before him he knows. This will forever be the most vivid memory I will ever have.


    A boy stands there... perhaps 12. The room itself is nearly pitch black but the boy stands out as if possessed of an inner light. He stands there as if cast in bright day light, clearly seen, while the rest of the room remains in the grip of a moonless night. Shirtless, long dark grey hair, midnight black tight fitting pants and boots, and where the ring of color should be in his eyes there is only black. Not just black but void... empty... as if the inner parts of his eye were dug out and replaced with a light devouring hole that has no bottom. All this being startling enough there was also his wings... yes wings. Growing from his back, moving and twitching in a way that would be impossible to fake, were transparent wings. Each hair of each feather made from some glass like substance that was both supple and brittle at the same time. As the boy took a step further toward the bed these wings gave off a whisper quiet tinkling reinforcing the idea they are made of some unidentified fine crystal.


    "But, then again, a common guard probably has a different point of view than you, right?" the boy says smiling and striding forward. *tinkle *tinkle He stands at the end of the bed.


    "I suppose it''s just a matter of perspective.." says the boy spinning sideways to showcase his wings.


    After spinning sideways, lifting his nose, and tapping his chin for a second clearly acting out the fact that he''s thinking he says "After all for many of them living through the day is quite the achievement... Let alone saving for months just to get a high priced whore."


    Watching this whole performance Elethan''s mind is spinning. From the second he caught sight of this boy he felt it. Before he saw the boy... nothing. Just a normal night. Dark, perhaps, but normal. After... the pressure. The pressure of a far exalted existence. The One before him could destroy him... destroy the city... destroy the kingdom... perhaps even the world. Who knew? Unending power wrapped in a delicate and gentle frame. All thoughts of assassins or unappreciative nobles flew from his mind and he was only left with one question. What could this God want with him?


    "Heheheh... Speechless. Very good! That''s the correct response!" says the boy clapping and smiling broadly with his whole face. "Now then, since you are properly awed, this exalted messenger will now transmit his message!"


    "Wait, wait... messenger?" asks Elethan suddenly.


    The boy freezes with his hands outstretched, his eyes swiveling back to land on Elethan. Slowly his hands drop and a small grimace becomes fixed on his face. Crossing his arms, he begins tapping his foot as if impatient.


    "That''s right." says the boy raising one eyebrow


    "Messenger of who?" asks Elethan his mind slowly starting to work properly again.


    "Neplu" speaks the boy. One word. Said simply and matter of factly, as if that wasn''t the volcano erupting, earth quaking, world shattering answer that it was. Immediately scenes flash through Elethan''s mind. Scenes from his life. Times he''d bowed at Neplu''s alter. Times he''d seen his father kneel in reverence and prayer. Times he''d called out Neplu''s name for strength in a duel. Times he''d called out Neplu''s name for strength as he was about to cum. Neplu was not just his God, not just his father''s God, Neplu was Lord Of The Night... Protecter of the kingdom and God to all who called The Eastern or Western Moonrise Empire their home.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Without even being consciously aware of it Elethan was out of his bed and kneeling prostrate on the floor. On his knees bowing so low his forehead was mere  inches from the ground he smiled as his mind finally caught up to his actions. Whatever the reason was, whether it be a life time of living in the court or his lifetime of worshiping Neplu, something had clicked inside him which led him to quickly get out of his bed and, with both knees, kneel in front of this heavenly messenger without him even thinking about it. "Thank the GODS!!" he thought. Sitting in bed dumbfounded in the face of Neplu''s messenger was just about all he could think to do until then. But now with his head bowed and on his knees the pressure his mind felt was greatly lessened. He could think. Such a simple thing but so much better than before.


    "Before you start pondering on the nature of you situation perhaps you''d like to hear my message..." spoke the boy


    With the sinking feeling that everything he had done so far from the moment he awoke to now had been planned or predicted in some way, Elethan spoke again. "Please, exalted messenger. What message does Neplu have for this insignificant prince?"


    "Tomorrow you will be king." the messenger says simply.


    It took only a moment for these words to register with Elethan. He was the second son of his father King Kennethan Mordred. There was only one way for him to be king tomorrow. The message was straight forward. Tonight his father and brother would die, or perhaps disappear without a trace, there was no other way. Following that thought there was only one reason a king and heir would die in the same night. "Assassins" he whispered.


    "Heheheh... master said you were smart! That''s exactly right. Assassins have come!" said the boy clapping and smiling again. His holes-for-eyes making the whole thing look unnatural and unnerving.


    Looking at the unnerving little boy Elethan''s eye begins to twitch. Something''s not right. Being a diligent student of philosophy and logic, as well as mathematics and science, he realizes something is missing from this equation. Motive. That''s it. There''s no point. "If my father and brother are both dead then I will become king with or without this message from Neplu. Surely a mortal such as me can''t understand the will and whim of the Gods but if Neplu wishes me to know these events before hand there must be something He wants me to do." thinks Elethan.


    Heart pounding hard in his ears Elethan asks "What does Neplu wish of His servant?" wanting to put an end to the charade.


    "Heheheh... Smart and even smarter still!" claps the boy smiling. "It is just so, Neplu requires an act of faith in order to grant you the right to be king."


    This is it. Elethan''s heart drops. Neplu was never the most lenient of Gods. With Glory comes Death of your enemies. With the lofty heights of victory comes the lowliness of the defeated. In short, with Neplu, all things come at a cost, even if you are not the one to bare it.


    "I understand." speaks Elethan with reverence. "What act of faith will Neplu task me to perform?"


    "It''s simple." says the boy with a mischievous grin. "You must kill you brother... Tonight."


    Thinking it through Elethan began to understand. "We''re too young." he thought "Our ages too close together." It had been a known fact throughout the Eastern Empire for a decade that Elethan was far superior to his brother Aremus. Already slightly taller and more muscular, Elethan also had a quick mind and an easy going nature that caused him to be seen as approachable. Charismatic, with long dark hair and pale blue eyes, even his looks were on another level compared to his chubby, self serving, overly prideful brother. The king was young still, with the first vestiges of grey just barely beginning to show in his beard, so most of the court nobles, instructors, even the citizenry believed Aremus still had time to grow into his own before he would need to worry about the throne. But now that time would not be given. Assassins were coming... or rather  had come. Tomorrow his brother would wake as king with a far more talented younger brother standing next to him. Even the slow witted Aremus would be able to clearly see the natural progression of these events.


    "You understand, of course..." questions the boy in a low tone "Your father is dead already. There''s no saving him."


    Elethan shakes his head and his eyes look down in guilt. "What a useless shit of a son i am." he thinks. Saving his father had not even crossed his mind.


    "Aremus is dense but even he can see your a better fit as king." continues the boy "He will have you killed at the very first opportunity. But take heart! The Great God Neplu has seen fit to offer you His protection and council."


    Elethan looks back up with tears in his eyes at the dark angel of a boy who is now standing over him.


    "Take this" the boy says in a very serious tone while flinging a thin bladed dagger to stick tip down next to Elethan. "Pay the blood price for your kingdom and Neplu will reward you." After that he turns and flies tinkling to the windows throwing them open, clearly about to depart.


    Abruptly stopping he turns quickly back and says in a giggling voice "Oh, I almost forgot. There is a boy in the capital. A young noble of a minor house. Corbin Hargrave is his name. Neplu has blessed him as His champion and councils you to foster and develop this boy. He will become a great asset for you in the coming days. And lastly keep our meeting and the things I have told you secret, even from Se-.. I mean Corbin."


    After that he turns and disappears through the balcony window, the quiet tinkling growing distant. Remaining there on his knees for some minutes, Elethan has a look of numb shock on his face. After some time his eyes slowly drift down to land on the dagger still stuck into the floorboards to his right. A fierce look begins to settle on his face as he stares at the dagger until finally he reaches out to grasp the handle. Weapon in hand he stands and turns toward the door to his large and lavish room. Standing there staring at the door his mind is swirling with thoughts of his father, thoughts of becoming king, which he had never planned to do, and thoughts of how he will clean up after the events of tonight. His fierce look begins to change subtly, over time transforming his naturally good looks into a face of grim determination. Quietly he speaks to the empty room "The Blood Price." then immediately strides through his door, into the hall, and points his feet in the direction of his brother''s room.

 Chand

    Hawking Kingdom


    Chand Hawking had never been a warrior. From a very early age he had been slightly over weight and timid when it  came to his fencing lessons. This, of course, had only caused his father, King Horst, to be even more severe and  critical of Chand. Often his father would lecture him acidicly in public and even take on the responsibility of sparring  with him. Calling those times a "sparring lesson" was a cruel joke in the end. More than a few times these practice sessions would end with a  battered, broken boned, and bloodied Chand lying unconscious on the floor as his father, red faced and raving of the  shame of having such a useless son, would continue to thrash his body with the heavy wooden practice sword. The  old King''s personal aides would then rush forward, knees firmly on the ground, screaming and begging the king to  stay his hand before the unconscious boy died of his wounds. Then for Chand it was another 4-6 weeks in bed, healing  whatever internal injury or broken bone his father had inflicted on him this time. Despite all that there was a silver  lining to all these broken bones and stitches. During these recovery times Chand was not required to do anything  except for rest and heal, which in turn left him with time to do the one thing that brought him any real joy in his hellish  childhood. Read.


    His mother had died before he could remember her, and his father, so focused on defending the kingdom''s borders from constant raids and invasions, had little time for him other than the occasional insulting lecture or  sporadic life threatening beating. So Chand had escaped his lack of self confidence and dismal loneliness in the world  of books. His every spare moment was spent reading, and if anyone ever lost track of him they only had to look one  place to find him. The palace library. The hawking kingdom was poor and focused entirely on its military, but even  so the palace still boasted a moderately sized collection of dusty old books. Large, chilly and dimly lit this echoing and musty room had  been his private sanctuary all throughout his childhood, and he had spent more nights sleeping face down on the  large uncomfortable wooden table and bench at the center of the room than he had in his own chambers.


    Thinking back on these things,  Chand couldn''t help but have visions of the last time his father had beaten him unconscious. Flashing through his mind, as he lies in bed still awake at whatever ungodly hour it was, he sees scenes from his past. First Garrett, the aide he owes his life to, then his father stumbling drunkenly into his room later that night, and lastly he  hears the THUD! that began his reign as king.


    "Mehhhhh..." he sighs into the darkness of his personal chambers. He rarely ever slept more than a couple hours at a  time and tonight, it seems, would be no different.


    Lying there gazing at the pale indigo ceiling of his room he clicks his tongue in vexation. According to the idiot  foreign decorator he had hired, the color was supposed to sooth him and make it easier to relax. In truth all it did  was secretly irritate him to no end because of the ridiculous cost of the rare indigo paint. What was worse, he  couldn''t bring himself to paint over it because it had been so damn expensive! Obviously he could move his  personal sleeping quarters, but what would he say should anyone ask? Chand was not in the habit of lying, even to  avoid embarrassment. He grimaced at the thought of admitting he had been chased out of his own chambers because  he disliked the color of the ceiling but couldn''t bring himself to change it. He could hear the minstrels and street  performers now! The jokes would be boundless!


