Structure of Lords Chapter 1
Jenthal
The moons after came with many filled red, almost as if the blood of the Gods did not agree with the deed performed amongst a House of the Nobles, even if these certain nobles were bastards. The dark hollow keep seemed to echo into the mountainside as many people came to celebrate over the years of the Mighty Jenthal. The first few years the people of Jethro would build houses out of the Meerwood trees, making them a dark oak resembling the obsidian mountainside that sat dauntingly in the background. Specter's Keep stood high at the base of the mountainside. It seemed to be taunting any enemy that came by. The white walls and green banners seemed to tell passersby to be wary of the Lord of Jethro.
He had become fueled with hatred and full of power that seemed to control him more than he controlled it. His rulings were but more than one-sided, his own, and he did not say how if it came down to his house or his family, he would choose his family. The people of Jethro still celebrated, but now it was for the joy of another day they had survived. The Lord had been starved for power for so long that he controlled every aspect of his keep when he got it.
Jenthal, a new Lord of Eastwind, did not know how to lead, only instilling fear. The Township of Jethro initially appreciated the Lord who gave them a place where they could be part of Eastwind, but they soon grew to fear that same Lord who gave them their namesake. Jenthal was not violent per se, but he did have a temper. When he grew tired of a situation he would grow red with rage, but he would maintain composure while standing from his massive throne made of the old Meer trees that littered the grounds of Specters's Keep, slowly walking down the black obsidian steps of his throne room. When he approached the kinsman who was asking for assistance he would lean into their ear and whisper,
"Is your life more important than this issue?"
This was considered a sick joke about a ruler growing mad with power, but one rising son saw a different course of action play out. It would be known as an event that would forever change the way that Jenthal would lead his Town. It was the Day of the King, 3BCE, on the 33rd day of Juniper, when a sick, frail townsman wandered into the throne room of Raven's Keep. His name was Oliver Jenstone.
He was coming to ask the Lord if he could take a loan out with the throne because the apothecary raised their prices in the aftermath of the wars since supplies were still running low, and they were anxiously awaiting the caravan from House Ridge. It had been months and many people that gathered after the war to start Jethro had become angry and unruly. Oliver decided to speak up for them.
He went into the throne room with dirty rags barely hanging on his body, his bones showing through his skin, and his eyes sunken almost completely into his face, his hair that once went halfway down his frame had now withered to a nest of unkempt thin rats nests. As he approached he cleared his throat and hit himself in the chest, almost as if to give himself power to say what needed to be said.
"We understand that times are hard after a war, but my Lord, people are dying. Your township speaks of high treason if things do not change. I come to you not only as a member of the banners that reside in this place, but I come to you as a man asking you to see what your lavish house is doing to a city that never asked to be formed. We served you when the time came, and I do not see this as a repayment of that favor my Lord."
Oliver coughed as he finished speaking. He was growing tired, and he knew that Jenthal would not take kindly to being questioned in his throne room. He forced himself to stand at attention waiting for his sentence or his answer. It felt like they were the same thing in the end, this Lord did not know how to delve into justice. He only knew how to keep himself and his own just above the others. Jenthal stood, and as he grew red with rage he leaned towards Oliver only to be stopped midway by a voice,
"Yes, this matter is worth my life. I would gladly put my life on the line so others can see what you are. You stand as if you are the high moral Lord who serves out his opinions like they are handed down from a God. Well, I will tell you, Lord, you are no God I have ever seen. If you are God then I renounce him now because no God of mine would allow women and children to be sick in the streets, no God of mine would allow men to be hung. After all, they were forced into a banner of Prax because of the hard winter. None of those men served those demons. They now serve you, and as I am seeing this, you are now the demon my Lord, so forgive me if I do not care to play your demonic games."
As he finished speaking he felt himself grow faint as he fell to the floor. Jenthal had begun laughing as he leaned down to his face. When he came to eye level with the poor man his eyes went black and his grin turned into what seemed like disgust. He leaned into Oliver and placed his hand on his shoulder as if to try and comfort him, but Oliver knew that this was not like the Lord.
" Is that all that you had to say? I need you to understand something. Your body may break, your will may falter, but your essence always remains. That strong warrior that you were on the battlefield some 60 pounds ago still resides inside you. These times of difficulties are known to weed out weak men, and as it looks to me your essence of Kilthri is going to waste inside of your body my friend. I deem you no longer fit to carry that burden."
As he finished his dialogue servants in the throne room looked upon Jenthal in horror as he began to absorb the life force out of Oliver. Oliver screamed in agony as he felt his life force be drained out of him. Looking up at the Lord he saw a small orb of light reaching into the crest on his cloak and as it disappeared into the Specter his world grew dark colder than any hell he had ever been in. While Oliver remained alive, he was just a husk. He now was under the control of Lord Jenthal as a thrall. Jenthal was no necromancer, but he did practice many forms of magic just to stay ahead of any of his enemies. He used the power of soul binding to increase his power when he saw that the power that was given to others was not being properly utilized. After Oliver people began to speak, but without the knowledge of specter travel they were forced to rely on horseback or crows, and who knows where that could lead them.
Their message could fall into a loyalist of House Specter, or worse a loyalist of House Ridge. After a year of sending letters to the Paladins at the Bastion, their prayers were answered. Sir Brenly came from the Paladins to assist Lord Jenthal on how to properly rule. House Ridge had heard whispers of a tyrant king who had let his people and township go into disrepair, so this was their answer to this injustice. Sir Brenlyly was a legend of lore when it came to House Ridge. He was thought to be the first-born son of Lord Migarth, but the rumor was that he destroyed all of the items that aligned him with him to serve the realm. He became a Paladin at the age of 4 and seemed to have abnormal abilities when it came to reading, writing, and strategy. He was not gifted with the ability of magic from within, but he was very keen on enchantments. The most noteworthy enchantment is his helmet, Helmet of the Beggar.
This helmet blocks telepathy and mind control and gives him the ability to awaken his knowledge of magic, allowing him to utilize all types of magic without being bound to one. His helmet was enchanted by an Enchantress by the name of Ellania Transum, she is thought to be the only enchantress to know this binding, and since her death, this is the only helmet that remained. Riding up to Specters Keep, Sir Brenlyly began to observe his surroundings.
The firewood for the winter seemed to be massively unaccounted for, the merchant stalls were barren, and the people looked at him like he was another potential rival to their natural resources rather than a potential ally. He began to wonder what happened in this place and if they had made an under-sight when choosing House Hawthorne rather than the House of Necromancers in House Prax. He hitched his horse at the base of the castle and started up the steps to the Keep only to be met by Jenthal.
"How may I assist you, Paladin? Do you think you can just wander into lands that are not yours? Speak!" said Jenthal raising his hands to lift Brenlyly off the ground. As Jenthal tried to lift Brenly off the ground.
