A Tale of Three Kings
A Tale of Three Kings
Episode I. Dying Flame
“Let’s start at the beginning...” mouthed a blue substance splattered frame prostrated before a many horn decorated figure.
Another world, rather, another time. Your kind stuck to their own, to caves and deep chasms. Here and there an odd loner dressed in robes hiding their features roamed, but when they were revealed… Fanatic, mindless slaughter followed in belief that they are of abyssal nature. And that continued in relative peace.
Over a century, with the rise of a new generation, these practices changed. Craftsmen, artists, entertainers they became; an odd sort, nevertheless accepted to a degree, but shunned and looked at with eyes full of wary. A rare sight to the realm’s common man, even more so to that of a Noble’s. But, truth be told, beasts they are no matter what. And so are you.
“I’d rather end it here, though it must be told that you are not wrong. However, contrary to your beliefs, I embrace this. Any last words?”
The small gathering watched with fear in their eyes. They knew that this was the end for this fragile peace there was for them. Still on their knees- for two days straight now, the being shivered visibly and looked around to take in a last glimpse of those who were confidants, comrades, loved ones once upon a better day. A crowd is a crowd. Some stand in fear, some show bits of disgust, then there is hate and the likes. This execution wasn’t the first, but perhaps the last. Yet it was that of an elder’s. A good minute’s silence later, the lilac being aimed its gaze up to the burgundy creature, and spat straight on its face which to the many horned figure flinched and grit their teeth.
“If you call this a life, then you better take your shit-smeared hybrid blood and choke on it as you should’ve when you left us all at Rohalast. Here you are, fornicating with- no, marrying an iceborne. You are a disgrace to all that we stood for! The man screamed at the top of his lungs. Let it be known to all of you! Look upon the defiler who you follow!”
In center of attention stands that burgundy monster. An alabaster handkerchief is brought out, but instead of wiping the spit away, it is let to lull unto the ground. The crowd rumbles, swords are unsheathed as the danakovs glance at one another. Yet no one acts to stop what is to come. They waited, not because they were about to rush upon the two, but because they knew that this moment was the last the see a leader of the old regime. And their wait is borne fruit soon enough. One by one, swords fall to the ground, armaments, badges, insignias, everything that resembled their ruler's will.
“I no longer wish to lie to myself, Elder. Today, I let all of you go. Those who wish to avenge the man, be my guest. I promise no less a painful death than this man's here. We have no place in the North, nor do you belong under my authority or oversight anymore. Bugger off.”
And with that, a pillar of flame rose in the midst as the crowd began to disperse and leave. The six horned man stayed to watch how the elder melted away. He questioned himself many times a day now, but to no avail for no answer came. That day, a letter was sent, and Fridsaelt became void of danakov presence entirely.