    *There once was a king named Chand*


    *Who ruled the brave Hawking land*


    *He got out of bed*


    *Raised up his head*


    *And cried "Eww, the color!" and ran!!*


    Chand shivered. "No, no" he thought "much better to just keep the shitty color."


    Just as his mind was piecing together another self debasing limerick, his eyes began to register a faint difference in the light coming from outside the bay windows at the far end of the room. Raising his body into a sitting position  his sight slid across the length of his chambers. Noting the bearskin rug and, farther on, the red velvet couch and matching chair, he continued until his gaze landed upon the windows. He was not wrong. There is definitely a faint golden glow clearly visible through the  see through curtains hung opulently across the glass.


    "Grr... idiot decorator." the thought flutters across his mind because of the useless curtains.


    Dragging his mind from the still half asleep state he had been in, the king tried to think of what this soft light could  be. Like many men of importance, the room in which he slept was far from the ground. Its not an absolute safeguard  but why make it easier for assassins? So what was this light that reminded him so much of the soft glow of a  campfire? ...campfire. Fire.


    His eyes snap wide open and his body stiffens like a limp rope suddenly jerked taut. The royal palace was placed on  a wide hill just inside the northern edge of the capitol and the view from that window was a landscape of the sprawling  city, Corus, for as far as the eye could see in any direction. Light. Fire. Was Corus burning!?!


    "shit-shit-shit-shit-SHIT!!" he says as his mind spins rapidly into panic and he flings off his goose down comforter.  Crawling at the highest possible speed toward the end of his long bed, doughy arms and legs flailing wildly like  some insane oversized toddler, he gets tangled in his silk calf length sleeping gown and falls clumsily off the foot of his bed and onto the hard wood floor, face first.


    "Fruckin groah..." he groans unintelligibly as he props himself up on the floor. Head spinning from the impact he  lifts a hand to pinch off his lightly bleeding nose. It takes only a moment to gain his bearing and he snaps his head  back to the window. And there, just at that moment, his world froze. No more thoughts of his father, no more  needlessly large death trap beds, no more broken bleeding nose, because there, just outside the window a woman  could be seen through the curtains. Floating there as if standing on solid ground the beautiful woman radiated a  soft golden aura that cast the illusion of her standing in the noon day sun while her surroundings were left  untouched by the light. With long blonde hair gathered to the side and flung over her shoulder to trail down her  ample chest, her face had a beauty incomparable to any other woman he had ever known. Her proportions were  balanced, her features perfect, and she was dressed in a full length dark green silk robe with a wide pale green sash  around her stomach rising to just below her breasts. The outfit reminded him of the style the women who hail  from the eastern islands tend to dress in. Her expression was clearly one of mild amusement as she waited, hands clasped in front of her waist, staring at him with a slight gentle smile on her face.


    Beginning to come back to himself a bit the king quickly understands the source of her amusement.


    "After all look at me" he thinks. Aging, over weight, balding, kneeling at the foot of his own bed, one leg still tangled  in his silk night gown, bleeding from the nose with a look of profound idiotic shock painted all over his face.


    Inwardly groaning at the faaaar from noble first impression he had given this heavenly beauty, he takes a moment  to free himself from his gown and wipe the blood off his clean shaved lip. Rising he attempts to brush the wrinkles  out of his clothes with his hands, as if it were even possible to look dignified in what is essentially a dress for men.  He then lifts his gaze again to see something he will never forget for the rest of his life.


    Noticing the king had prepared himself to receive her she came forward. She did not step, but instead seemed to  simply will herself ahead, as she moved toward Chand. But what had stunned the king speechless for the second  time in less than a minute was what had happened when her aura came into contact with the glass of the window. It  melted. No, more precisely it evaporated into nothingness and all that was left behind of the glass and wood of the  window and the disgusting curtains was a perfect, woman shaped, hole.


    "Goodbye shitty curtains!" the thought ran madly through his mind "You will not be missed!"


    Chand had seen magic. He had seen the paladins of Mawu call down her blessing to consecrate lost and vengeful spirits after a large battle in the south-lands once. He had seen the priests of his own God Anwar call upon his name  to heal terminally ill and permanently disabled citizens during the Yule celebration at the temple every year since he  was a boy. He had even seen the wild elementals, able to wield their inborn power to great and terrible effect. But never before had he seen such a precise, gentle, and profound use of magic. No long drawn out prayers or mumbo  jumbo chanting. No strange and ungainly body movements and certainly no wild explosion of power like that of the  elementals. This magic was subtle and seemed without effort on the part of the caster.


    That''s when it hit him. This woman was no mortal. Goddess. The word stuck like a splinter in his mind.


    "Get a hold of yourself." he thinks mentally slapping himself in the face. As his wits gradually begin to return the lady speaks.


    "This messenger greets King Chand Hawking, lord and descended ruler of The Hawking Kingdom." The small grin still on her face the Goddess gives the barest of nods with her head. Her voice is indescribably beautiful with a hint of fierce pride, akin to the waves of the ocean. Soft yet powerful. Enchanting yet terrifying.


    A lesser man would be on his knees by now, groveling and kissing the feet of this embodiment of perfection standing before them. But he was Chand Hawking. Other men may hold pride in their strength of arm, Chand''s pride hung on his strength of mind. An avid student of behavior and diplomacy, he had stood toe to toe at the negotiating table with some of the most powerful rulers on the continent. In the twenty years of his reign, using words alone, and not swords, he had single handedly transformed his lands into a shining beacon of strength and prosperity. The wide eyed king began to have a feeling. As if watching all the mismatched pieces of his life come drifting together. Like parts of a puzzle or the tumblers of a lock it began to form a picture or perhaps open some door that had forever been closed in his mind. The realization that all the events of his life, from his first memories to falling off that accursed bed, had been leading him, perfectly and inexorably, to this moment gave Chand a deep and meaningful sense of being exactly where he was meant to be. This moment was his destiny. An opportunity designed by fate specifically for him and him alone. It would not be missed.


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    "This King greets The Heavenly Goddess." Chand replies while performing a perfect courtly bow over his slightly round stomach.


    Her speech pattern and tempo were a bit strange but he easily reproduced them. A subtle strategy designed to quietly create feelings of familiarity between two people.


    "Probably useless in this situation." thinks Chand "But every little bit helps."


    "Lower not your head, Chosen, there is no need to bow low to a messenger." her soft words have a hint of the grin on her face.


    Fixing his face with his most open and honest smile, not too big mind you, just enough to imply the person he''s speaking with is welcome and trusted, he slowly lifts his head, but not without noting what she had referred to him as. Chosen. This word sends his mind reeling but there''s no time to ponder it. Even now his sight is moving from the oak floorboards, sliding up her shapely figure toward her face, each feature of her body more perfect than the last. From her slim, delicate fingers to the natural way her-


    "NO, no... can''t be distracted." thinks the king, skillfully hiding any signs of his thoughts.


    Lowering the corner of his mouth and his middle brow just slightly, Chand feigns a look of worry and says "This king must express his concern. This king shudders to think of the frightening Master who could send such a powerful and beautiful Goddess as his messenger."


    Chand knew his intentionally not-so-veiled question was pointless. If she could reveal her master''s name she probably would without his asking, and if she couldn''t, his asking certainly wouldn''t convince her to do so. But still, a little flattery never hurt, and besides he was quickly growing accustomed to her tempo.


    Every person has a tempo. A personal beat they impose on their conversations and actions. A beautiful music that defines them. From his earliest remembrances Chand could hear the silent songs of the people around him. Some quick and sharp. Others slow and melodious. Others still were buzzing and erratic. Thousands of rhythms, with an infinite number of unique combinations, and Chand was born with the gift of being able to hear and understand this flow of sound. The Goddess before him was like a beautiful string symphony, gentle and steady, immediately followed by a resounding crescendo of prideful trumpets. In his mind he pictured a single leaf floating gently on the first cool breeze of an oncoming, earth shaking, thunderstorm.


    This was Chand''s true talent. The secret skill he kept only to himself, never revealing even a hint to another living soul. In his heart Chand didn''t fully understand the skill himself. Only knowing that he had been doing it out of habit since he was a young boy and there had not been a single person, short of his father, that he had not been able to win over and be friendly with. When he was crowned at the young age of 15, he began to learn how to use this strange intuition as a weapon of sorts. Introducing his own beats he could easily disrupt the flow of an opponent, or throw them off balance by perfectly reproducing their rhythm. Right now he is doing his utmost to compliment the strange melody of the woman before him, each gesture and word gently adding forward momentum to her natural flow.


    "All that can be revealed, will be revealed in the message." the zephyr like voice of the goddess gains a sharp edge as the amused smile melts into a mask of focus and pride.


    "Ahh... the trumpets..." thinks the king, smiling inwardly in satisfaction.


    Advancing the flow perfectly, he curtly bows, just his head this time, and speaks in a strong clear voice "Understood."


    Lifting his head he greets the Goddess with an expression that is a near mirror copy of her own.


    "This King Stands Ready." he speaks with a loud but not overbearing tone.


    Seeing the barely perceptible and probably unconscious nod of approval from the Goddess, another invisible smile of satisfaction blossoms inside of Chand.


    "King Chand Hawking. Lord of Light and High God Anwar has looked upon your works and they are pleasing to His eye. The people are prosperous. The land is at peace. Truth and fairness govern the court. Three good works. Thus three blessings will the king receive. For a lifetime of work for the prosperity of the people, Anwar bestows upon you the title, King Chand Hawking [Lord of the Morning]!!" Intoning his title grandly the Goddess spreads her hands wide above her head.


    "This title is a gift not just to you but also to your people." she continues "Let it be known in all lands, King Chand [Lord of the Morning] has received recognition in the eyes of High God Anwar. Let the people hear and, through reverence, come closer to his Heavenly Light."


    Anwar. The name crashed into his ears like the sound of every peal of thunder he had ever heard coupled with the sound 10,000 horses charging at full gallop. Anwar had been the one Lord and God of the Hawking kingdom since its creation. Years of the kings life had been dedicated to His teachings. Quickly the phantom crashing sound was replaced by the repetitious sucking sound of his blood rushing in his ears. Chand could not speak. He couldn''t think. In fact it took every ounce of his will to remain silently standing there, too dumbfounded to do much of anything else. Mercifully the message went on.


    "For bringing peace and safety to the land, and stemming the endless flow of blood, High God Anwar grants you the gift of being His Chosen. As Chosen of High God Anwar you will have access to Divine Council. Should danger arise, He will guide your steps on the path to victory."


    Pausing for a small moment, her next words are said in a softer more solemn tone.


    "High God Anwar bid this messenger to pass a warning." she says staring intently into Chand''s eyes "King Chand must never allow others to know of this. The enemies of High God Anwar will use secret and evil means to target you."