Brenly laughed and began walking up the steps to Jenthal. He saw the fear in Jenthal's eyes as he did not have power in the instance. He was observing a grown man acting like that of a child from power sickness. He knew that his losing all sense of power would cause him to act irrationally in these next few moments so he touched his helmet and began to speak:
"Heash, Alugae, Virntrium"
As he spoke the emerald on his helmet began to shine a bright green and locked Jenthal in place with a green aura around him. This instilled fear into Jenthal as he looked at Brenly begging for his life as if he knew that it was his end. Brenly put his hand on Jenthal's shoulder and began to speak to him in a calming voice.
"I am not here to hurt you friend. You have lost your way, and I know that you are in need. No Lord should be feared more than they are loved. If you cannot find a balance of both, it will ultimately destroy you. There comes a time when all men must find their true path, and yours came many moons ago. If you truly accept your bloodline's mission, please follow my warning, or I will be forced to intervene."
Jenthal had finally felt fear. He understood now why all of the maidens looked at him as if he were a monster. He knew that he needed the township to fear him, but he did not want them to forget to cherish his name when he passed. He had been so blindsided by the bloodlust of battle that he had not understood that in times of peace, there was no need for the savagery that war required. He looked upon Brenly through the green aura and attempted to speak, but the aura gripped him tighter.
"Do you understand me, Riverfolk? You were nothing before this deed. You will remain nothing if I perish you to this soil where you have shed so many lives. Tell me now, why should you keep this place in high regard? If House Specter is to align with House Ridge it must be under the cooperation of the people of the realm. If you do not respect these people, how do you expect them not to turn a blind eye to you for the next bannerman who keeps them fed?! Are you so fed with power that you forget what you swore an oath to? You belong to House Ridge. You have a namesake of Hawthorne, but all of the Citadel know what you are. Don't forget your place in this world, or it will soon be taught to you with multiple lessons of cruelty."
Brenly released the aura as Jenthal crashed to the floor. The crowd in the marketplace stood in shock and disbelief at what just took place, but they were indebted to Brenlyly greatly after this day. Jenthal learned that with every misdeed there is an equal misdeed that will be coming for you. When too many misdeeds come back to haunt you from the Plane, that is when you must take up arms and go to battle. The only battles that are worth fighting are the battles that better your people, and a battle that was started with tyranny is no battle for the people.
Jenthal would take up more time with his son Rhys when he thought that he was absorbing knowledge rather than just mocking him in his high stool. When Rhys turned 8 he began to show interest in politics and Paladin work, and at first, Jenthal strictly forbade this knowledge. He saw this knowledge as lesser knowledge for a dirty Paladin. Although he was quick with his wit, he was equally impressive with a sword at a young age. When Rhys was 10 years old his father watched him best one of the castle guards by rolling under his feet and placing his sword at the neck of the man. Jenthal was said to of looked on proudly as his son let the man live.
"Father, this is one that we let live. He fought honorably, he knows I am a leader of this house, and he bears no other colors other than the emerald of the House Specter. His essence shall remain to serve our greater purpose."
Even when Rhys made him proud Jenthal did not see him fit for the role of a Lord. His fierce loyalty to his family of course kept him in line. He sat down with Rhys when he noticed that at the young age of 12 Bristol, the 2nd born son of Jenthal, was abnormally large for his age. When he stood beside Rhys you could easily see when he was going to be the one that was more suited for the Lord title. He towered to the height of Rhys, and Rhys being 8 years older, this was worrisome. He was at the end of the possibilities of his growth, but Bristol was still growing and had more opportunities to be trained in all aspects of leading.
This was more the failure of Jenthal of not seeing Rhys's actual talents earlier and depressing these. Rhys was more akin to magic. He always found it interesting and sought out runic devices and artifacts to possibly learn enchanting in secret. Brenly would go out of his way to ensure that his teachings were passed down to Rhys, he knew that no matter what Jenthal thought the job of a Paladin was to preserve. If he let the realm slip into misinformation, then how was he any better than any of this bloodlust of men? He was not.
Rhys quickly adapted to Paladin's teaching, showing a natural ability for seeking and retaining knowledge similar to Brenly's. Over the next couple of years, he devoted much time to practicing various forms of magic. It was during this time that he discovered he had an affinity with a specter orb, allowing him to absorb life forces and harness mana like no other. His father also had a similar device implanted in his blood vessels, allowing him to absorb the essence of others and merge with their power.
Rhys did not like taking what made people themselves. Instead, he would ask for permission to borrow some of their power so he could withstand the fatigue of casting multiple types of magic. This made him very popular with the watch parties that would go beyond the wall. They started calling him the Dark Specter because whenever something went awry, he would appear in the shadows with a spell to bring forth the most intricate wave of magic that most people had ever seen.
He had become a legend on the patrol roads by the time he was 18. He regularly led caravans to other parts of the strongholds to ensure that nothing was affecting the loyalty of the people in his lands. Brenly often thought that Jenthal should observe Rhys in action and then pass judgment on the rightful heir. Not only would this cause an uproar, but it would be considered blasphemy in the name of the first legitimized Hawthorne of the land. What kind of message does that send? Certainly not the message he wanted to convey.
When Brenly returned to the Keep, he noticed that the Lord was showing his throne room to Bristol. Brenly knew that the Lord would be boasting without him in his presence, so he snuck around to see if he could catch him in the act and have proof. As he approached, he heard Jethral speaking about his house in a manner he did not expect. It seemed that after all these years, being a moral compass can overturn a mad mind. Brenly sat still for a minute and listened, surprised by what he heard.
"Son there will come a time when you will lead with your brother here in this throne room. You have might and the most keen battle senses I have ever seen on the battlefield, and I dare say that you could best your brother in a fight. This does not mean to start a fight with your brother you imbecile, but that you are a man at a young age. There is a prophecy of two brothers who will come to the realm to reunite the light that was stolen when the Planeswalker began to rift into our dimension.
Little by little the light was absorbed through tiny portals that would seem to take a small amount of light, but as more and more people began to use Planeswalking on both sides they began to see tears in the rifts of time. This would be the end of the Golden Era. I do not believe that anyone alive today was alive during the Golden Era to be exact."
Brenly sat captivated by stories he had never heard before, scribbling into his notepad in the hope of capturing every word as it came out of Jenthal's mouth. This was possibly the most information we had heard about the Golden Era since the time of the living Paladins. Forgotten knowledge, and not just any forgotten knowledge, but the knowledge of The Onyx Cathedral. The Paladins knew that deep within those halls lay hidden knowledge, but only those of House Hawthorne dared to enter. There was an ancient blood curse that would extract your essence from your body, turning you into a thrall, a slave to serve without freedom.
"Your birthright stands atop the Onyx Cathedral. We are no mere mortals, son. Why do you think that our eyes grow dark when we grow angry? Do you think that we survive wounds no mortal man can we are blessed by luck. Ha. Ha. Foolish boy, we are what is left of the High Calthrix. This house is an ancient house made of many different banners. Some banners created their banners, others married those banners, and after time many of the names were lost to the wind, but one remained. Calthrix. We do not represent this banner on our sigil, nor announce ourselves as such, but we are the last house blessed with these ancient abilities."
