A day passed and the sun rose slowly, illuminating the fertile plains beyond the walls. The ground there is so thoroughly churned and nourished with human flesh that even the lowest leveled [Farmer] could reap a bountiful harvest. Truly, the kingdom of Kurzix would be celebrating the acquisition of such fertile land, but instead, they mourn.
The era of [Iron King] Enderan has ended. [Queen] Mercia stares at her husband’s casket. She is the ruler of Kurzix now, at least as regent till one her daughters can take the throne. She wished she weren’t. She follows her husband for the last time, first in the funeral procession behind the pallbearers carrying the coffin.
In life, Enderan was a loving and loyal husband, doting father, and just ruler. He invited and encouraged Mercia to take part in the affairs of state. Together, they had lived and loved and governed. Together, they had raised a family and a kingdom. Together… no longer. Today, [Queen] Mercia leads her family and her people up the mountain to send off her husband, their father, their [King]. When she descends again, Mercia will be leading her kingdom and her family alone.
As the sun reaches its zenith, the mourners summit the peak of the mountain they call home. At the very top, above the [King]’s pavilion, is an ancient iron bonfire pit sunk into the stone, stacked, today, with wood for a funeral pyre.
Slowly, the pallbearing [Guards] place the casket atop the stacked wood. Next, four [Guards] each place a stand, holding a lighted torch beside the pit. Then they stand back and wait.
Mercia looks at the burning flames of the torches and the wooden casket housing her husband. She wishes she could see him again, to sit beside him a little bit longer, but the City of Iron’s laws will not allow that. When a monarch dies, their corpses must be burned the next morning, just as broken tools must be smelted to be born anew.
Slowly, she steps forward, her feet heavy as she arrives at the first torch. She grabs it, and with one last look, places it amongst the kindling. She walks back and looks at her eldest daughter.
Her daughter does the same as her, picking up a torch and placing it in the pyre to feed the slowly spreading flames. The next eldest does the same, silently adding to his memory.
Finally, it is her youngest daughter’s turn. Amber sniffs, her eyes are puffy and red. She holds firmly onto the masked man's robe. Truly, she is fortunate that Bone had left the castle with her when they did, otherwise she and he would be dead. The explosion that annihilated half the castle also completely destroyed her room.
She watches Bone place a gentle hand on her head. “Go,” he says softly, “send him your love. Let him hear you one last time.”
Slowly, her daughter nods. She lets go of his robe and walks to the last torch. Amber firmly picks it up from the base, then she turns to the growing flames.
“I LOVE YOU DADDY!” she screams a child’s scream, aching to be heard. She throws the torch and watches the fire burn brightly.
Then Amber turns away from the flames and runs to her, tears once again falling from her eyes.
Mercia kneels on the ground and Amber crashes into her chest, arms grabbing around her. Without thinking, her own arms surround her daughter. Amber begins to wail loudly, echoing aloud the sorrow in all their hearts. Tomorrow, Mercia will be the calm, strong, and regal [Queen], but today, she has a daughter and a kingdom to comfort.
Tears roll down her face as Mercia holds and comforts Amber, each of them trying to fill for the other the hole left behind by the [Iron King].
____________________________________________________________
More days pass by, and the mood lightens. Hearts harden as the world carries on. Repair of the castle is underway, merchants trade like they had never stopped, and to Mercia’s surprise, Shival surrenders to her. The destruction of almost their entire army, as well as the loss of their [King], panicked the [Nobles], who found themselves in a much weakened kingdom with no clear line of succession.
Fearing reprisal, the most influential bloc of Shivalan [Nobility] threw themselves upon Mercia’s mercy and surrendered.
Sighing internally, Mercia studies reports in her study. The door opens and the masked man enters.
“You wish to see me?” Bone asks as he walks up and sits down across her desk.
She nods. Her eyes harden as she clasps her hands. “I’m going to be direct with you, Mr. Bone. Many people wish to know how an entire army was massacred. Neighboring kingdoms are worried. A few have sent threats already. Thus far, I have kept silent on the issue, but that will not last,” she speaks, gazing at his mask, but unable to discern the man’s expression. Whoever he is, he holds enough power to topple kingdoms. She asked the [Archpriestess] what that being was, and she informed her it was a creation by Bone.
“You want me gone,” he answers.
“Not just gone. I want you to take the full responsibility for single-handedly destroying Shival’s army. In exchange, I will close the mercenary contract favorably and give you a large monetary bonus.”
“Hmmm…” Bone takes a moment to seemingly ponder. “That’s a big risk on my part. A huge target gets placed on my back and all I get in exchange is coin.”
She nods, somewhat expecting that answer.
“What do you want?” she asks.
For a second, she gets the sense the man is smiling. He leans forward slightly, posture shifting into something more aggressive.
“I want the [Scepter of Was],” he announces and she is taken aback.