    Still doing everything in his power just to remain standing, Chand weakly nodded his head.


    Nodding her head as well the Goddess lifts her voice.


    "Lastly, for fostering and encouraging truth and fairness in the court, High God Anwar sends King Chand His champion. A youth, picked amongst all young swordsmen of the Hawking Kingdom, who will be granted with Anwar''s Blessing of Strength. Seek out Lucian Deschain of House Deschain in Corus. Foster and encourage him on the path of light as you have for many others."


    Ending her speech with a step backward her final words to Chand this evening sound forth.


    "The message has been given. King Chand [Lord of the Morning], your faith has been rewarded. Continue to walk in The Light." spinning on her heel she exits in the same manner she had entered. As she disappears from sight through the woman shaped hole in the window a meaty Thud! can be heard from the room behind her.


    Chand Hawking is on his hands and knees, shivering and drenched in sweat, while his breath comes in rasping gulps. In his mind his thoughts bounce erratically from one place to the next as long seconds pass. Just as his body begins to come back under his control once again, a gentle "Ahem" can be heard from the window. Forcing his body up into a kneeling position he catches sight of the blue eyed Goddess who is viewing him through the window.


    "Back?" he thinks making sure the confusion doesn''t show on his face "why?"


    Smiling coyly and speaking in a supremely gentle tone she says "Chand, I know this is a lot to take in but don''t be fearful. Anwar chose you above all others. In His eyes, only you have been deemed worth of His personal attention. Your mind is special Chand, and in your presence all others are just a bunch of... Blockheads!"


    Flinging out the last word the Goddess flies off giggling... actually... giggling, and Chand is left more confused than at any point so far tonight. Her tempo... her natural music was completely different. This new sound was like a single flute, lilting and mischievous. In his mind Chand pictured a sparrow playing gleefully among the trees of a forest. Was it because her role as messenger had ended and this was her true personality? In truth Chand much preferred this version, it seemed less life threatening.


    Still trying to over come the shock of this evenings events, Chand plans out his actions for the coming day.


    "First the boy" he whispers to the empty room. He will seek out this Lucian Deschain immediately.


    "Then my title" his broad satisfied smile no longer bottled up within him but showing clearly on his face. He will announce his title and the same day command a re-dedication of the Hawking Kingdom to High God Anwar, and a 3 day national celebration in praise and thanks to Him. Pondering further he decides to have the highest priest of Anwar confirm his title to the public, so as to avoid any confusion or rumors.


    Standing and preparing himself for the work ahead he quietly grumbles "I''ll probably have to draw them a picture... blockheads!"


    A/N- Lots of exposition... Next chapter picks up the pace a bit.

 Lucian

    Hawking Kingdom, Corus-


    Clack clack.... CLACK! The sharp sound of wood on wood sounds out as three men surround a fourth in broad daylight. Circling the man slowly as he stands in the center of an open air courtyard, the three men keep their lower body in constant motion. Balancing lightly on the balls of their feet, ready to advance or retreat at a moments notice, their coordinated movements scream experience, both in battle and with each other. With grimaces of intense concentration and grudging respect, they wield heavy pieces of dark wood which have been carved into the rough shape of a two handed sword. Large drops of sweat roll down their faces as they stare fixedly at the man between them, clearly indicating this battle had gone on for some time. Gradually the tension begins to rise as the three prepare for their next coordinated attack.


    On closer inspection of the man in the center it becomes clear that calling him a man may be a bit premature. His long hair, the color of dark honey, is pulled tight behind his head and tied with length of white cloth, revealing a bright and youthful face. The young man is tall and fit, but not overly muscular, and his strong jaw line and good looks give him the appearance of a handsome, young, high born lord. Not to mention his deep green eyes that had weakened the knees, and the resolve, of a fair number of young ladies in the capitol. His posture is firm, yet relaxed as he waits for the three men to position themselves for their next assault. Sensing the movement of the man directly behind him begin to slow, he lowers himself slightly toward the packed earth floor of the courtyard into a defensive stance. Tightening his grip on his weapon he ceases any thought and completely quiets his mind. Taking in all five senses, he calmly exists in a world without distraction. His body and weapon become one, his mind attains clarity, and a look of serenity emerges onto his face. He is ready.


    Standing at the edge of the courtyard Jacov Gremory watches his student''s duel against the three battle hardened warriors. The sturdy old man with short cropped salt and pepper hair observes the fight with equal measures pride and concern. Missing his left arm just below the elbow, his body slowly failing with age, it had been nearly three years since he could even hold the boy to a draw in their training sessions. Thus he had been forced to call upon the personal guards of the young man''s father, and Jacov''s oldest friend, Lars. Jacov knew Lucian had long since gotten used to fighting two at a time, and so today he had decided to throw a third well paid and highly skilled man into the session. Lucian Deschain. Thinking his pupils name caused warm and vivid memories to run through his mind.


    He had met the boy in that magical time in between when a child first learns to walk and when they first begin to talk. Never having children of his own he had quickly developed feelings of deep fatherly affection for him. His instruction began before he had even spoken his first word. The child would sit and watch as he moved his feet through different stances and movements and soon began to copy Jacov and follow along with his practice. The lessons continued and, all things concerned, events were progressing well, except for one point. By the age of four Lucian had still not uttered an intelligible word. He would point and grunt, he would shake or nod his head in response to questions, and he followed instructions to the letter, but if he was asked to speak or for a more in depth answer than a nod, the boy would simply shrug his shoulders with a stupid grin and look elsewhere. There was no physical explanation and no way to force him to speak, and so it was decided to simply continue on as if nothing were wrong. That all ended the day Lucian, four now, was presented with his first practice sword.


    As the boy sat with crossed legs in front of him, Jacov began a long and droning lecture about the importance of caring for a sword. Ensuring that he covered all the points of safety and etiquette in careful detail, from just after breakfast until just before lunch the lesson had continued uninterrupted. After eating he had led the boy to the open air courtyard set aside for martial practice and presented the wooden sword to the youth hilt first. Watching as the boy took care not to touch the "blade" portion of the weapon, Jacov nodded in satisfaction and instructed him to turn and stand facing away. As his student did so, Jacov approached him and knelt, wrapping both arms around him and adjusted the boys grip until his right hand rested on the upper portion of the hilt and the top finger of his left hand was interlocked with the pinky finger on his right. He then aligned the child''s thumbs so that they pointed straight ahead toward the tip of the blade. Having observed the way Lucian''s wrists had trembled while holding the weapon he could tell it was slightly too heavy, despite being made an appropriate size for his age. This grip would unify his hands and stabilize his wrists, increasing his control in the short term while his body catches up to the weight of the of the wood.


    With his aim achieved he stood and said to the boy "Hold the sword like this for now."


    And that''s when it happened. The boy spoke his first word. A word that would become the bane of his teacher''s existence for the next 13 years. A word his teacher would hear in his nightmares too many times to count.


    With a quiet, soft, and tiny voice, the boy had tilted his head to the side with a quizzical expression and asked "Why?"


    Hold it like this. Why? Swing it like this. Why? Extend further. Why? Don''t focus your attention to strongly on any one thing. Why? An endless procession of the same question, asked in the same manner, and the boy would accept nothing less than a complete and thorough explanation to whatever point had piqued his curiosity. Over time he had learned to speak normally, of course, but his overwhelmingly favorite word, by a large margin, was "why".


    The shiver running down his spine at the thought of the accursed word snapped Jacov out of his reverie just in time to notice the tension of the combatants rise sharply, without doubt the assault of the guards would resume in the next second or so. Looking to Lucian he sees a serene and comfortable expression on his face which doesn''t have drop of sweat on it.


    "Hmph..." he grumbles quietly to himself "they''re not even pushing him. Why drag it out, fool? Just end it."


    Just as the last word had escaped his teacher''s mumbling lips Lucian felt the guard who had been slowly approaching from behind, dash forward and attempt a fierce downward blow to the back of his head. Utilizing the full range of his agility and reflexes, he swiftly spins around to his right, exposing his left and right rear flank to the other two opponents, and uses a sweeping over head chop to impact the incoming blow from the side, knocking it off course. Keeping the wooden blades in contact, he follows the momentum until the tip of the guards sword digs into the packed earth floor of the courtyard. Not wasting even a fraction of a second he immediately lands a hard back elbow to the guards nose, crushing it flat against his face in such a spectacular fashion that blood seemed to explode from the impact in all directions. Releasing his sword and letting out a very undignified shriek, the guard falls on his ass clutching at his flattened and crooked nose which is leaking blood faster than a punctured water skin.


    Ignoring the spluttering and temporarily disabled guard for now, Lucian turns to his direct right and meets the horizontal slash from the approaching guard on his right flank. With no time to avoid or deflect the power of the strike, he can only stand there and receive the blow with his weapon. Bending his knees, locking his wrists and elbows, loosening his shoulders, and taking a half step back with his right leg, Lucian spreads the impact from the heavy practice sword to every joint in his body. A sharp intake of breath from the guard, as his sword is stopped abruptly in its tracks, speaks volumes of his shock, but Lucian has no time to capitalize on this moment as he drops and rolls swiftly to his left, narrowly avoiding the diagonal swipe of the third guard. Coming out of the roll on one knee he executes a back handed swipe to his right. A loud crack! sounds out as the blunt yet thin edge of the hard wood sword collides with the first guards head. The man goes limp and slips into unconsciousness, blissfully escaping the pain of his crushed nose. Standing quickly and taking two sprinting steps forward, Lucian hears the sound of whooshing air as two wooden practice swords slice through the space his body had just occupied. Spinning gracefully once again, his body slips into a defensive stance out of long habit, ready for the next attack.


    "One down, two to go." Thinks Lucian with no good or bad feelings, easily maintaining his mind''s state of clarity and serenity.


    The two remaining guards look to each other out of the corner of their eyes, silently coming to an agreement, and nod. The next few seconds of the bout are a blur of ferocious chops, sly feints, and swift slashes as the two attempt to simply overwhelm Lucian with superior skill, team work, and experienced tactics. At first it seems this strategy will be effective as the two pressure the young man into furiously defending himself with all his might. But then the sound of a slap!, almost overrun by a muffled snap! Lucian had finally counter attacked, slipping past the unbalanced defense of one of the guards, his weapon had impacted strongly against the man''s arm in the area just below the shoulder where the muscle is thin. The broken arm now hung uselessly at the man''s side. Using the short moment when the broken armed guard retreated out of reflex, Lucian deftly parried a slash from the last guard and then viciously crushed the man''s knee with a back hand swipe. With mind numbing pain coursing up from his leg, the guard fell flat on his ass and looked up just in time to see Lucian''s sword veritably ripping the air apart as it slashed down toward his head.


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    "YIELD!!" the terrified guard screamed hoarsely.


    "Yield.." nodded the broken armed guard in a more normal tone.


    Lucian had frozen the instant the first guard had yielded, his frame still as a statue, and his sword, held steady as a rock, had come so close to the third guards face that you could hear the stubble on the man''s cheek scrape against the wood as he pulled his wide eyed head away from the weapon.