Jenthal looked down at his son and noticed that he was almost angry at what he was saying as if he would rather be doing anything other than what he was currently engaged with. This slightly annoyed Jenthal because he was imparting knowledge that no other person, other than High Calthrix, knew. The importance of this knowledge would determine the fate of his bloodline when he died. He could not leave his beloved children alone with no protection in the world. Their birthright was power, and they needed to cooperate and harness every skill to utilize it properly.
"What is it? Does what I speak not interest you?"
"You're speaking to me like I am some type of weapon." Bristol looked upon his father and began to laugh.
As he laughed, you could see rage swelling in Jenthal's eyes. He knew that somewhere lurked Brenly, just waiting for him to step out of line. In recent times, however, he seemed to become more diplomatic. The leadership of Brenly had instilled a sense of morality in a man thought to be just food for the gods or a cruel plaything to watch squirm to them. Jenthal knew that his peace kept a certain sense of hope for Bristol to not turn out like him. He knew that a cold shoulder was what Rhys needed, just as he knew that the strategic approach of explaining morality was left to Bristol. After all, this is what saved him from madness.
"Son there will come a time when I cannot absorb enough souls to outrun the reaper. There will be great grief in those days, but the importance of your heritage must be taken seriously. We need to adjust how you are viewing the world. I once viewed the world this way as well, and I think that I have an idea."
Brenly frantically finished scribbling the last bit of lore into his notes and stuffed his notepad back into his belt. He turned the corner and began to head to the other side of the throne room. This morality mission had just become a mission of protection. He knew that there was power in the name Calthrix, especially a High Calthrix. He needed to trace back the bloodline further than Migarth. Migarth's family was known to be regular men and to die as such, so it became apparent that it must be the mother. He pondered ways that he could convince Jenthal to summon his mother. Approaching the two men, he tapped Jenthal on the shoulder, interrupting him as he was speaking.
"Jethral, you know that I do not like morality being discussed unless I am a part of the discussion. I cannot risk you poisoning the minds of your heirs."
Brenly had to act normally to avoid suspicion, and his approach went undetected. Jenthal burst into laughter and explained that he wanted a dual line of succession. He stated that he wanted both men to rule alongside each other for the good of his lands. He smiled at Brennly and placed his hand on Bristol's shoulder. Jenthral had aged since the betrayal of House Prax, but the overwhelming burden of having to eliminate an entire house, along with their army, was a weight that no man could bear for long, especially since those on the opposing side were possibly brothers and sisters of high standing in their lands – in his case, they were his actual brothers and sisters.
Brenly smiled down at Bristol telling him that his brother awaited around the corner for him a little while ago, but he seemed to have wandered off somewhere. Bristol rolled his eyes and chuckled. Bristol knew where Rhys had gone, but he was not about to let it be known so easily. He was waiting for him to guide some stupid caravan down to the river folk so they could eat. Ha. He laughed at the absurdity of his brother, a high-born prince of House Hawthorne so keen on showing such disregard for how disgusting these peasants were.
He mingled within them making himself known as some sorcerer. Enchantments on armor are one thing, but when it comes to actually binding yourself to something other than the astral plane, you are dealing with something more than just a cursed weapon, or maybe a cursed object that leads you to a place of vast wealth, only to have you trapped inside of the great vault to add you to the collection. It was absolute blasphemy to bring any other magic than what he now knew to be Calthrix magic into the house of Hawthorne. He would approach his brother and conclude what they should do. He was fine with him practicing these in private, but he did not want the townsfolk to think of them as weak, and what is more weak than a demon?
A sorcerer.
Bristol walked with his hand on his belt making sure to show off his sword. His family made their weapons out of the obsidian mountainside in which their home resided, so when it was hit with the faint light that did shine through the sky, it would shine as if hit by the light of the Gods. He walked through crowds daring anyone to speak about how abruptly his pace had become. He would find his magic brother before he became a necromancer. How could he live with himself if he allowed his brother to become the walking death? He had to be able to talk sense into him about these arcane arts before it was too late.
As he turned the corner of the pub he noticed the sign blow towards him making the chains rattle. He thought that it was strange because there had been no wind before this, but he carried on as he began shouting for Rhys.
"Rhys you better hope that father finds you before I do. This caravan can wait. We need to go and listen to him in the Keep." Bristol shouted as he began to grow irritated with his older brother.
Just as he passed by the sign he felt a light tap on his shoulder and a laugh. He turned around angrily, but this was nothing unusual for him.
"Hello brother how are you? I think that you have been searching for me. Well, I have a surprise for you. I have been by your side this entire time. Ha." joked Rhys.
Rhys noticed that Bristol seemed to be boiling with rage as he laughed. He knew that his brother had a temper, but he did not know that his volunteering them for an expedition would be a bad thing. This could be what he was mad about. Sometimes Bristol is known to get overwhelmed with his emotions, so it is best to allow him to properly process them. This did not seem like one of those times that you could allow Bristol time to calm down. He was enraged by madness. Why did he smirk as the rifts lit up? What did this mean?
"Bris? Are you okay? I was just playing a prank." said Rhys.
Bristol spit at his feet and began walking back and forth with his armor glistening in the passing light above through the dark clouds. He had a tough decision to make, so he decided to take the approach head-on. He knew that his brother had strayed away from solely the teachings of the Spectre. This was known but for some reason allowed by his father. After today Bristol saw it upon himself to decide for his father.
"Today brother I draw my sword. I suggest you do the same. That is unless you agree that these peasants will be fine carrying their bangs of shit and filth to the next town. We have guards for this kind of thing or did you forget that? They know you as the Peasant King. Do you know what this does to our house?! We will fight here and now for the succession of our fathers Lordship. I can tell you do not want it, so do not put up a fight like you do. I will kill you."
Rhys began to take a few steps back as he unsheathed his obsidian blade and gripped the stained maroon leather grip. He had killed many men the size of Bristol, but none of them were ever his brother. He had to think on his feet and he did the only thing that he could think of.
"I demand a one-on-one duel. We may use anything that the other should know for their age according to the magic of our home. Is that a deal?" announced Rhys.
Bristol thought it over as he twitched his hands at his side. He knew that he had the upper hand in this fight, so what do you do when you find free meat? You eat! Bristol stepped forward and stuck out the sharp jagged tip of his obsidian sword a few inches from Rhys's throat and smiled and began to speak.
"I agree to these terms, brother. Let me ask you, do you plan to tell your peasant friends that you stared down a sword and lived to tell a tale because of a pact our father has with a Paladin, or are you going to tell them another one of your fables I have never actually seen you perform."
Rhys responded by throwing a small dagger upward as Bristol managed to pull his sword from Rhys's throat. He had almost hit him intentionally with a kill shot. His brother did want him dead. He was using this opportunity to say that he had gone mad! He was the one mad if he thought he could get away with this. Bristol thrust his sword forward as Rhys rolled and unsheathed his sword seconds before Bristol's blade collided with obsidian to obsidian. Bristol pushed down as hard as he could shouting at his brother.