“How do you know…?” she begins and stops as he places his hands on her desk, completely relaxed. The sudden shift in demeanor sends a ripple of fear down her spine, an almost palpable sense of greed within the air.
“I know that when Kurzix uncovered the underground dungeon, they also found the corpses of those who had destroyed the dungeon stone. On those corpses were several Very Rare and Legendary ranked items.”
“Those items are priceless!” she whisper-shouts, as though afraid someone might hear them.
“Would you put a price on the safety of your kingdom?”
She glares at him now, no longer trying to control her emotions. He confuses her. Had his doting on Amber been a ruse of some sort, to cause Mercia to let her guard down?
“Fine! I will give you the scepter, but I want you gone tomorrow.”
The man stands and bows. “A pleasure doing business with you.” he replies before heading towards the door. He twists the handle and pauses. He looks back at her, “A word of advice: Even if the blame of this… kerfuffle falls solely on me, the kingdoms will still be looking at Kurzix. They will figure out rather quickly that the ‘unassailable’ city walls are no longer supported by a powerful skill. I recommend seeking aid from a city still friendly to you. Perhaps, Camelot?”
Bone opens the office door and leaves without looking back. Mercia slouches in her chair, knowing that he is correct. Since she does not carry the noble line in her blood, she will never gain the skill, even if she becomes an [Iron Queen]. Only her daughters can… which means she needs to find husbands for them, preferably sooner rather than later.
_______________________________________________________________
Quasi hums to himself as he strolls down the castle hallways, mulling over the word kerfuffle. Kerfuffle. It’s such a fun word. The levels he’s been gaining in the [Gentleman] class has been doing wonders for his… eloquence? No, no, that’s not the one. Verbosity? Yeah, that’s it. He admits, most of them seem pretty situational or non-combative, but it’s moments like these that they really seem to shine.
Entering his room, Quasi sees what’s left of his group sitting around. Even if he hadn’t been able to sense them from down the hallway, he would have expected them to be here. Jessica is slouched in a corner, saddened over the deaths she couldn’t prevent. She blames herself for Mule’s actions, but the reality is that their enemy summoned a fucking Archangel. Like, who the fuck does that? That’s like taking a nuke to a knife fight.
“Hey Deflon, you can stop making those ward suppression runes. I don't need to break into the vault anymore. The [Queen] is going to just give me the scepter.”
Deflon frowns as he looks up from a sheet of metal engraved with hundreds of runes. It’s one of several dozen he has been working on since they arrived at the castle. He sighs.
“No monarch is going to just give away a legendary item for free. What did it cost?” Abernick asks.
“She wants us gone tomorrow… and she wants me to take the blame for Mule’s actions.”
At the mention of its name, Jessica curls up slightly, but doesn’t cry. She’s getting better, though very slowly. Time heals all wounds, especially if you have high willpower like she does.
“She doesn't want the attention,” Abernick comments.
“No she doesn't. Nor do I either, but it doesn't really matter. We’re getting what we came for. We’ll leave tomorrow, travel west, meet up with Jessica's family, then head to the City of Sands. If we go fast enough, I doubt word will travel quickly enough that my name will be well known.”
______________________________________________________________
“Bone?” The Grand Chancellor frowns at the name as he stares at the kneeling [Inquisitor]. “Are you sure it was him?”
“Yes [Chancellor],” the [Assassin] replies. “The mercenary Bone summoned an undead which killed an [Archangel] and then completely annihilated Shival’s entire army.”
“And his class is [Necromancer]?” he asks.
“Yes.”
The Chancellor taps his chin, trying to assess the information. A [Necromancer] shouldn't have anywhere near enough power to create undead to rival Archangels. Even a Named being would struggle to defeat one.
“Do we know if this Bone is named?”
“Unlikely,” the [Assassin] answers, which means that the answer is no. Named beings cannot hide their status no matter how hard they try.
“I see. Well then, I want a full contingent of Shadow Ravens armed and prepared to assassinate a high level target.” he orders and the kneeling man disappears.
The [Chancellor] turns around and gazes through his window. He frowns. Several problems have cropped up this week. The army ordered to cut a path through the Arachne forest was slaughtered by a single Weaver. Further north, an army of Lycans escaped the blockade and killed one of the higher leveled [Generals]. Now, the eastern armies have abruptly organized as though they are all under the command of a single [General]. He expected the east would organize, but not so soon or so quickly. He had expected another two months of uncoordinated resistance.
Shaking his head, the [Chancellor] shifts his gaze to the south. For some odd reason, he feels like this is only the beginning, a prologue to a grand calamity. It could just be his nerves talking; the south has nothing that can threaten him. The people there are weak, low leveled, and the [Kingdoms] are constantly at war with their neighbors. The only wild card is Mimir, which is why Umbra is heading south just to make sure.
