noil
cursed with ideas
Like the Stars Chase the Sun
The king is dead. Sometime before the sun had risen, the dawn was shattered into chaos as a massive beast appeared within the castle. Taking the form of a monstrous white bear, it rapidly tore its way through the interior of the structure, leaving destruction and death in its wake. The king's men had only barely begun to gather in the courtyard when it burst out. They could not stand against its fury, their attacks seemingly having no effect on its oversized form, and their numbers were quickly overwhelmed by the sudden unexpected threat. It tore through the heavy courtyard gates as though they were matchsticks and made off into the countryside.
Unable to face the beast, what remained of the Kestrels instead turned their attentions to the inside of their ruler's ravaged home. The first thing they discovered was that the king was no longer among the living. His cold body lay in a pool of blood within the halls of the royal chambers. The second thing they discovered sent dread through them all. The princess was gone.
The assassin's beast had eliminated the king, but faced with royal blood in the form of the child, its nerve must have wavered. The princess had instead been taken. For what end, it was yet to be seen. They could only hope she remained unharmed as they regathered their forces and their wits to pursue the beast and its yet-unseen summoner.
It didn't take much calculation to know they were up against more than they could handle. It had been some time since the Kestrels had faced any fully powered magical threat, and even in the early days when magic still ran rampant in the land they hadn't faced something with this much raw power raging out of it. They rapidly came to the conclusion that they were out of their depth. They'd have to seek help from a despised source.
And so it was that the bedraggled regiment found themselves rallying in town, chained and disoriented mages in tow. Most townsfolk had cleared out of the immediate area when the alarm bells had sounded and it became apparent that the threat was coming from the castle rather than its walls being a source of safety. There were still a brave few who remained in the capital, however, and the Kestrels welcomed their aid.
Erik blinked against the brightness of the sun. Not that it was particularly sunny – dawn had not yet fully risen, and the thick clouds hanging overhead made sure not much shone down anyway – but after the darkness of the dungeons it was effectively blinding.
“Mages, I won’t waste my time justifying your imprisonment or reminding you of your crimes. You are a scourge upon these lands, a curse upon the peaceful people of Cantawar. If it were up to me, we would have already painted these stones with your impure blood. But let me ease your foremost concern: You were not brought here to be executed, though whether your life continues from this point depends upon your actions from here. Allow me-”
The captain of the king’s glorified mercenaries was yelling something at them. Hurling words like mud toward the ragged line of mages, words that flew past Erik’s ears unheard. They had been hauled out, mage’s-bane-infused chains and all, and brought through the unusually silent streets to stand in some nondescript town square. It seemed reasonable to assume they were being dragged to their execution.
“-to be frank: We have found ourselves in a crisis. One that affects the future of us all. And like it or not our hand has been forced. We are asking for your, help.” There was an almost imperceptible hesitation as she forced out that last word. “If you agree, you will be rewarded. You will-”
Odd though, Erik noted with a tilt of his head, that other than the prattling on of the captain, it was deadly quiet out here on the muddy cobbles. No sign of the inhabitants of the capital presented themselves, no smoke rose from kitchen chimneys, no horses knickered from the direction of the nearby stables. Erik found his interest peaked enough to start actually listening to the words being thrown towards them.
“-be permitted to continue your practices, with one condition: You shall not interfere with the running of this kingdom. You don’t bother us, we are ready to turn a blind eye to you. In nearly all respects, we shall hand you your freedom.” She stood planted in front of the line of prisoners, right hand resting on the sword at her side, still as a statue aside from a quick, nervous tapping of her gloved fingers upon her weapon’s pommel.
“Now that we’ve covered incentive, let us move on to the situation at hand- The king is dead.” Her words were delivered sharply, without emotion. Her face did not flinch and the tapping continued unbroken.
Erik’s eyes finally fully came to focus in the rising sun. It had been common knowledge for some time that the king was not well in mind, but as far as the people of the kingdom knew he was in good physical health, and the kingdom didn’t currently face any foreign power as a threat. No scenario immediately presented itself to explain why the king should be dead. Not that Erik was unhappy at the news, quite the opposite, for sure.
“This morning the alarm was sounded and we were brought word of a terrible creature rampaging the inner castle. By the time my men and I arrived, the beast had torn its way through the inner chambers and broken out into the courtyard. We tried to take it there, but we could not hold. The creature was massive, and my men were sorely unprepared.”