"You are not one of us. I know that you bear that name, but there is something off about you. I do nothing but try to make this house great, and all I get in return is ridicule because of my age. Look around I am a man, I tower over ever being that I am around my age. I would kill them if I played with them. I belong in war or at the very least an army, but I was born a Hawthorne. I will rule!" shouted Bristol.
Just as he finished his sentence Rhys remembered the terms that were agreed upon. Bristol at his age should now be learning about summons with specters and he saw in his eyes that he had been waiting to use it, so he countered him with his specter summons.
"Berractum" shouted Rhys.
"Verruckt" countered Bris
A bright field of energy erupted around the two boys as the merchants began to disperse, hoping to save their lives in trade for their goods in the stalls. Rhys slowly picked up his sword and coughed as he wiped blood off of his face laughing.
"You think that you are going to be able to hurt me? I know all of the protection magic that we teach in House Hawthorne, plus I may have studied up on some more advanced teachings that you would not understand."
Hubris is something that all of us experience in our lives, so let us try not to get angry at Rhys here. Bristol gripped the dirt at his feet and using his right arm pushed himself up to look at his brother in his eyes. He stared angrily at the smirk on Rhys's face and pushed himself off the ground, charging at Rhys.
"This magic that you use is blasphemy. Paladins have taught you their ways in hopes that you will close the rifts. House Hawthorne is aligned with those Riftlords. Have you no faith that we can gain a world of peace and beauty within the darkness? You faithless mage types never seem to understand."
As he finished speaking he swung his sword down towards Rhys's shoulder and just as he connected he felt himself fall forward onto the ground, collapsing in front of a crowd of beggars. They began to laugh and point at the prince as he was wiping his face and spitting blood onto where he had fallen. Bris began shouting as he raised his left hand and began to murmur hexes towards the crowd.
"Ambaler Incanti SA.." just as he was about to finish the cast he was interrupted by Rhys casting a constrict charm onto him.
As Rhys approached he began to cast his own hex upon Bris. This was not something that he took pride in doing. He did not want to harm his brother, but the darkness from the rift had eaten away at any dignity that he had left, and he could not sit back and allow his townsmen to be needlessly slaughtered because a spoiled brat could not handle being bested in a fight.
"Silenci Constricto Cerbe"
As he finished casting Bris's mouth began to sew itself shut and his arms and legs began to grow limp. Rhys watched as his brother became a limp pile of bones and loose skin, and in the middle of all the screaming, he began to speak to Bris. This was not meant to be mocking, but he needed him to understand that he could kill him, but that did not mean that he wanted to.
"Brother, these hexes are temporary. The hexes you attempted to cast upon the townsfolk who found humor in your misfortune were anything but temporary. You cast with such disregard for the people around you. Your wounds will heal, but as they do I plead with you to consider an approach that is less of a hassle for the people in your corner. We are supposed to be allies, but as of late I see you as my biggest adversary."
Rhys stated these words with a heavy heart. He cared for his brother deeply, and he knew that he was not responsible for teaching his brother a moral compass, but he could not help himself from attempting to give him a sense of humanity through one of the many lectures he had given him. Rhys reassured himself that he did not take any pleasure in the pain of his brother, nor him besting him in a fight, why should he feel accomplished for beating someone six years his junior? Bristol collapsed to the ground as the hex took full control of his motor functions and Rhys kneeled and threw him over his shoulder.
"This is getting harder to do brother. We are nearly the same size now, and I had hoped by now that you would understand that you were given great strength for a great purpose. Many people look up to you, and I know that deep down you do not want them to see a low IQ bloodthirsty psycho who is only fixed on his next kill. We have plenty of those. Why don't we focus on becoming the last shining light of the realm? I am going to try to sneak you past Brenly because lord knows he will have something to say and father cannot take any bad news at this time. I am not sure how much more bad news he can take, so I highly advise you to tighten up your grip on your ship."
Rhys climbed the steps of Specter's Keep and slowly opened up the dark woodstained doors that led to the stone hallways below. There were rooms down here where when he was Bristol's age he would sleep off the night's booze stash that he scored from his father. That was when things were a lot simpler. He could be young then. He did not need to worry about the perceptions of men he knew nothing of. As he laid Bris down on a bed in the servant's quarters he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. He turned around to be face to face with Brenly who had a frown on his face that would have rivaled the wrath of the Gods at the end of the Golden Age.
"Would you care to tell me what you think you are doing here? We asked you to mentor him, we did not ask you to cripple him and render him obsolete. Your father can barely breathe, and I have been tasked with looking out for you two." Brenly paused as he looked at Bris breathing slowly in the bed as his eyes were full of rage.
"I think that it would be best if you were not around for a while. If you continue to torture a tortured mind then you are doing no good for it. Bris will hate you for besting him, it's how his brain works, but your continuously beating him in a manner that is not only degrading but downright disrespectful may make the relationship you have unable to be repaired. I fear that I must ask you to leave House Hawthorne. I think that you will be better served as a member of your own banner. You are legitimized, and you can always change your name to anything you please. I think that it is time for you to take your leave."
As he finished his speech Rhys was already packing his things in the room that they were in. It seemed that they had not noticed that Rhys had been staying down here without raising suspicion. He grabbed the notes and books that he had been reading and prepared his knapsack to travel. As he grabbed his collection of daggers and two swords he began to walk towards to entrance to the wall that surrounded Specter's Keep.
Rhys turned around to take one more look into the place he had called home for so many years. Turning around he began to signal for the caravan to follow him. No matter where he was he knew he was in good for work, but without a place to stay how was he more than just a simple beggar? He looked down at the ground as he prepared to lead the caravan South towards the red lands, maybe he could start anew there, but he knew that nothing would compare to the halls of Specter's Keep.
Structure of Lords Chapter 2
Nes
The road seemed to go in and out as the lantern beside the carriage swayed back and forth showing glimpses of two men sharing a tobacco pipe.
“What do you think should be our next move?” asked Nes.
Nes was a fairly large man nearly 6’ 4” and could just about pull the carriage himself, wearing steel and leather armor dyed black with locks of black hair that blended with his armor. His house sigil gleamed in the lantern light as the horses came to a stop outside of a tavern. Nes’s green eyes glistened in the moonlight as he leaned into the lantern light staring at the man beside him.
“Walker, what do you think should be our next move?”
The man beside him looked up and cleared his throat,
“We don’t DO anything. We go into this tavern, we have a beer, and afterward, we go back to the nobleman who paid us to take care of his competitors. The men who can stop us are long gone, so I do not think we should have to worry about a tail. Can for once in your life you just relax?”
Walker was much smaller than Nes, but he spoke with much more bravado, making him seem much larger than he was. He stood 5’ 6” and barely weighed more than Nes’s armor. He wore leather armor with enchanted daggers on his belt line, matching Nes with the grey and black, but lacking the sigil on his chest. His yellow eyes sparkled in the light as he smirked.
“Come on ya big doof, we can have a small amount of fun. I mean you act as if we just slaughtered an entire line of heirs or something.”