    As he watched the skillful conclusion of the fight, Jacov''s emotions fluctuated wildly. He so badly wanted to praise his talented student, but he had learned years ago not to praise the simple minded boy. One word of compliment and the idiot would be filled with a fiery desire to improve even more. Abandoning himself to training, he would continue without rest until his body simply collapsed from exhaustion. As a child it was assumed that this behavior was just another quirk to his already strange personality, but when the connection was discovered it was decided, for the boys safety, no form of positive encouragement would be given. Thankfully though, it seemed the child didn''t need words of praise. His straightforward and honest character just needed to be shown the way and he would train diligently without encouragement. As these thoughts bounce through Jacov''s mind, he sees Lucian relax and straighten his posture. Standing there with a goofy grin on his face.


    "Good Fight!" he exclaims grin transforming into a broad and charming smile.


    "Ye-Yes sir..." hoarsely grunts the guard still gritting his teeth in pain.


    "Hhheeehh" sighing softly at his powerful but oblivious pupil he hollers out loud "Priest!"


    Just after a thin priest in white robes trimmed with gold filigree steps through the arched entryway to the courtyard. Softly jingling in his decorative attire he walks swiftly to the unconscious guard, bending over him. A golden pendant in the shape of a five point star surrounded by a circle, the holy symbol of Anwar, dangles from his neck as he places one hand on the guards broken bloody nose and the other on the gash in his scalp. In quiet whispers he speaks his prayer to Anwar, beseeching His strength and blessing to heal the injured man. A soft white light gradually starts to appear, emanating faintly from the priest''s hands as well as the holy symbol on his necklace. The light slowly intensifies before quickly dissipating and the healing is complete. The guard''s eyes flutter as he emits a groan and brings his hand to his face, gently feeling along his already uninjured nose.


    Satisfied the worst injury was seen to, Lucian walks toward a weapon rack at the edge of the courtyard and properly stores his weapon, then turns toward his teacher and casually approaches.


    "Well?" he asks, smiling stupidly


    "Took you long enough," replies Jacov gruffly "Toy with your enemies in a real fight, boy, and you''ll be on your back, starin'' at the sky forever."


    Smile turning sheepish, the youth looks to the side and mumbles in a low voice "Nothing wrong with a bit of exercise."


    Growling internally, Jacov puts on his most severe scowl, glaring at the boy.


    "Lucian, what you did today was very disrespectful." he scolds


    "Disrespectful?" asks Lucian head cocking to the side confused.


    "That''s right, boy. You toyed with those men for half an hour, lettin ''em tire themselves out on you. When you finally do attack, those poor men were so winded they were practically useless as you wiped the damn floor with ''em." continuing on in a very serious tone he says "Hear me Lucian, and remember. "If you must fight, win. Since you must win, do your best to win decisively" do you understand?"


    Watching the boys face change expressions as he chews on the words of wisdom that were just imparted to him, Jacov is feeling every inch the teacher. Highly proud of his own insights and advice, he sees understanding and acceptance slowly claim his students face.


    "Hmph," he thinks, ego beginning to swell "Seems this old dog still has a few tricks to teach after all."


    But just then, the look of acceptance vanishes from the young man''s face to be replaced by a mischievous grin.


    "I hear you jacov, and will remember, but I don''t think that the situation fits... how should i put it..." Lucian''s face then twists into a severe scowl. His inner brow dropping low while his outer brows rose high and the sides of his mouth pulled themselves down into a deep frown with one side just slightly lower than the other. In truth it was a rather good impression of Jacov''s permanently irritated expression. He then continues in a gravely serious tone, again quite similar to how Jacov had just been talking.


    "Since they must fight me, my father pays them. Since my father pays them, I will do my best to use them to the fullest."


    "Pffugh.. bleh.. glur..." sputtering in anger Jacov''s eyes turn fierce as he jumps at the boy attempting to lay hold of him "Use my sage advice to mock me will ya''? Ya'' shitty brat!" he bellows chasing after the fleeing Lucian. Swinging his good arm and trying to kick the disrespectful little punk in the ass, he finally gets lucky and trips him up.


    Looking up from the ground at his enraged, one armed teacher, Lucian is laughing hard and smiling so widely it was surprising his face didn''t split in half


    "HAHAHAH!!.. Yield! Yield, Jacov!... I YIELD! HAHAHAH." says the boy laughing maniacally.


    Sensing his revenge at hand, Jacov closes in and is just about to land a full forced kick to the ass when...


    "Ahem..." a voice is heard


    Looking up from their play the two see that the guards and priest have vacated the courtyard and in their place stands a young messenger. Over his shoulder to his hip a wide sash is hung in the gold and white colors of the royal palace.


    The boy steps forward and Jacov experiences a sinking feeling. Somehow he knows that, for whatever reason the boy is here, something very important... even life changing has come to pass.


    "Pardon the intrusion good sirs. I was told I might find the young master Lucian Deschain in this courtyard. Shall I presume that to be you?" he asks while looking down at Lucian still lying on his back in the dirt.


    Raising himself up Lucian dusts of his tan training uniform and says "Erm... Yes, I am Lucian Deschain."


    "Excellent." reaching behind his sash to retrieve a tightly rolled piece of paper, tightly bound with gold ribbon and white wax, and pressed with the seal of the royal palace, a soaring hawk with a serpent grasped in its talons, he Extends it to  Lucian "This message is for you."


    Stepping forward Jacov holds out his hand to take the paper saying "I''ll take it."


    Retracting the message immediately the boy bows low.


    "My humblest apologies, good sir, but my instructions are specific." says the boy "I must place this scroll directly into the hands of Lucian Deschain."


    Without a word Lucian walks forward and holds out his hand, upon which the message is placed directly. Unceremoniously breaking the seal, he then passes the message off to Jacov without even so much as a glance. Jacov unrolls the scroll and begins to read as the messengers face pales upon seeing this series of events. A long moment passes as Jacov reads, re-reads, and then does it all over again, ensuring that there was no mistake in his understanding. Lucian, impatient and curious, finally sighs in frustration.


    "Well?" he questions "what does it say?"


    "Its a summons." says Jacov, not looking up from the scroll.


    "For me?" asks Lucian head leaning "But I don''t have anything to do with the palace. I''ve never even met any of those high lords and ministers.... wait. Who''s it from?"


    Jacov lowers the message as he fixes his students deep green eyes with a meaningful look.


    "The King..."

 Corbin

    Eastern Moonrise Empire, Imperial Palace


    2000 years ago the moonrise empire had spanned the length of the known world. From Endless Sand''s dessert in the South to The Great Forrest in the North, the empire had spread itself to every inhabitable corner of the continent, but it was not to last. Over time, with no enemy to focus themselves on, the high ranking officials and nobility of the empire could only squabble amongst each other. The slow, festering evil of petty and jealous men in positions of power led to a large rift in the unity of the empire. Helped along greatly by the fire of young warriors, who had been raised on glorious stories of their fathers and grandfathers gleefully slaughtering the last remnants of resistance to the emperor, the southern portion of the empire declared independence... and war.


    Earth shaking battles were fought, on such a scale where millions of men could die from a single skirmish. The blood flowed like rivers, dozens of millions were slaughtered, the atrocities too numerous to count, and, over the course of a decade, an entire generation was nearly wiped from existence. After "The Decade of Death", as it would come to be known, a terrible peace was reached. Not from any agreement. Having drained the blood from a generation of its people, there were simply no more men left to do the fighting. The southern lands were left destitute and soon dissolved into the chaos of competing warlords vying for power amongst each other. Over time, kingdoms rose and fell to eventually settle into something close to the configuration it maintains today.


    As for the north, many of the people there had lost faith in their emperor and demanded his brother rule them. The emperor, having seen the fate of the southern lands, decided to do something drastic to save his empire. He split his lands in two and handed half to his brother, on the condition they sign a treaty and vow to forever be allies and support each other in all endeavors. Thus the eastern and western Moonrise Empires were born.


    The new eastern imperial palace, known to all as The New Moon Palace, was constructed entirely of black, white veined granite and polished to a high sheen. Built East of the capitol, Thoth, on a gentle rise in the natural terrain, with two domed towers connected to either side of a sprawling six story mansion, the grand estate and place of governance would sparkle like dark gem under the light of a full moon. Tonight was not a full moon. Tonight was a new moon. The lack of light casting the world into shades of charcoal grey and midnight blue. Within this bleak and oppressive landscape, hidden stealthily behind one of the many demon like gargoyle statues that line the mansion''s rooftop, a shadow moves. A small patch of light-sucking darkness amidst the near pitch black of the moonless scene. A shadow in the night filled with malicious intent. An assassin...


    Corbin Hargrave did not consider himself to be an evil person...  (demon) In his mind he felt more akin to a victim of circumstance. (hahahaha) He had been born to kill. Equipped from birth with the tools to take life. He didn''t always believe this but over time the evidence had become overwhelming. Gazing down at the void-like mist that obscured his body completely, he pondered, for the 10,000th time, if some dark entity had tricked or raped his mother to sire him. (just so, just so... hahahaha) If not a demon, then something... Something had given him (cursed you) these powers.


    Even though he was the first born son of House Hargrave his parents ignored him completely. Even the servants, forced to be around him, constantly wore looks of unease when they were near him, eternally fidgeting and jumping at his slightest movements. On the brighter side this had left him all the time he wanted to research and try to discover the origin of this strange power he possessed. Pouring himself into finding the answers to his questions since the age of six, a decade had passed and not even a clue had been unearthed. For the last three years his experiments and study of magic had become extremely expensive. So much so that even the finances of the noble Hargrave household could not hope to accommodate him. Having only one skill and needing money, and more importantly answers, he took up the only profession that made sense. Murder. (youkilledheryoukilledheryoukilledher)


    [SHUT UP!!] he bellows mentally to the voice in his head.


    (hahahahahah!)


    He had spent far too long in his "shroud" as he called it. A dark mist that completely obscured him and was able to match the shade of any shadow, rendering him, for all intents and purposes, invisible anywhere darkness was or a shadow was cast. Obviously a useful skill for an assassin but it came with a price, like anything he did with the darkness. The longer he maintained the shroud, the louder and more frequent the voice of the insane little girl came. It had taken almost a full day and most of a night to reach the rooftop, stealthily slipping from shadow to shadow. Avoiding servants and staff he crept his way right through the middle of the palace and gained access to the flat rooftop. This method would be, for any other person alive, absolutely insane. Under no circumstances would this method ever be possible for a normal man and even for him it was the most taxing and difficult task he had ever undertaken, but the reward was worth it.