A day passed and the sun rose slowly, illuminating the fertile plains beyond the walls. The ground there is so thoroughly churned and nourished with human flesh that even the lowest leveled [Farmer] could reap a bountiful harvest. Truly, the kingdom of Kurzix would be celebrating the acquisition of such fertile land, but instead, they mourn.
The era of [Iron King] Enderan has ended. [Queen] Mercia stares at her husband’s casket. She is the ruler of Kurzix now, at least as regent till one her daughters can take the throne. She wished she weren’t. She follows her husband for the last time, first in the funeral procession behind the pallbearers carrying the coffin.
In life, Enderan was a loving and loyal husband, doting father, and just ruler. He invited and encouraged Mercia to take part in the affairs of state. Together, they had lived and loved and governed. Together, they had raised a family and a kingdom. Together… no longer. Today, [Queen] Mercia leads her family and her people up the mountain to send off her husband, their father, their [King]. When she descends again, Mercia will be leading her kingdom and her family alone.
As the sun reaches its zenith, the mourners summit the peak of the mountain they call home. At the very top, above the [King]’s pavilion, is an ancient iron bonfire pit sunk into the stone, stacked, today, with wood for a funeral pyre.
Slowly, the pallbearing [Guards] place the casket atop the stacked wood. Next, four [Guards] each place a stand, holding a lighted torch beside the pit. Then they stand back and wait.
Mercia looks at the burning flames of the torches and the wooden casket housing her husband. She wishes she could see him again, to sit beside him a little bit longer, but the City of Iron’s laws will not allow that. When a monarch dies, their corpses must be burned the next morning, just as broken tools must be smelted to be born anew.
Slowly, she steps forward, her feet heavy as she arrives at the first torch. She grabs it, and with one last look, places it amongst the kindling. She walks back and looks at her eldest daughter.
Her daughter does the same as her, picking up a torch and placing it in the pyre to feed the slowly spreading flames. The next eldest does the same, silently adding to his memory.
Finally, it is her youngest daughter’s turn. Amber sniffs, her eyes are puffy and red. She holds firmly onto the masked man's robe. Truly, she is fortunate that Bone had left the castle with her when they did, otherwise she and he would be dead. The explosion that annihilated half the castle also completely destroyed her room.
She watches Bone place a gentle hand on her head. “Go,” he says softly, “send him your love. Let him hear you one last time.”
Slowly, her daughter nods. She lets go of his robe and walks to the last torch. Amber firmly picks it up from the base, then she turns to the growing flames.
“I LOVE YOU DADDY!” she screams a child’s scream, aching to be heard. She throws the torch and watches the fire burn brightly.
Then Amber turns away from the flames and runs to her, tears once again falling from her eyes.
Mercia kneels on the ground and Amber crashes into her chest, arms grabbing around her. Without thinking, her own arms surround her daughter. Amber begins to wail loudly, echoing aloud the sorrow in all their hearts. Tomorrow, Mercia will be the calm, strong, and regal [Queen], but today, she has a daughter and a kingdom to comfort.
Tears roll down her face as Mercia holds and comforts Amber, each of them trying to fill for the other the hole left behind by the [Iron King].
____________________________________________________________
More days pass by, and the mood lightens. Hearts harden as the world carries on. Repair of the castle is underway, merchants trade like they had never stopped, and to Mercia’s surprise, Shival surrenders to her. The destruction of almost their entire army, as well as the loss of their [King], panicked the [Nobles], who found themselves in a much weakened kingdom with no clear line of succession.
Fearing reprisal, the most influential bloc of Shivalan [Nobility] threw themselves upon Mercia’s mercy and surrendered.
Sighing internally, Mercia studies reports in her study. The door opens and the masked man enters.
“You wish to see me?” Bone asks as he walks up and sits down across her desk.
She nods. Her eyes harden as she clasps her hands. “I’m going to be direct with you, Mr. Bone. Many people wish to know how an entire army was massacred. Neighboring kingdoms are worried. A few have sent threats already. Thus far, I have kept silent on the issue, but that will not last,” she speaks, gazing at his mask, but unable to discern the man’s expression. Whoever he is, he holds enough power to topple kingdoms. She asked the [Archpriestess] what that being was, and she informed her it was a creation by Bone.
“You want me gone,” he answers.
“Not just gone. I want you to take the full responsibility for single-handedly destroying Shival’s army. In exchange, I will close the mercenary contract favorably and give you a large monetary bonus.”
“Hmmm…” Bone takes a moment to seemingly ponder. “That’s a big risk on my part. A huge target gets placed on my back and all I get in exchange is coin.”
She nods, somewhat expecting that answer.
“What do you want?” she asks.
For a second, she gets the sense the man is smiling. He leans forward slightly, posture shifting into something more aggressive.
“I want the [Scepter of Was],” he announces and she is taken aback.