That is exactly what they had done. Nes was the last survivor of House Prax, and he was on a mission to avenge his claim on his father's lands. He had been told many stories, but when it came to his father he knew very little. He knew that he was betrayed by a Hawthorne and he knew that he was one of the Necromancers north of the mountain ridge of black, but he did not seek out these types of things. His mother was a beautiful woman who seemed to believe in the heir. She spoke in her dying breath that vengeance was to be taken by the last remaining member of her house, and Nes meant to make her proud.
The road to the castle seemed quiet for this time of day, but this did not bother Nes. He seemed to push along as if he had no cares in the world when he came to a branch in the road with an orange glow flickered behind a set of rocks. Someone was stoking a fire behind this ridgeline, but were they a threat to them, or were they in need of help? Nes approached with his dagger drawn and spoke with his knife to the throat of the man.
"Speak, who are you?"
The man turned wide-eyed and stared at Nes. He seemed to be taken off guard like he did not know that anyone roamed these areas freely without men to guard them. He began to push himself backward in an attempt to guard himself as he spoke. His robes were dirty and blood ran down them as if he had just massacred a township of his own.
"My name is Rhys. I was attacked beyond that willow tree there. There were three men saying that they were meeting someone at a tavern a little south of here. I apologize if I startled you. I mean no harm. I am just on the hunt to get my things back and avenge the deaths of these merchants. I hope that you will allow me to continue my vendetta."
The man laughed as he finished speaking. If he was attacked it would make sense that he was covered in blood, but what if he was the one who attacked the caravan and now was waiting for him and Walker to drop their guard? Nes had to think quickly on his feet, so he asked the man to join them. He seemed to be well-equipped in the arcane arts. He had bracers that seemed to glow differently depending on the element he was casting and something told Nes that he could trust him.
"Would you like to come back to our noble house? Rhys, first what is your banner name? What house do you belong to?"
As Nes asked this he noticed that Rhys began to look down at the ground and showed a certain amount of shame as he began to open his mouth to answer.
"House Specter. What about you my Lord?" Asked Rhys.
Nes turned to look at Rhys thinking that he answered that fast without hesitation. If he was to tell him House Prax he would surely not believe him. We have been snuffed out for at least the better half of two decades now. He swallowed heavily and began to speak when Walker opened his mouth as if he knew he needed to save the situation from going into turmoil.
"Ah who needs pleasantries, do you like mead, women, and bloodshed? If so, you are good in my book." chuckled Walker.
The three men began laughing and exchanging stories of the road, seeming like they were not strangers at all. Rhys reached out his hand and asked for a hand up, the caravan had been overran by sellswords who had been in the bleak landscape for too long and lost their way. He was lucky to have escaped with his life, and the others in the caravan were not as fortunate. The merchant who he had grown to like by the name of Lithgar had now become a part of many aspects of the road, and Rhys did not feel right leaving him behind to venture with his new friends. Rhys stated that he had some things to take care of, but he would gladly accompany them to their keep or to their next tavern.
"I cannot leave Lithgar here in the open like this. He served the realm well, and he deserves a proper burial amongst the mountainside, overlooking his accomplished trade road," stated Rhys sternly.
"If anyone has any problem with this please let me know, but this is something that I must do before we venture forward."
Nes understood loyalty to a bannerman, he even understood loyalty to your favorite swordsman, but to a merchant whose name was about as well known as your average jester? This puzzled Nes. He did not understand gathering close to those around you. He was kindred with Walker, but he had known him since he was a boy. Walker had been there the night that he arrived at the castle and took him in as his own. This merchant was just that, a merchant. Why were they going out of their way to ensure that he had a proper burial? This was beyond his understanding, so he asked Rhys who Lithgar was.
"Who is this merchant to you? Is he a noble of your house, or maybe a father figure? It seems that a man with your capabilities would far surpass this as a mentor, so why do you care where his bloodline lays for the rest of their day? It would be just as easy to burn their bodies, cast aside anything that is not useful, and make sure we gather their goods for the trek ahead." Nes stated puzzled.
Rhys looked at Nes with a wave of boiling anger but stomached his emotion and began to explain to Nes that things were about balance. If they treated the dead with respect the dead would return the favor when they returned to walk the realm in the dark days.
"You do not understand the dead do you, my friend? Of course, they are dead, they are beyond this realm, but we can learn from them. The amount of necromancers that are among the living now is worrying, but sometimes they can be useful to understand why a death happened. Necromancy is not an inherently evil magic, but most evil-doers practice necromancy. I have studied this magic some, and if you practice it more than you are allocated, you will pay the price with your life force. Every time I use my magic I lose a piece of myself bit by bit, so I cannot imagine what it must feel like to succumb to magic that is death incarnate." Rhys said with a curiosity that stated he suspected Nes of necromancy.
Nes chuckled as Rhys finished his sentence as if he knew that he had been found out. If Rhys knew that he was a necromancer then it would not be a problem for him to ask the dead around him if they knew anything that could make him trust Rhys. He indeed enjoyed his company, but he could not help but be filled with suspicion when it came to who he stated he was. Nes had not heard of a House Spectre, but he had heard of Specter's Keep. This was a Hawthorne landmark, so it was far more likely that he was a Hawthorne. If that was the case, imprisonment was in the future for this man who he had shared laughs and drinks with.
"I cannot help but shake that you are deceiving me with the namesake that you gave me. Specter is not a known name in these lands. Are you from the West? If you are of House Specter like you say that you are then are you in affiliation with House Hawthorne? Those legitimized bastards are the bane of the existence of this land. The rift would be closed if they did not exist. I heard that the eldest born has run off, so please enlighten me of who you are again." laughed Nes sarcastically.
Just as the conversation ended a loud bang was heard. Walker had taken it upon himself to knock Rhys unconscious with a piece of wood from the carriage that had been ransacked. He stared looking at Nes proudly awaiting the reward of a good job when Nes stood up and raised his hand. He ordered Walker to tie him up and prepare the horses for a stowaway.
"I guess it was a bit impulsive, but now we can ask these dear friends of ours who are scattered amongst the road who are friend here is. I need you to ensnare him in the rope in my backpack. This enchantment on this rope binds magical abilities and makes them moot. If he comes to while we are talking to this massacre maybe he will be a good heir and tell us who he is."
Just as he finished his dialogue he thrust his hand into the neck of Lithgar's decapitated head. He sat with his eyes closed as an aura of red emitted from his hands. A slight breeze began to push past the three men as he began to say aloud the tongues of the dead.
"Hashliktum, Veruktis, Speakith Vera" shouted Nes in a cadence.
As he finished speaking Lithgar's lifeless head began to blink and roll its eyes around to regain focus. He seemed to know something was wrong, but he did not fully grasp what happened to him while he was alive. Nes sat his head down on a boulder in front of them and began to interrogate him.
"Who is this man?" Nes asked as he pointed to Rhys lying incapacitated on the ground in front of him.
"I asked you who this man was, spirit. I am a necromancer, you do as I say or I will keep you from your afterlife and bind you to serve me," stated Nes.
Lithgar's head began to shed tears and he opened his mouth and began to speak.