    No money or rare enchanted item this time. His reward for this monumental and practically impossible task was equal to the difficulty. A book. A very special book. Whispered about in only the highest circles of wizardry and magic, its very existence was considered by most to be a myth. Marduk''s Tome. A dark and mythical mage of some time long since forgotten, it was said he could command a man''s own shadow to spring forth and devour him whole. Having heard of this legend through various means some years ago, Corbin had nearly shat himself when he had seen it listed as the reward of the contract that had been left for him at a dead drop south of the city. Finally a clue!! The soul binder contract all assassins used assured the reward was genuine. The enchantment on the ring left with the contract would dissipate and it would transform into the book upon the successful completion of the contract. Should the issuer fake the reward or the contract not be completed within a specified time frame, the spell on the contract would activate and one or the other would die. This was the standard practice, and a good practice it was if you asked Corbin. When calling for murder, one should be willing to place his own life on the line as well. (killerkillerkillerkiller)


    [Too long... far too long.] he thinks staring intently at his shroud again


    [Fine then... shall we visit his imperial majesty?] he questions himself or perhaps the girl in his head. Even he isn''t for sure which.


    Using the void aspect of his shroud he manipulates it to absorb all sound and slips silently from behind the gargoyle. Looking down at the giant semicircular balcony five to seven meters below him he prepares his shroud to slow his descent and steps off the rooftop to glide quietly down to the landing below. After turning and approaching the balcony doors he extends a sliver of the mist-like shroud through the crack in between the two doors and surrounds the latch on the inside. Muffling the sound of metal scraping metal with the mist he unlatches the door and opens one side just enough to slip through.


    The room is dark. Even darker than the moonless night outside. Soft snoring from the large canopy bed at the far end of the room can be heard and the bitter woody smell of strong expensive liquor can be faintly detected.


    [His Honorable Majesty got shit-faced drunk last night it seems... how accommodating] thinks Corbin, as he walks casually and without a sound toward the edge of the bed that the sleeping figure is on. Reaching through his shroud he retrieves the tool for tonight''s work. A thin spike about 15 cm long, fixed to a thin black wooden grip. Simple. It was Corbin''s preferred method for dispatching a sleeping mark. Preparing himself Corbin''s heart begins to pound as it always does just before he takes a life, but this time was especially adrenaline pumping. The answer to what his power is, possibly to his very origin, lies just ahead. His hands slightly tremble as he realizes how important this moment is, and Corbin must pause his actions to calm himself. Standing there over the sleeping defenseless emperor, he takes deep silent breaths. Seeing his hands stabilize he wastes no time and thrusts the spike with blurring speed into the temple of the man''s head, angled slightly to drive deep into the brain. Shockingly though, the king doesn''t immediately die. Legs and arms jerking, hands clenching tightly, the mans whole body flops like a fish out of water and a not so quiet "Hgguuuu" of a grunt escapes from his lips as he convulses repeatedly.


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    [Fuck!] exclaims Corbin in his mind. Quickly he swishes the pick back and forth inside the man''s skull, effectively scrambling whatever might have been left of his brain.


    As the, dead now, emperor stills and his last breath escapes him in a silent death rattle, the gurgling sound of diarrhea is heard while the stench of a high fiber diet permeates the room. Corbin watches him intently for a few seconds ensuring there is no further movement then removes the spike. Surprisingly there is very little blood seeping from the small hole in the side of the man''s head. Corbin looks him up and down for a moment.


    [Somehow you seem reduced, lying in your own filth, my lord.] a strange urge to giggle rises in him as he stares at the less than noble corpse.


    (King of the bed shitters)


    His humor rises and he nearly loses himself to laughter at the girl''s observation, just barely managing to maintain.


    (All hail King Stinky Britches!!)


    That''s it... that was too much.


    "KEEYAAHAHAHAHAAA!!" he laughs loudly, sounding every bit the insane person he hopes that he''s not.


    *Pound* *Pound* *Pound*


    "My Lord? Is everything alright?" asks a deep and imposing sounding voice from the other side of the chamber door.


    [SHIT!!!!!] (flee, flee, run for you life, hahahahah!)


    Corbin spins, cursing the psychotic little girl in his mind repeatedly, and exits the same way he entered, not forgetting to lock the door to the balcony behind him as he escapes.


    Simultaneously in a separate part of the upper palace the soon to be crowned, future emperor of the Eastern Moonrise Empire, Elethan Mordred, is screaming at the top of his lungs while he holds his brother''s blood soaked body. The dagger he had just recently plunged into Aremus'' heart was still sticking out of his brother''s chest as he rocked back and forth with tears in his eyes screaming repeatedly.


    "ASSASSIN! GUARDS! TO ARMS! ASSASSIIIIN!!"


    Bursting through the door, three men adorned in gleaming plate and mail armor rushed toward the bed where the two brothers were. As they approached they assessed the scene with a sense of impending doom slowly settling down upon them. A court royal, the Imperial Heir no less, murdered while under their watch. A clean death could well be the best these honor bound and death sworn royal guards could hope for after tonight. Drawing near the bed with utter shock painted plainly on his face, the most senior guard quickly assessed the situation. Knife buried to the hilt through Aremus'' heart, Elethan clutching his brother''s corpse with tears streaming down his anguished face, both covered in blood that was still bright red and had not begun to clot. This had been done recently... very, very recently. In fact, when they had allowed Elethan in, muttering some nonsense about a terrible dream, to wake his brother, the young lord may very well have chased off the killer. Fully understanding the urgency, and the terrible gravity, of the situation, the senior guard begins snapping out orders in a loud voice to ensure he could be heard over Elethan''s wailing.


    "Marcus! Gather men, the killer is probably still within the palace... Seal the room, seal the hall, seal each floor, then triple the guard on the first and second floor and block every exit! Sound every alarm!"


    "Sir!" says the guard before running back through the chamber door to fulfill his mission.


    "Gerald! Make safe the Emperor. Gather as many men as you can on the way but do not pause. Inform him that his son is dead and that the assassin is likely still in the palace. Go! NOW!"


    "Sir!"


    Gerald had no more than just disappeared through the dark, white veined, granite doorway when the resounding peel of heavy bells began furiously chiming.


    *DONG! DONG-DONG! DA-DONG!*


    Hearing the palace emergency alarm made the lead guards brows furrow even more in confusion and dread.


    [Too soon...] he thought, confused. [How fast could a message be sent to the bell towers? Four minutes? Perhaps three?] It had been less than a minute since he was standing outside the room, quietly conversing with Marcus and Gerald.


    Suddenly the sound of many running footsteps can be heard from the hall and a cold knot forms in the senior guards stomach. As if he had swallowed a chunk of ice in the winter.


    [Too soon!...] he thinks, hands beginning to tremble. [Gerald just left! How could so many already be coming?!]


    As if thinking the man''s name was a magic spell, Gerald stumbles back through the door breathing heavily. Straightening himself, the man raises his face, which is so pale he looks as though his own dead mother had just appeared before him and condemned him for his evil ways.


    "Gerald!" screams the senior guard furiously. "What the fuck are you doing!? Get your ass to the emperor and guard him with your life!"


    "Mickael..." he says in a near whisper. "His Highness, Emperor Kennethan Mordred is dead... Assassinated in his sleep."


    As alarm bells vibrate the air far behind, a shadow flows silently across the flat rooftop of a high class boutique in the wealthy shopping district near the palace grounds. Drifting gracefully down into a darkened alley between two storefronts, the formless shade lands in a hidden alcove between two locked wood sheds. Now that it was out of sight of the nonexistent people on the deserted streets, the dark haze began to dissipate to reveal the form of a scrawny youth with short dark hair. Leaning weakly against a red brick wall with beads of sweat clinging to the forehead of his sickly pale face, the skinny boy took deep shaky breaths.


    With the guards beating on the door, and the psychopathic little girl roaring with laughter in his mind, Corbin had been forced to abandon his planned escape. The entire palace would be locked down in minutes, so quietly slipping out before daybreak was off the table. Hence, Corbin had gone with the only idea his panic stricken mind could come up with. He ran across the balcony outside the kings chambers with blistering speed and leaped off the edge using every bit of power in his small frame. Commanding the darkness to slow his descent, he drifted silent and invisible toward the five meter high palace walls. Gritting his teeth to remain conscious, he calculated the distance and speed as the darkness drained him of vitality. He had only recently discovered this strange use of his shroud and even using it for a moment or two left him feeling weaker. Covering this one hundred meters to the outer perimeter of the palace grounds left him so feeble, he barely had the strength to lift his legs as he sailed over the wall by the barest of margins.


    Slowly regaining himself, the teen stands and peers about, getting his bearings, then heads deeper into the alleyway, disappearing from sight.

 Kali and Al

    Western Moonrise Empire, The Great Forrest


    Kali grits her teeth, oddly thankful for the intense pain keeping her conscious. She struggles to lift her head off the ground, ragged breaths puffing steam into the chill northern air, to look at the heavy wound across her chest. From her position, lying on the twiggy earth below her, she sees the separated red muscle and white fat of the cut which ran from between her collar bone and left shoulder, angled downward across her chest, to end slicing her right breast deeply across the nipple. The damage was grotesque.... and fatal. Her blood is swiftly spreading across her chest and a cold numbness forms in her mind signaling the onset of shock. She loses all strength and her head falls heavily back onto the leaf littered floor of the dim forest where she had been caught after running for her life from her former "team mates". Her vision begins to dim and scenes from her memory flash through her mind, as if her whole life was but an instant, while she tries to figure out where she had gone wrong. Sounds of terrified screams and the wet crunch of breaking bones attempt to wrench her thoughts back to reality, but she denies the call to focus on her memories, looking for the mistake that had led her to this place...


    Her earliest memories were of the slave house. Her name then had been B-16. She had never known her father or mother. She only knew that she was a slave, just like all the other children there, and that was because she was a beastman. She was taught, along with the rest of the girls, by her Dorm Mistress that humans and beastmen were different. B-16''s ears were in the same place as a human but they were a little taller and pointed instead of rounded, plus a soft dark fur grew on the back side. The difference wasn''t that much and you couldn''t even tell if she wore here hair down...  But her eyes were different too. She was a feline beastman so her pupils were like a cats and the color of her iris was much larger, covering the whole space between her eyelids with a brilliant green, showing no white. All of this served well to distinguish herself from a human, which she secretly longed to be, but that was the least of it. Her long, fluffy, midnight black tail, which attached to her just above the split in her butt, was the most obvious and embarrassing part of her body which labeled her beastman and slave.


    They were fed regularly, allowed to bathe, received schooling, and were even allowed fabric to sew their own personal clothes. For B-16, the only real problem was the loneliness. It became quickly apparent that the dorm mistresses didn''t want the girls becoming friends. Any time two girls would have more fun with each other than with the other girls one of them would quickly be taken away and a new girl brought to the dorm in her place. B-16 had even asked about this when she was seven and had been told that it was to foster independence in the girls. This hadn''t made much sense to B-16. After all what good would independence be to a slave? But, seeing no further explanation would be forthcoming, she simply accepted it as a part of her life. A life that had changed soon after.