“How do you know…?” she begins and stops as he places his hands on her desk, completely relaxed. The sudden shift in demeanor sends a ripple of fear down her spine, an almost palpable sense of greed within the air.
“I know that when Kurzix uncovered the underground dungeon, they also found the corpses of those who had destroyed the dungeon stone. On those corpses were several Very Rare and Legendary ranked items.”
“Those items are priceless!” she whisper-shouts, as though afraid someone might hear them.
“Would you put a price on the safety of your kingdom?”
She glares at him now, no longer trying to control her emotions. He confuses her. Had his doting on Amber been a ruse of some sort, to cause Mercia to let her guard down?
“Fine! I will give you the scepter, but I want you gone tomorrow.”
The man stands and bows. “A pleasure doing business with you.” he replies before heading towards the door. He twists the handle and pauses. He looks back at her, “A word of advice: Even if the blame of this… kerfuffle falls solely on me, the kingdoms will still be looking at Kurzix. They will figure out rather quickly that the ‘unassailable’ city walls are no longer supported by a powerful skill. I recommend seeking aid from a city still friendly to you. Perhaps, Camelot?”
Bone opens the office door and leaves without looking back. Mercia slouches in her chair, knowing that he is correct. Since she does not carry the noble line in her blood, she will never gain the skill, even if she becomes an [Iron Queen]. Only her daughters can… which means she needs to find husbands for them, preferably sooner rather than later.
_______________________________________________________________
Quasi hums to himself as he strolls down the castle hallways, mulling over the word kerfuffle. Kerfuffle. It’s such a fun word. The levels he’s been gaining in the [Gentleman] class has been doing wonders for his… eloquence? No, no, that’s not the one. Verbosity? Yeah, that’s it. He admits, most of them seem pretty situational or non-combative, but it’s moments like these that they really seem to shine.
Entering his room, Quasi sees what’s left of his group sitting around. Even if he hadn’t been able to sense them from down the hallway, he would have expected them to be here. Jessica is slouched in a corner, saddened over the deaths she couldn’t prevent. She blames herself for Mule’s actions, but the reality is that their enemy summoned a fucking Archangel. Like, who the fuck does that? That’s like taking a nuke to a knife fight.
“Hey Deflon, you can stop making those ward suppression runes. I don't need to break into the vault anymore. The [Queen] is going to just give me the scepter.”
Deflon frowns as he looks up from a sheet of metal engraved with hundreds of runes. It’s one of several dozen he has been working on since they arrived at the castle. He sighs.
“No monarch is going to just give away a legendary item for free. What did it cost?” Abernick asks.
“She wants us gone tomorrow… and she wants me to take the blame for Mule’s actions.”
At the mention of its name, Jessica curls up slightly, but doesn’t cry. She’s getting better, though very slowly. Time heals all wounds, especially if you have high willpower like she does.
“She doesn't want the attention,” Abernick comments.
“No she doesn't. Nor do I either, but it doesn't really matter. We’re getting what we came for. We’ll leave tomorrow, travel west, meet up with Jessica's family, then head to the City of Sands. If we go fast enough, I doubt word will travel quickly enough that my name will be well known.”
______________________________________________________________
“Bone?” The Grand Chancellor frowns at the name as he stares at the kneeling [Inquisitor]. “Are you sure it was him?”
“Yes [Chancellor],” the [Assassin] replies. “The mercenary Bone summoned an undead which killed an [Archangel] and then completely annihilated Shival’s entire army.”
“And his class is [Necromancer]?” he asks.
“Yes.”
The Chancellor taps his chin, trying to assess the information. A [Necromancer] shouldn't have anywhere near enough power to create undead to rival Archangels. Even a Named being would struggle to defeat one.
“Do we know if this Bone is named?”
“Unlikely,” the [Assassin] answers, which means that the answer is no. Named beings cannot hide their status no matter how hard they try.
“I see. Well then, I want a full contingent of Shadow Ravens armed and prepared to assassinate a high level target.” he orders and the kneeling man disappears.
The [Chancellor] turns around and gazes through his window. He frowns. Several problems have cropped up this week. The army ordered to cut a path through the Arachne forest was slaughtered by a single Weaver. Further north, an army of Lycans escaped the blockade and killed one of the higher leveled [Generals]. Now, the eastern armies have abruptly organized as though they are all under the command of a single [General]. He expected the east would organize, but not so soon or so quickly. He had expected another two months of uncoordinated resistance.
Shaking his head, the [Chancellor] shifts his gaze to the south. For some odd reason, he feels like this is only the beginning, a prologue to a grand calamity. It could just be his nerves talking; the south has nothing that can threaten him. The people there are weak, low leveled, and the [Kingdoms] are constantly at war with their neighbors. The only wild card is Mimir, which is why Umbra is heading south just to make sure.