"Please, if I tell you who this is release me. I am but a merchant of House Hawthorne. I have known Mr. Rhys since he was a lad, but he is not like the other Hawthornes. He does not seek wealth or power. He seeks to close the rifts that have brought darkness to the world. He fights and lectures the insanity within his ranks and is always striving to be one step ahead of those he considers a threat. He would be a good one to bring down that despicable house." stated Lithgar.
Nes considered the threat of a Hawthorne accompanying him back to his castle, but he did not feel the normal surge of anxiety, so he signaled to Walker to approach Rhys and put him on horseback. The small man began to struggle with the body, so Nes resurrected two corpses that seemed to be the least mangled to assist with the weight of Rhys's body. The two corpses approached Walker as they ran into him and knocked him to the ground taking the body from him, placing Rhys on horseback, and afterwards falling back down to the ground in an instant, collapsing onto Walker.
"Shite, can you please for once in your life not rely on a headless corpse to do your bidding. I can damn well lift a body onto a horse. If you do not think that I can then it may be possible that we need to ask for assistance from Lord Olyn the next time we decide to come this far from the castle. Now get these damn bodies off of me, they are ruining my musk, and I swear if I lose out on getting my knickers wet I will be one pissed-off individual." screamed Walker as he squirmed beneath the lifeless bodies.
Nes began laughing as he raised the corpses releasing Walker from beneath them. He always found it humorous to put Walker in situations that seemed to degrade him. Walker was a decent man, and he served House Prax well, but he was still earning his banners. If he were given them without a fight or a struggle, what does that say about House Prax? It states that anyone can join, and that was far from the case.
"If you need me to save you every time we come out then how am I to trust you with the reconstruction of my namesake? Walker, you stand with the confidence of three men twice your size. If you cannot handle the duties of being a grunt, I need you to start handling the duties of being a knowledgeable advisor. You have many talents, but I am attempting to show you that strength is not one of them, at least the strength that applies force to a blade swing." stated Nes, explaining to Walker that he needed him to be more than a grunt. He needed him to be the brains inside of his operation, along with himself.
As they began down the trade road towards The Red Lands, Nes began to look at the sky and noticed that it had been many hours since they last stopped for water. He did not want this new guest of his to arrive to his lands parched, so he stopped on the side of the road and began to grab his water pouch, releasing water over the top of Rhys's face. Rhys began to choke as the water ran into his mouth and down his face. He opened his eyes and shouted,
"What are you doing? I have done nothing to be treated in this manner. Have you no respect for your fellow man? I have lost much in the days that have passed. I have told you my house name, I have told you my intentions, and I have told you what I think of certain portions of these lands. I have been honest with you, and I demand an explanation at this moment."
Rhys finished screaming as he squirmed on the back of Nes's horse and began trying to get out of the shackles that Walker had put on him. He noticed that they seemed to be abnormally tight and he could not seem to harness the will to cast any sort of spell. Had this been a special type of ensnarement? He began to calm down as he looked up and Nes just as he dismounted his horse in front of a dilapidated castle. He seemed to project confidence and a sense of pride for this structure as he began to speak.
"Welcome to Castle Prax. I know you have heard that name because just as you said a short few hours ago, you are of House Spectre. I know that you have found out by now that I have found that to be a lie, so I give you one chance. What is your house name? I already have been told, and I do not think that you represent the deeds of that house. If you continue to disrespect me as a guest in my domain I will be forced to do things I do not find enjoyable."
Rhys knew that he had found out, but he did not know how much Nes knew. If he were to reveal who he was it would cause a stir. Everyone knew that House Prax was in disrepair, but this man who stood in front of him had all the tools to resurrect a dead house. Rhys did not mean his necromantic abilities, he meant the charisma that exuded off of him as he spoke, he spoke of his innate ability to understand circumstances like this, and how he handled them with as much peace as he could. He had always been told that House Prax was a demonic house and they were not to be trusted, but Nes seemed to have a different aura about himself.
"If I tell you what you want to know I must be forthcoming with you about what I plan to do. I am of House Hawthorne. My family is known to be specter summoners and to harness their energy from individuals much like yourself as a necromancer. The only difference is yours is a learned power. The Hawthorne line gathers their energy from the rifts in our reality connecting to the Planeswalkers' reality. I have read books that state that the first Hawthorne started to experience powers around the time of the first rift opening. I know that is not a coincidence, so I have vowed to keep the people of this plane safe from what lies beyond the veil. If I must close the rifts then I must realize that is to take away my family's powers as well. If I just become a Paladin who corrects history for the betterment of his house then that is what I must be known for."
Nes sat staring at Rhys as if he was going to use his tongue to wiggle his way out of the scenario that he had landed in, but he did not gather that he was being manipulative. Rhys seemed to speak from a place of resentment of House Hawthorne. Nes could use this to help him harness his hatred for House Hawthorne as well. Nes began to smirk as he leaned forward grabbing Rhys off of the horse and leading him into the throne room of the decaying castle. He will soon be in the presence of the council. They will know what to do with him, and if they do not, they must respect what Nes decided to do.
"Welcome to my humble abode," Nes greeted, his voice echoing in the spacious hall. He gazed at the visitor, his piercing eyes filled with determination. "I know your grand hero monologue outside would have impressed many people, but I am seeking the truth, so you are in luck. I have decided to forgive the blood of your veins as of now."
Nes's voice grew somber as he continued, "If what you say is true, then you know what your family did to mine. We were peaceful mages, practicing our magic and arts, and some of us were necromancers, but we posed no threat to your family. Despite this, we were butchered by your father like animals."
He paused, a look of pain and bitterness crossing his face. "We had discovered information about the ancient rifts, corridors to other realms. This knowledge was hidden, buried deep within the annals of our history, and yet, somehow, Migarth and House Hawthorne were able to uncover it. My ancestors, brave and unwavering, were trying to seal these rifts to the Planes realm, to protect our world. But your family got wind of our intentions. They invited us to a gathering, promising merriment and camaraderie, only to strike us down in the dead of night when we let our guard down."
Nes's eyes narrowed, his voice filled with raw emotion, "I was born on the road leading away from Specter's Keep. If you only knew the injustices that your family has inflicted upon the realm, you would disown that accursed namesake," he preached, his words resounding through the chamber.
Rhys found himself lost in thought, pondering the veracity of his words. The tomes within the library at Specter's Keep contained heavily censored pages, forcing him to piece together fragmented information. While his assertions seemed plausible, he yearned for tangible evidence to confirm the grim reality he suspected. If his claims were accurate, House Hawthorne was not only steeped in malevolence but also willing to unleash mass devastation to maintain their grip on power. As Brenly had dismissed him, Rhys questioned whether a noble Paladin of high rank was aware of these atrocities, and if that was the reason for his presence. It was inconceivable to him that Brenly would support a house marred by the taint of murder and warmongering.