    She, and the rest of the twenty girls in her dorm, had been awoken early one morning and told that today would be a special day and that they should all get dressed in their finest self-made clothes. After getting dressed and assembling in front of the mistress the girls were informed that they were all eight years old this year and, from now on, every week they would be taken in front of a person or group of people for their viewing. If these people like a certain girl then that girl would go away to live in a house instead of at the dorm. The squeals of glee and giggles of excitement B-16 heard that day would become nightmare fuel for her later on in life.


    Soon, the day came when B-16 had been chosen to leave the dorm by an older man with short, dark, hair and a tired look in his eyes. She had been loaded in a closed carriage next to him and sat intently observing her lap, just as she had been staring at her feet on the walk from her dorm to the carriage. Hours after their departure, the man had not spoken a word and B-16 was feeling more anxious than she had ever felt in her whole life. When the horses had stopped and she heard men outside giving and taking orders to make a camp the man had suddenly turned to her and spoke.


    "Raise your head... K-Kali..." he had said "I never want to see you looking down like that... you must be proud of who you are."


    B-16 hadn''t even realized he was talking to her until half way through, but as soon as she did she raised her head and said


    "Yes, Mas-"


    "No speaking!" the man interrupted irritably "We will speak more when we get home and you have... rested."


    Not another word was said to B-16 for the rest of the two and a half week trip until they had departed the carriage in front of a large  three story mansion. As she was being led up the stone walkway toward the house the man stopped her and spoke in a whisper with watery eyes.


    "I''m sorry Kali..." then the man had walked away as a wet thud was heard and B-16 slumped unconscious to the ground.


    When she had awakened, some time later, all she new was a world of pain. Intense pain that had flooded every inch of her body, especially her eyes, back, and ears. Over time it was explained to her what had been done. Using clever incisions and flesh scaring acid, her ears had been rounded and removed of hair to appear almost human. With a tiny needle, thrust thousands of times, permanent white ink had been forced into the flesh of her eyes, leaving only a small round circle of the green in the center like a human. Venom from a rare species of fish had also been forced in with a needle at the top and bottom of her vertical slit pupils, making it so that those areas couldn''t expand. Now, even in pitch dark they would at best grow to a sort of oval, but for the most part the remained round like a human, if still slightly large. Lastly, her tail, which she had cursed so often, had been removed with nothing left but a scar.


    The crippling feeling of loss at the change in her body was intense, but she had been young and from that day forth she had been treated like the young daughter of a wealthy man. Kali discovered that the man who had purchased her had lost a daughter and wife to a tragic accident and that the honest reason the man had purchased her was to fill the void of that loss. Kali greatly resembled the man''s dead daughter, whose name was also Kali, and, upon seeing her, he had felt compelled to raise her and treat her like his own. She had known too well what loss fest like, and so, her sympathy, kind nature, and good treatment had led her to forgive the man and accept her strange new place in life.


    For seven years the man treated Kali with love and kindness, raising her hidden away from the world with great affection. She came to trust and rely on him as she grew and even began to call him father. Though it was, she knew, a twisted sort of happiness, it was still happiness. She turned 15 and had begun budding wonderfully into a young woman with alluring hips, delicate features and already large and still growing breasts when her world came crashing down around her.


    She had been noticing for weeks that her father was acting strange. He would stutter during normal conversation, he turned flush at strange times for no reason, his hugs tended to linger and they were no longer over her shoulders anymore, but under her arms and around her waist. His actions confused her very much and she had spent time actually concerned he was coming down with some illness. The night came a few weeks after she turned 15. Her father had been drinking since morning, another strange new habit, and, after joining him for a silent dinner, she had retreated to her room to avoid his drunkenness. Lying in her bed she had viewed the full moon and its streams of light shining through her window for some time when she heard her father''s voice outside her room calling her. The next few minutes had been a blur as her father burst in throwing himself on top of her.


    Screaming and ripping the thin night gown she had been wearing, his full weight had forced her down, helpless to resist. He had said that she was not his daughter. That he had bought her. That he owned her. That it was his right. All the while, the tearing sound of the flimsy night gown filled her ears until she was stripped naked. Raising himself, her father had placed one hand around Kali''s throat to control her non-existent resistance and fumbled drunkenly with the buckle on his pants. Kali had stared up at him with dead eyes, not making a sound and not resisting. Her legs remained open and her arms were limp at her sides as her pale body shined in the moonlight. She didn''t fight or even ask him not to.


    He was right.


    Nothing the man had said had been a lie. She HAD been bought. He DID own her. It WAS his right. Kali turned her head to the side to avoid the sight of the drunken old man and stared out the window at the full moon shining through. She had lost herself in that moon. Her mind had detached and wandered from the reality she was in. So much so that she barely felt the pain as her father had entered her and started his thrusting. He had whispered words she didn''t hear the whole time and the rhythmic creaking of the bed had constantly threatened to drag her back to her sickening reality, but all Kali saw was the bright, white, moon until...


    *SLAP!!*


    "Wake up, little kitten... I''m afraid you''re gonna have to live through this one... heh"


    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Half a kilometer further North into The Great Forrest, Alaric Skolson sat on the cold ground tending the small fire he had recently built. For the last four months he had been heading due South, fighting and killing his way through the endless woods. Over the last couple of weeks the trees had been thinning and Al had been smelling faint wisps of humans, and some other strange, part human, smells as well. He could feel that the first leg of his long journey was soon to be over, as he sat near his small fire wrapped in a bear skin. Absent mindedly his hand caresses the haft of the over large battle axe sitting across his lap as he ponders what his first contact with these southerners would be like.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    The huge, double sided axe head on the long handle was forged with some type of dull black metal and had once probably been very beautiful, but now it was chipped, scratched, and a long crack ran through the center of one of the sharp blades. The thing looked like it had been made to endure a thousand battles... and then had been used in one thousand and one.


    Just then, as Alaric was warming himself by his fire, the distant *ting!* of metal striking metal drifted to him, just barely audible, even for his keen ears. This sound was familiar to him. The sound of sword on sword. The sound of a life and death struggle. The sound of battle.


    Smiling he stood, shaking off the bearskin, and hefted his heavy axe over his shoulder, but he didn''t leave just yet. He just stood there with a smile on his face and eyes closed listening to the sound of the fight, which he could hear better now. To a man like Alaric, this sound was like a lullaby, soothing, warm, and familiar. Taking a deep breath, he opens his eyes while kicking dirt on his tiny fire. Then he turns south toward the noise and starts an easy jog in that direction.


    Cresting a slight rise in the terrain, Alaric looks down into a small clearing in the wood to see four men wearing flexible leather armor,with well used swords, surrounding a woman, dressed in cleverly sewn hide leather travel clothes, wielding two thin short swords. Well, short swords might be a bit of a stretch, the skinny metal of the short blades was barely longer than some of the larger daggers he had owned in the past. Just then, the wind shifts and he can smell the group, and, once again that strange part human smell hits his nose. Staring now intently at the girl he sees that she is talented... swift and graceful, but it was clear she had never received any real instruction. On the other side, the four men were far less talented and skilled, but they made up for that with bloody experience. Their attacks were coordinated and paced, drawing blood at each exchange.


    Alaric watched as the man behind the girl quietly bends down to grasp a small rock from the ground and throws it at the girl. It didn''t hit her as she moved her head just to the side, but the distraction it was intended to be still worked. Her focus was lost for the time it takes to blink an eye, and in that fraction of a second, the man in front of her launched a heavy blow. The wound was deep and the girl crumpled to the ground, defeated. With a long sigh, Al began walking his whole body over the rise in the earth. Now that a victor had been decided in the fight, he intended to try and talk with these men....


    -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    The four men were elated. They had been chasing the bitch of a beastman for hours. She had been fast but was unfamiliar with the woods, and, after following her obvious trail for a while, they had eventually surrounded her. After encircling her it had been business as usual. One or two would distract, the others attack. Simple... Worked every time... including now. As the final strike landed and the bitch fell, thoughts of the fun they were gonna have, before she completely bled out, began to fill their minds.


    Fact is, the bitch should''ve been fucked and left breathing blood through a hole in her neck last night... But when they had jumped her in her tent and dragged her out, she had slashed out with the sharp claws that all beastmen could force out from their finger tips, taking the men completely by surprise.  They hadn''t brought any weapons with them, as they were sure they could over power the whore, so, after a few nasty cuts, the bitch ran off into the forest. A few hours later and now the four men, long familiar with each other, were snickering to one another, mentally trying to figure out which one of them would enjoy the girl first. That all halted though, when a loud, boisterous voice sounded out from the north.


    "Brothers!!" said a man who was calmly walking down a small hill north of their position.


    Gods! He is big! His hulking frame stood, easily, over 2 meters. Dressed in rough skins and leathers haphazardly stitched together, the beast of a man walked calmly toward the four mercenaries with a smile on his face. And what a face it was! Scars criss-crossed all over it with no pattern, and an especially painful looking one ran from his forehead, straight down over his right eye, to end at the bottom of his jaw, cutting through the right corner of his lips. The over all affect was frightening  and turned his, probably, heartfelt smile into a leering half grin that would make babies cry. It was a face not even a mother could love... even if that mother was an ass faced bulldog... Moving on from the unlucky man''s face, there was also his weapon. The largest damn war axe any of them had ever seen, and, by the shape it was in, the man must have taken up the habit of beating apart boulders with it.


    "I don''t know what brothers yer lookin'' for, stranger, but they ain''t here." Spoke the man who had made the final cut on Kali. "I suggest you move on and don''t be showin'' yer ugly face where it ain''t wanted."


    The rest of the men snicker at the comment. They weren''t afraid of the savage looking man. They had ambushed and killed dozens, all of which were more powerful or more skilled than any one of them alone. Together they were strong, and if this man wanted a fight, they would give him a painful death instead.


    The man stops walking and looks at the merc, standing 30 meters away from him, with a confused expression.


    -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Alaric didn''t want to fight with these men. After four months of struggling through an endless forest, fighting for his life, and walking blisters onto his feet, all he wanted was answers to three simple questions. Food. Bath. Bed. Where are they? Just a finger point in the right direction and the four men would be his life long friends. With that in mind, he hitched up his warmest smile and tried talking to them.... one... more... time. Say one thing for Alaric Skolson... say he''s friendly.


    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    "My brothers are here, before me." says the hulking man while smiling a cringe worthy smile "All men who take lives are sons of Skol... and also my good brothers!"


    "Uggghhhh.." one of the men groaned. They all shared the same thought. Mystic. Hermit. Lunatic. Lone followers of obscure gods. These solitary crazy people were nearly impossible to talk to with every conversation turning quickly toward their, probably made up, God.


    "Listen here, crazy man," the rock thrower spoke up calmly "You got two choices... One, turn around and head back the way you came. Two, keep yappin'' that ugly mug of yours, and we''ll do the world a favor by takin'' it off yer shoulders."


    *THWUMP* *THWUMP* *THWACK!*


    "WHAT DA FUCK!" squawks the man standing next to rock thrower as he wipes blood  and chunks of meat off the side of his face.