After entering the castle, Rhys was set down on a stone corridor floor and was amazed at the inside of the keep. How could something so decayed on the outside look so intricate on the inside? The moonlight shining through the destroyed ceiling made the marble floors look like they were glowing. Nes and Walker stood before a wall, a mysterious air enveloping them. Rhys observed with rapt attention as Nes tapped three times on the wall, quietly muttering something under his breath. Suddenly, the wall emitted a radiant white light, forming an elaborate door adorned with crimson seals. Awestruck, Rhys beheld ancient runes that he had never before encountered, unveiling a hidden entrance to a chamber that appeared to be a library—a sanctuary brimming with scrolls from bygone eras and books whose once-legible labels had faded with time. This was no ordinary library; it was a repository of knowledge meticulously preserved by a mage throughout their lifetime.
"Why are you taking me in there?" asked Rhys with hesitation in his voice.
Nes looked over at the Hawthorne heir and ignored his question. He signaled for Walker to lift him off the ground allowing him to walk freely in front of them. The corridor behind the door led down to a chamber filled with scrolls and papers which seemed to burst out of the walls and fill every table available. Nes looked in the direction of Rhys and signaled towards his hands.
"If I am to unbind you can I trust you to only seek the knowledge that is in this room?" Nes squinted at Rhys as he asked this.
"There are many things that you do not understand about your noble house. They are filled with demons. House Hawthorne is a vessel for House Ridge to send the demons that made agreements with their house. It is all in the texts in front of you. The Onyx Cathedral is not the only house in the realm to have forbidden knowledge." Nes cased around the study with his hands behind his back.
He appeared to place trust in the young lord, as they were both around the same age. Their shared ability to surpass the knowledge gap that often stunted their peers' growth heightened his confidence in Rhys. He gestured to Walker, urging him to release Rhys from the chains that restrained his hands.
"Walker, free our friend here. I believe his thirst for knowledge may outweigh his allegiance to his house in this particular instance. It takes a nobleman to recognize when he has taken the wrong path, and I think we should allow him to delve into his studies. Our friend can rejoin this conversation when he has become well-versed in what he was forbidden to know," Nes stated as he proceeded to leave the room. With a snap of his fingers, he illuminated the study by lighting the candles and wall sconces.
"Rhys, you are not alone in being chosen to bear gifts destined to be passed down through generations. I truly believe that together we can thwart this malevolent force that threatens our reality. However, you must first come to terms with some harsh truths regarding your lineage. It may require you to make the difficult decision of sacrificing someone dear to you. The preservation of the realm is paramount, and if it necessitates the sacrifice of an entitled Lord, then so be it."
After uttering those words, Nes and Walker solemnly ascended the ancient stone steps, their movements echoing in the stillness as they sealed the heavy wooden door behind them. Rhys was left alone in the chamber, surrounded by ancient scrolls and tomes. As he eagerly delved into the study of the mysterious scriptures, he couldn't shake the feeling that the knowledge within was unlike anything he had encountered before. A palpable energy seemed to emanate from the pages, enveloping him in a hum that seemed to vibrate through his very being. This chamber, steeped in the aura of arcane wisdom, resonated with an overwhelming energy that seemed to pulse with each turn of the ancient pages.
With each passing moment, Rhys felt an intense vibration coursing through his body, as if the very essence of the esoteric knowledge was infusing him with power and enlightenment. The tantalizing secrets of long-forgotten magic fueled his curiosity, propelling him forward for what felt like an eternity. He began to levitate as he sat on the ground with his eyes closed as scrolls twisted around him in a type of arcane tornado. Rhys began to hear voices of the past speak to him as he struggled to keep his focus on the information that was coming to him. The humming was overwhelming as he began to have flashes of memories project in his mind. He opened his eyes to find himself in an open room with Lord Migarth speaking to a dark shadow in front of his throne. He was laughing and as he shook his hand he made eye contact with Rhys. He knew that he could not see him, but it felt as if he was there in the moment with them. Rhys began to walk towards the two men when the floor began to vibrate. A voice began to speak in a low demonic tone as he felt his vision fade back to his reality.
"You do not belong here. If you seek a war amongst the ranks of men, I shall see to it that you are met with the full force of the Riftlords." the sound of the voice shook Rhys to his very core.
The astral plane was a perilous realm, shrouded in mystery and danger. In this otherworldly domain, a malevolent demon lurked, possessing an uncanny understanding of House Hawthorne's essence. A sinister figure, with a haunting smirk revealing teeth like daggers, pointed at Rhys. With a snap of his fingers, overwhelming vibrations pulsated through the air, forcing Rhys to his knees. Although he knew it was just a dream, Rhys realized he had to awaken from his meditative trance to avoid being ensnared by this nefarious being for eternity.
Struggling, Rhys began to crawl towards his body, which he saw levitating in the distance. Meanwhile, the malicious creature crept slowly behind him, preparing to unleash its malevolent forces. In desperation, Rhys lunged toward his body feeling him sink into his subconscious as the demon began to scream towards him, desperately attempting to keep him inside of his control.
"I summon the legion of the veil! Bring forth his soul to me. A Hawthorne's oldest heir shall soon be mine, so let us gather strength as we feed. This one is a sorcerer, and I intend to revel in the possibilities this thrall presents," declared the malevolent figure with a chilling tone.
As the resonant hum gradually eased, Rhys' senses were drawn to the distinctive sound of stones shifting above the stairwell. It was Nes, returning and filled with curiosity about Rhys' discoveries. With a feeling of urgency and foreboding, Rhys prepared to share his findings with the Lord of House Prax.
Upon entering the study, Rhys was met by Nes' intense gaze, filled with anticipation. It was a rare occasion to be granted unrestricted access to the Library of Lodtuck. Rhys was still reeling from his encounter with the black figure with jagged, dagger-like teeth. Should he confide in Nes about this chilling experience, he would risk revealing his use of gifts from the Rift. Yet, withholding this information felt like a betrayal to his potential ally. While Rhys was beginning to regain his strength, the turmoil within was visibly etched on his face. It was his first direct encounter with a demon, a realization that sent shivers down his spine. He had heard tales of such encounters, but the toll they exacted was beyond anything he had imagined. The idea of magic sapping one's strength paled in comparison to the malevolent grip of demonic possession. Rhys cleared his throat with a resolute cough, the sound echoing lightly in the chamber. With a swift motion, he snapped the silver cloak buckle securely around his neck before settling into the ornate chair. Leaning forward, he extended a commanding finger, indicating the text laid out before him, beckoning Nes to approach, his gaze fixed with unwavering intensity, and Rhys decided to tell Nes about the encounter.
"In the final stages of my research, I encountered a demonic entity. Its presence was unmistakable, as it perfectly matched the description provided in the text. This demon possessed teeth resembling daggers and its eerie red eyes seemed to track your every movement. Cloaked in a thick black fog, its bodily form remained obscured from view. I pondered over the connection between this demon and my house, as well as its interest in my vessel. It ominously suggested that it was only a matter of time before I succumbed to its influence, along with its legion of demons."