    No one had seen it. They didn''t see the man move. They didn''t see the giant axe fly through the air. They hadn''t even seen the man explode when the axe struck him in the chest. All they had seen was pieces of their long time friend and ally burst through the air when the too large axe had impacted his chest at an unimaginable speed.


    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Alaric didn''t want to fight with these men, but it was clear they were in no mood to talk.


    Work to be done then.


    Back to the mud boys... back to the mud.


    Crashing into the remaining three men like a tornado, Alaric viciously assaulted them. Within seconds, three broken bodied copses lay on the ground and the northman was pilfering through their clothes removing coins, daggers, maps, and anything else of value. Quickly he piled the things up and calmly walked over to the injured girl sniffing the air. The strange not human scent was strong and clearly coming from the bleeding woman. Looking her up and down his eyes widen when he sees the short, razor sharp claws extending from a slit in her fingers that is hidden by the tips of her finger nails. At the same time realization dawns upon him. The girl''s smell was similar to a werepanther, but far less dangerous and wild. This girl must be some type of cousin or descendant species.


    Guessing her age to be about 24, Alaric observes her figure in regret. She''s beautiful... and an unknown kind of creature. Reaching down he rips the hide tunic she wears and observes two gorgeous breast, ruined now, with a still bleeding gash running across her chest. It would be possible to save her. She hasn''t lost enough blood for it to be fatal yet. Of course he could just back trail their footsteps and find out where they came from.


    Alaric stares off into the direction the combatants had come from for a few seconds, before shaking his head and kneeling down next to the dying girl. Reaching into his wolf skin shirt he retrieves a tin can about the size of his palm and opens the lid. Pulling out a gruesome, blood stained, hooked needle and thin cordage he sets about getting his supplies ready. He had never stitched a tit before and had zero confidence in his gnarled, battle worn fingers, but leaving her here to die would put a bad taste in his mouth. Say one thing for Alaric Skolson... say he''s compassionate.


    *SLAP*


    "Wake up, little kitten... I''m afraid you''re gonna have to live through this one... heh"

 Act 1: Meet & Greet - End

    Act 1: Meet & Greet - End


    Soooo.... these will be the main characters driving the plot forward. Reading back through I can tell my writing style is kind of all over the place, think I made a decent attempt at making the characters believable, tho. Next act will see the characters meet each other and experience conflict that will lead to main plot, plus more info on Marduk and Anwar''s past. Also will introduce sub-plot hinted at in last chapter. I sort of have the end game mapped out a bit, but still flyin by the seat of my pants as for how everyone''s gonna get there.  Anyway... any suggestions? Critiques? Too dark? Not enough scenery description? Let me know :D            Thanx!


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    -Nimo

 When Things Go Awry

    Eastern Moonrise Empire - New Moon Palace


    Elethan''s eyes blurred and his head was pounding. He had been reading documents and ledgers for the last twelve hours and the sense of impending doom had increased with each line. The empire was in massive debt. Most of its highest ranking ministers and nobles clearly receiving bribes from foreign kingdoms. The army was practically starving. How his father had kept all this hidden from the public he can only guess, but these things were only the symptoms of some deeper sickness.


    It was clear his brother had ordered the assassination of his father. The inept prince actually kept the soul binder contract ordering the hit in his personal chambers. After its discovery, it had immediately been tested, in an attempt to trace the magic to the matching contract that the assassin surely had, but too late. The contract lit aflame, destroying itself, signifying the killer had completed the contract, before the test could be completed.


    Though it was obvious, watching the contract burn, knowing that the assassin was still alive and that somewhere in the city, right at this second, some faceless killer was wiping his fathers blood on his side of the contract, had infuriated Elethan. Red faced, he had ordered the search of every nook and cranny in his brother and father''s chambers. This had led to the discovery of several personal journals and ledger books marking out plainly payments received and given in secret. Elethan had then ordered tax records, crop yields, military records, and information on many other aspects of the empire.


    It was now well past noon and, Elethan sat in his fathers modest study with books and records stacked around him as if he was a young boy building a play fort. Looking up from the current blurring lines of text, he lets out a deep and weak sounding sigh. He would never have expected his limp-wristed brother to be so bold. In fact he highly doubted that it had been Aremus'' idea at all. How had his father let it come to this? If the goal was to have his brother as a puppet emperor, who would be pulling the strings? Was this why Neplu had intervened on his behalf? Was there another god involved? Also the boy, Corbin, his "champion". He was involved in all this surely.


    Thinking of the boy Elethan turns to view the afternoon sun through the high windows in the study. He had sent Mickael with a squad of palace guards to retrieve this "champion" at dawn. What could be taking so long...


    *knock knock*


    "Enter." called Elethan as he stands and looks toward the heavy oak door to the study.


    The door opens and, coincidentally, the person entering is Mickael. He strides across the room in military fashion and stands before Elethan in the chrome chain and half plate of the palace guard, straight as an iron bar.


    "Reporting, Your Highness." he says clasping his right fist over his heart.


    Elethan stands frozen for a second. Mickael had been with him for years. He wanted to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder like he used to. He wanted to tell Mickael to call him Elethan, that things were still the same. But they weren''t. He was the emperor now, or would be upon his coronation, and things would never be the same between them.


    Feeling a deep sense of loss and sadness for the hundredth time today, he replied simply.


    "Continue."


    Elethan watched as a series of emotions flashed across his trusted guards face. Quivering he finally dropped to one knee looking at the floor.


    "Apologies, Your Grace, I have failed you!" he hoarsely speaks to Elethan''s feet "The boy ran and we were unable to track him or discern his whereabouts."


    "Mehhh...." Elethan sighs deeply looking at Mickael shaking his head "For Neplu''s sake Mickael stand up and fucking relax."


    Snapping his head up, Mickael sees Elethan''s wry grin and relief is clear on his face as he stands.


    "Now take a breath, calm down, and tell me plainly.... What happened?" he asks


    "To be honest.... I can''t make heads or tails of it." says Mickael with a puzzled expression "One thing''s for sure though, he was there when we inquired about him, and ran like his ass was on fire the moment he found out."


    -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Corbin was six years old. He was running through small orchard at the back of his home with his sister, Aeris. He had always been skinny and shorter than most of the other kids he knew. Plain, he had heard people call him. Aeris was the opposite. Even at six years old he thought of his eight year old sister as beautiful, not to mention every adult commenting on how pretty she was. They played together a lot, her blonde hair contrasting with his black, because of how close in age they were.


    Today it was hide and seek in the orchard. Aeris had counted first. She always counted first. As she counted Corbin ran quickly and quietly behind a large apple tree snickering, thinking it would be some time before his sister found him. Unexpectedly, things turned out different.


    Finishing her count, his sister ran at full speed directly toward his position, sprinting around the tree to tag him.


    "Hah! Got youuu." She said smiling in triumph


    "Cheater!" called out Corbin embarrassed "You looked!"


    "I did not!" she cried brows furrowing "I heard you running!"


    A strange feeling began to rise in Corbin. His head became fuzzy and his face felt like it was near an open fire.


    "Liar!" he screamed as his heart began to pound "I was quiet, you didn''t hear! You peaked liar!"


    With a shocked expression the beautiful little girl put her hands on her hips and raised her voice.


    "Corbin Hargrave, I am not a liar! I heard you running!" she screamed back at the normally quiet little boy.


    But by this time Corbin couldn''t even hear her through the pounding of his heart in his ears. He was breathing deeply and quickly, his face felt like it was on fire, and he was sweating big drops of sweat. Anger swept through him from some unknown place. Quick and furious rage swept through him like a foreign invader. He didn''t understand why he was angry, he loved his sister more than any other person in the world. He would never treat her this way, but the feeling swelled inside him, making him feel like he was bursting at the seems. The pressure in his head was agonizing! He had to let it out! Taking a deep breath, drawing in as much air as his small lungs could handle, he bellowed at the top of his voice.


    "LIAAAAAAAAR!!!!!" he screamed with his eyes clamped tightly shut


    As he screamed something snapped. Like a dam suddenly bursting, not just the anger but also all of his strength fled him in a sudden burst and he dropped to his knees in exhaustion.


    *squish*


    Weak and trembling he opened his eyes and stared down at the dampness he was feeling coming from his knees. His eyes widened as he stared at some sort of red liquid that covered the previously yellow and green leaves on the ground. Slowly he raised his head to see his surroundings. His mind was fuddled. He saw clearly, but could not make any sort of sense of what he saw. First, a small, pale, blood smattered arm, severed cleanly, lying on the reddened earth. Next, a pair of tiny feet, wrapped in a bundle of blood soaked cloth. Connected to those feet were tender white legs, and further on blue panties stained purple with blood. Above, a navel and further still, where one would expect nipples, shoulder, neck and head, there was nothing. As if sliced by a massive razor, the upper portion of the body was not there.


    Corbin''s mind was still blurry. He saw it all, but it didn''t register. No thoughts were formed until he turned his gaze slightly and landed upon his sister''s face. Lying on the ground without arms and only the upper part of her torso still connected, her head was turned to the side and her eyes stared directly at Corbin. The shock of seeing her grey eyes, that he knew so well, jump started his mind, and the morbid reality of what he was seeing crashed down upon him like a tidal wave.


    He wanted to scream. He wanted to help. He wanted to tear his own eyes out to stop seeing. Instead he knelt there frozen, horrified, and the scream that wanted to escape him was turned into a barely audible whimper. Then his sister began to talk....


    "You killed me.." she whispered


    "No..." Corbin whispered back as the tears started to fall down his cheeks


    "You killed me..." she said with more force and an evil smile spread her blood spotted cheeks exposing pointed cruel looking teeth.


    "No... Aeris I..." whispered the terrified boy


    Aeris'' upper torso began to wriggle as she used her stumped arms to turn her body over, and lying on her stomach, started to use the bloody leftovers to crawl toward the kneeling Corbin.


    "Yoouuuu killed meee..." spoke Aeris in a half whisper half growl. As she crawled her eyes changed, slowly fading into a darkness black as night.


    "You... You''re not Aeris... you''re not..." said Corbin as his guilt and terror spiked crazily.


    "You killed meee!!" growl turning to a high pitched shout, the thing was mere inches from Corbin. Using unnatural strength, it shot itself forward with its broken stumps and collided with the boy landing on top of him. Slowly inching up the boy until it was face to face, the beastly smile widened as it peered deep into his eyes.


    "Who... Who are you-hoo-hoo?" questioned the boy, finally breaking down into frightened, blubbering sobs.


    Then, in a perfect imitation of his sister cute voice, the creature said


    "My name is Set, Corbin, and you will be mine, forever...hahahah! HAHAHAHAHA!!" the insane little girl laughed incessantly as Corbin closed his eyes and sobbed. The pounding in his ears returned and he wished for death with all his might.


    *Pound*


    *Pound*


    *Pound*


    *Pound Pound Pound*


    "Young Master!... Young Master! You need to awaken immediately!" said an urgent sounding voice through the door as Corbin bolts upright in his bed, drenched in sweat and breathing like a marathon runner.


    Jerking his head around, trying to make sense of his surroundings, he realizes that he''s home, in his bed. A dream. Just a dream.


    [You''d think I''d be used to that one by now.] he thinks, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs.


    *Pound Pound Pound*


    "Young Master!... It''s urgent!" spoke the determined voice.


    The servants rarely ever even spoke to him, let alone forcefully pound on his door.


    [It truly must be urgent] he thinks springing out of his bed.


    Opening the door enough to let his face be visible he looks at the old man outside, who was clearly excited about something.


    "What''s wrong?" questioned Corbin


    "Young Master," the man said speaking quickly "A captain of The Imperial Palace Guards is here with a squad of men. They have orders to escort you to the palace. They say it is on direct order of the emperor himself.... Your father is quite anxious as there have been rumors since morning of an attack of some sort in the palace. He demands you presence immediately." finished the man in a grave tone.


    The world ground to a halt for Corbin. The palace? The Emperor? Not THAT emperor... he''s dead... so the new one? It was common knowledge that the heir apparent was a dim witted lout. But why else? House Hargrave was a noble house, but a low ranking one, and with no real ambition either. Also, it was not his father that was requested but him. No, no , no, there was only one explanation, but if that was so, why only a squad of palace guards. If they really expected him to be the one who killed the emperor, they would have sent an army to surround the place.


    "Of course, tell my father I am dressing and will attend him immediately." said Corbin snapping out of his thoughts.


    "Yes!" replied the man sprinting off


    Quickly Corbin shut, locked, and propped a chair against the door. He had no intention of going to the palace, and though a chair wasn''t much defense if anyone really wanted to get in, every second of delay would be in Corbin''s benefit. Spinning around he grabbed a handful of clothes and the small pouch he carried last night during the murder. Feeling the contents he nearly falls over in shock.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    [Shit!] he thinks [I never completed the contract!]


    Last night he had been so exhausted, he had barley maintained his consciousness long enough to drag himself through his window and onto his bed. Still in his "work" clothes, he pulls out the spike he had used to kill king shitty britches. Afterward he opens the pouch and retrieves the contract and ring, then wipes some still sticky blood off of the spike onto the contract. Erupting in flames the contract disintegrates and a flash of light surges as the ring transforms into a book bound in black leather, with a dark grey metal lock wrapped around the middle. Without taking too much time to examine it, Corbin puts the book back in the pouch, picks up his clothes and drops silently out his window to the ground below. Scanning his surroundings, he then sprints nimbly toward the nearest shadow and disappears.


    -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    "When we were told that the boy had bolted, my first thought was to question his father, Craigan." continued Mickael


    "I see," replied Elethan "and the father knew nothing of where the boy might flee to?"


    "That''s the thing..." said Mickael with a complex expression "His father acted like he barely knew the boy..."


    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Mickael found himself in a comfortable, brightly lit study, standing before a large, heavy looking dark wood desk. The man seated behind the desk, Craigan Hargrave, sat staring at him with a complicated look on his burly, dark haired, and bearded face.


    "I''m not sure what he''s done.." spoke the man in a deep voice "but if you''re want to ask me where he might be, my answer is I have no idea..."


    "Why do you assume he must have done something?" questioned Mickael. The man''s tone was strange and the captain felt there was more to what he said.


    "I''m just assuming..." said Hargrave, rolling his shoulders "It''s been years since the boy relied on me for anything more than financial support. Besides, he''s so quiet and secretive with everyone. In my experience... only people with secrets act secretively...."


    At this point Craigan gets a haunted look in his eyes and they glaze over as if remembering something traumatic, then speaks in a far less self confident voice...


    "Ever since that day... he''s never been the same..." he says


    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    "That day?" asks Elethan as his interest begins to rise "what day? what happened?"


    "Yes." speaks Mickael preparing to relay his impression of what had happened. "Apparently, ten years ago, Corbin''s sister was murdered in front of his eyes. According to his father, which was backed up by reports from long time Hargrave staff, a psychotic sword master of some kind had sneaked onto the Hargrave property and slashed out against the poor girl."


    "Sword master?" questioned Elethan


    "Yes, the people we questioned reported that the girl was sliced in half so cleanly, that she had not even moved from the position she was cut in. Her body simply fell into separated pieces where she stood." continued Mickael "The boy was discovered kneeling next to her corpse covered in blood and tearing at his own face with his fingernail. He was said to have been screaming no over and over again so fiercely that blood frothed from his mouth until he passed out. When he awoke he was incapable of speech for several months, and when he regained his words he claimed to have no memory of the event."


    "And what do you think" another question from Elethan


    "I was unsure and curious.... but unable to gather more information on that day." replied Mickael with another strange expression "Your Highness, the mystery does not end there."


    "No? What else?"


    "In an attempt to follow the boy''s steps, I called for the finest beastman trackers in the capitol. They were unable to find the boy''s trail on the outside of the manor but they did sniff out a high concentration of his scent in a unused wing inside the house." Said Mickael as his eyes brightened, enjoying strangeness of the memory "We traced him to a certain wall where his scent disappeared. Searching the area we found a hidden trigger connected to a lamp hanger and the wall slid aside to reveal a room filled with many odd things."


    Pausing he pulls a slip of paper out of his sleeve and begins to list the contents of the room.


    "Within we found highly precise alchemy equipment, as well as many books. There were foundational studies on alchemy, high wizardry, and even scattered writings on necromancy. Also on the shelves were clearly antique religious texts of varying beliefs, some of them seem very, very old. Other books seem to be personal journals of famous and historic elementals... dozens of them. Beyond that there were also healing potions and powders of varying strength and a few poisons too. Lastly, there were many weapons laid out on a rack. Nearly all the weapons are small and easily concealable." finished Mickael calmly


    Elethan was in shock... high wizardry? Necromancy? Personal journals of elementals? A single page from an instructional book on high wizardry could bankrupt a slightly wealthy house. Not to mention anything having to do with the forbidden magic of Necromancy. Some powerful men would slay thousands without a second though to get their hands on that.


    "My Lord, I''m no scholar, but if i had to guess, some of these books can''t be bought... No amount of money would be sufficient. Many of these writings would be considered heritage treasures for religious sects." spoke Mickael candidly, breaking Elethan out of his thoughts.


    "How then?..." questioned Elethan mostly to himself


    "I couldn''t say, Your Highness, but one thing is for sure... It wasn''t with House Hargrave''s wealth. The room alone is worth a thousand times anything Craigan could scrounge together." replied Mickael "Besides, I believe the greater question is: why?"


    "Why?... yes, why indeed..." spoke Elethan his mind beginning to turn "What do we have then...? A boy sees his sister murdered. Claims he doesn''t remember, but his personality changes drastically. Over time his secretive and paranoid nature increases and he collects a massive amount of knowledge focusing, it seems, on magical or supernatural subjects."


    Pausing for a moment in thought, Elethan nods his head as if he has come to some understanding and says "So... he remembers his sister''s murder then. That much is obvious. Also, according to what he''s looking into, the culprit is likely to be a magical being of some sort and not a wondering lunatic swordsman."


    "Revenge." says Mickael in complete agreement with everything Elethan had said. "He wants to know his enemy. I believe the boy is preparing for battle at all costs, and this has lead him into some shady dealings. How else could such a young man amass such a wealth of information. It would also explain why he ran in the first place."


    At this point Elethan was nodding his head. The two men completely in sync with their thoughts. It all made a twisted sort of sense after all. The far fetched tale was a bit hard to swallow but that all lessened once one realized that the less believable parts of the story were the only ones they could verify as fact. The mysterious murder. The hidden treasure room. The secretive teen. It was only the mundane parts  of the narrative that they were guessing at.


    "Heh" Elethan lets out a bitter laugh shaking his head.


    [Here I am] he thinks [Leader of a failing empire, rife with leeches and filled with traitors, and the only help my Great God is supposed to have given me is currently making every effort to avoid the chains he thinks I''m going to throw on him... How ridiculous]


    "Mickael," he says after a few moments of self pity "You''ve done well. Thank you very much my friend."


    Sapping fist to chest Mickael replies "My honor to serve, Your Highness."


    "Have a detailed description of the boy written up and sent to me, then return to you duties." says Elethan ending the conversation.


    *snap*


    "Yes, my Lord." says Mickael, formally. Then strides with purpose out the door.


    Sitting back down in his father''s chair Elethan begins rubbing his temples to alleviate the headache that was gaining in strength. He would send the boys description out through private channels with firm instructions not to harm him. Hopefully he could be brought in and reasoned with, after all, Elethan was the leader of an empire. Perhaps they could help each other in their pursuits.


    Looking down at the stacks and stacks of reports before him, his frown deepens. He now knew... For too long this land had been fallen victim to foreign control and influence. There would be no way to win the traitors back over, and the rest would catch on if he quietly got rid of them one by one.


    Purge


    When a limb turns gangrenous, you strike it off. Yes, you''re less because of it, but at least you live.


    He decided.


    This afternoon he would announce his father''s death. The empire would mourn for three days. On the third day the nobility of Thoth would attend the palace for a banquet in memory of the late emperor, and for many it would be their last supper.


    Smiling wickedly, Elethan pondered about what scholars would call that night. Other famous massacres in history had been given special names like The Decade of Death. Maybe his day would be called The Bloody Feast or The Banquet of Blood....


    With renewed vigor he looked back to the piled sheets of paper surrounding him. Until then he had work to do.....


    -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    The river Nevra ran south from the great forest cutting straight through the eastern side of the Eastern Moonrise Empire. Snuggling up to the west side of the capitol, Thoth, it continues south for hundreds of miles to enter the Qin kingdom. On the southwest end of Thoth, resting on a large floating barge, there is an Inn. Dock''s End. Where the roughs, drunks, and sailors spend coin on women and drinks. All are welcome, no questions asked. Just one rule. You break it, you buy it and that goes for the women too!


    It was nearly midnight and the shady looking patrons were just now starting to truly loosen up and get a bit rowdy, when the door opened and in walked a young dark haired boy. Wearing some strange dark grey outfit that stuck tight to his skinny frame, the boys smooth skin and pale complexion marked him as far out of place. Though some few nefarious eyes lingered most of the loud men simply glanced and went back to their drink or woman or dice.


    Approaching the boy, a voluptuous woman in an extremely low cut top and apron walked up and said


    "You a little lost there, love?" in a sweet voice that didn''t match her large breasts and weathered face


    "No." the boy said simply, clearly not intending to be drawn into conversation.


    ".... A''right then, wot''ll it be, deary? Lookin for a bed? Per''aps a little lovely ta ''elp ya warm it?" she questioned jokingly


    "A room." another deadpan response from the youth.


    For a quick moment the woman paused and contemplated whether she should be taking offense to this stoic twerp. She had just been trying to keep him from getting robbed and killed in the first place. Eventually she decided to just get on with it.


    "Right then, name''s Alsinet, an you? Wot do I call you, love?" she asked leading the way to the upstairs where the rooms were.


    "Set." said the boy "My name is Set...."