Nes's eyes widened in terror as he gazed at his guest. For the first time in his youth, he felt fear clutch at his heart. He recognized the entity his guest spoke of—an evil force responsible for the haunting whispers of many madmen across the land. This force had caused the disbanding of the Bard's College and the devastating destruction of numerous towns, leaving the townsfolk to sift through the remains in a desperate attempt to rebuild amidst the ashes of their former lives. Since Nes was a young boy, the name of the demon had not been spoken in his presence. He always believed that uttering the name could grant it power. However, in this critical moment, it became a necessary question to ask. Preparing himself emotionally, Nes turned to Rhys and posed the weighty question that had been lingering heavily on his mind.
"Are you telling me that you encountered the Ifrit Nesbat in the astral plane? If that's the case, then you would have been at risk of being possessed by this dangerous entity if you were unable to return to your physical body. Nesbat is a malevolent being connected to your family's lineage. If he is free and manifest, it likely indicates that the head of your family has passed away. In such situations, the entity typically transfers to the eldest living member, unless it has received other instructions from its host demon. The entity's host demon is Maligathus, who is also known as the Lord of the Rifts."
Rhys interrupted eagerly, but it was clear that he was showing signs of fatigue.
"I am well aware of these matters if you would kindly allow me to articulate them. I am heartened to observe that you, too, possess an ardent yearning for knowledge and its preservation. While this does hearten me, I am compelled to determine its implications for my well-being. If this entity is indeed targeting me, what measures should I take to ready myself? How might I vanquish this entity? I am convinced such a feat can be accomplished. The Paladins have allocated an entire section to this very pursuit."
Nes gazed at Rhys with an expression of shock and disbelief, as though Rhys had just committed an unforgivable act. Nes swallowed hard and let out a nervous chuckle as he took a seat at the table, which was scattered with ancient scrolls. It was evident that Rhys didn't grasp the gravity of being marked by a demonic force. This wasn't just any ordinary demon pursuing him; it was a high-ranking demon from the depths of hell. Escaping its clutches would be an immensely daunting challenge. Nes locked eyes with Rhys, silently communicating the severity of the situation that lay ahead.
"These are questions I didn't expect from someone familiar with the Paladins' texts. This isn't just any demon you can banish. This is a high-ranking demon in the underworld's army, exiled to the rift beyond the veil for contending with the devil for power. He's now trying to remain in this realm, connected to Jethral Hawthorne's descendants. Your family made a pact with a notorious sect of hell, known for trickery and tormenting anyone who opposes them. There's no known method to prepare for an attack like this. However, we have my forces and the council, so that's a promising start."
Rhys had anticipated a more optimistic response than the one he received. He couldn't fathom how someone with a castle in disrepair could muster any significant forces. It felt like an endless battle with no discernible conclusion. How could he possibly overcome a demon? Just surviving the recent attack by a group of Dark Knights on a caravan had been a close call. As he slumped into his chair, he absentmindedly began picking at the marks on his wrist from where the bindings had been, and then he cautiously hovered his hand over them. A soft green glow emanated from his palm as he concentrated on healing the cuts, shutting his eyes in deep focus. Reflecting on what the demon had told him during his meditation, he remembered the entity's proclamation that the firstborn heir of a Hawthorne would soon be his. However, the demon didn't seem concerned about possessing the heir, almost as if he believed he could simply harness the heir's power like any other powerful being he encountered during his journey.
"I know that you have me captive, but is there any chance we could go outside for some fresh air? I think I may be feeling sick from the vast amount of knowledge I have absorbed during my time here. How long was I reading, if you don't mind me asking?" Rhys asked, hoping that his captor had grown to trust his search for knowledge.
Nes spoke firmly, "We are planning to go above ground and make introductions with the council. As you're a Hawthorne, it's a risk for me to vouch for you. Although I lead this house, I value the decisions made by our council. I've been given strict orders to eliminate anyone from the House of Hawthorne or the township of Jethro. However, I have managed to negotiate your opportunity to present yourself to them in the hope that they will also place their trust in you."
Rhys expressed his anger as he questioned, "Why do you hope that they will trust me? As their leader, it's your responsibility to dictate who they trust. What if they conclude that I'm not trustworthy?"
"In such a situation, we would keep you in the study to monitor your behavior when the demon takes control. If we could manage to confine him within a sacrament circle, we might be able to weaken him enough to permanently vanquish him. However, we would still require the assistance of a skilled sorcerer, and that is where you would come in," Nes explained.
Rhys questioned, "What if I were to decline to be your errand boy? I, too, desire to close these rifts, but I am unable to envision a feasible approach. Numerous skilled wizards and sorcerers have endeavored to seal these rifts to the Planes realm, only to meet with failure. What leads you to believe that I possess the ability to succeed where they have not?"
"I don't know if you can. I just hope that you can harness that ability. Many texts around you hold the secret we need to finish what we started when we met on the King's Road. Maybe we should rename that road. Migarth has been dead for months, and I don't see any legitimate successors, so the realm is up for grabs. A more fitting name might be Hangman's Road, considering he hanged so many of his bastards there. If you think about it, those men we see hanging twice a year were our family. After all, we are both descendants of Migarth, whether we acknowledge it or not. Time passes differently here, you asked how long you were down here. You have been down here for three years in this time lock, but in the reality above you have been gone for two weeks. I know this is a shock, but you may experience some issues with your conjuration of mana in part due to the timelock being taxing on people of magic. The other reason is that I have enchanted the throne room to block all magic within the halls"
Nes arose from the table and signaled for Rhys to follow suit as he and Walker began to walk towards the doorway leaning on the oak banisters that led to the stone stairwell leading to the keeps main hallway. Rhys rose from the table and began to stretch as he began to feel the weight the timelock had on his body. He felt as if he had been devoured by a great beast only to be reincarnated into its next meal as well. He saw why Nes had not demanded that he put the shackles back on because he did not feel he could conjour anything at this particular moment. He began walking towards the door when he made eye contact with Walker and by the look on his face, Rhys could tell that he did not look well.
"I'll be damned, I finally saw a companion of Rhys that he did not reanimate and they still look as if they are on death's door. You best get you something in ya lad. Possibly get something between ya as well if you catch my drift." joked Walker.
The three men began up the stairwell and into the throne room and Rhys began to wonder what he was in store for. If he did not get granted a pardon by the council he would be forced back below ground in a room full of knowledge which excited him, but he would also be held captive and be at the bidding of a Lord who may be just as hungry for power as Bristol. He hoped that Brenly was able to get Bristol to understand that the things he did to him was not out of hate. It was too late to ponder on things that were now a thought for another time. As he entered the throne room he saw the council raise from their war table and congregate around Nes.
As Nes motioned to Rhys he walked over to the group with a pit in his stomach. There were times when a man could be confident, but this was not one of those times. As he approached the council and bowed he began to sense that this meeting was not going to be an easy one. Piercing eyes met his gaze as he glanced around the room. Rhys prepared for the battle of wits that was surely about to happen amongst the high council of House Prax. He knew that he needed to plead his case in order to survive, and now with new knowledge of what his house represented, he knew that the choice was an easy one for him. He would choose what was right for the realm, no matter what it meant for him in return.