“What the hell-“ Erik managed to croak out, voice rough from time of disuse. The captain’s steel eyes met his for a moment before continuing to scan the line of the condemned.
“Unable to stop the creature, we turned our attention to the castle’s occupants.” The tapping quickened as she weighed her next words, then stopped. “The princess has been taken by the beast that murdered our king and slaughtered our people. We can only assume that whatever force sent the evil thing had the kidnapping as its main purpose.”
Ah. So that’s what she was leading up to. “You’re saying you want us to go rescue the brat.” Erik interrupted, voice clearer now, “What reason could we possibly have to do that? We have no reason to want to help a royal, and from what you’re saying, it’s suicidal.”
The captain’s rigid posture conveyed the effort it took for the restraint not to snap back at the challenge. She sighed, and it was almost a growl, “It’s true that you may die, but your situation is this: If you refuse, we will execute you where you stand. If you agree but try to turn against us once your chains are removed, you will return to life as hunted animals and we will still see to your execution in time. We captured you once, we can do it again. But-- if you agree and help us find the princess, you shall have your freedom, a chance at life.”
Erik grimaced, but fell silent. It seemed they didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter. Also, his curiosity had been awoken.
In our history, Cantawar was a land of peace and prosperity. The mundane and the magical lived together in harmony and cooperation, and our land flourished for it. But nothing that good is ever meant to last.
The beginning of the century found our kingdom ruled over by a benevolent king, Maeleg Tirron, his queen Corethia, and their recent addition of a princess who they named Brígh. It was our unanimous opinion that our new princess was a startling beauty of a child, only surpassed by the beauty of the queen, aglow and joyous in her motherhood.
Dark clouds seemed to cover the kingdom when the word went out. The queen was dead. Murdered, they said. The means of it were obscured by word of mouth as the news passed through the people, each messenger telling a different story. One told of an assassin in the night, with an enchanted arrow. Another, an abomination controlled by a beastmaster in the shadows. Yet another told of a family-held curse that a witch had placed upon the kin of the queen in ages long passed. Only one element held constant in all the tales: Magic had been involved.
And so we were left to mourn our fair ruler in mystery. Life quickly settled back in for us common folk, for what impact did the far-off happenings of the lives of royals ultimately count for to the common man anyway?
By that year’s harvest, the king’s grief had twisted into a burning hatred. He blamed magic in all its forms for the death of his beloved, neglecting his infant daughter to initiate a bloody crusade to free his land from the unholy corruption of magic.
Our neighbors the fae were forcibly driven from their homes within the year. Those that remained within the king’s land were hunted like mere beasts. Those purveyors of magic among humanity met their end at the edge of a sword. It's amazing how quickly people can turn on each other in the face of hurt and violence.
A branch of the king’s guard was formed. Initially composed of mercenaries and sell-swords bought to hunt down mages, they came to be known as the Kestrels, and came to work with an ultimate authority over the peoples of the land, second only to the word of the King.
Ten years’ time has passed since the beginning of what the nobles came to call the Cleansing, and as violence eased the kingdom returned to some sense of normalcy. Instead of immediate slaughter, those mages who stubbornly remain in the kingdom instead face a front of perceived justice, thrown in dank dungeons to await sure execution. Torches now burn in the place of enchanted lanterns, and crops are a bit harder to grow, it is true, but we will heal stronger for our struggles.
Word from within the castle is that the king never roams the halls of his home these days, content to confine his ravings to within the walls of his heavily tapestried chambers. The princess Brígh is all but forgotten, only kept in our memories, and in hushed stories of faint hope that when she come of age she might rule with more love than her father had shown the land.
The beginning of the century found our kingdom ruled over by a benevolent king, Maeleg Tirron, his queen Corethia, and their recent addition of a princess who they named Brígh. It was our unanimous opinion that our new princess was a startling beauty of a child, only surpassed by the beauty of the queen, aglow and joyous in her motherhood.
Dark clouds seemed to cover the kingdom when the word went out. The queen was dead. Murdered, they said. The means of it were obscured by word of mouth as the news passed through the people, each messenger telling a different story. One told of an assassin in the night, with an enchanted arrow. Another, an abomination controlled by a beastmaster in the shadows. Yet another told of a family-held curse that a witch had placed upon the kin of the queen in ages long passed. Only one element held constant in all the tales: Magic had been involved.
And so we were left to mourn our fair ruler in mystery. Life quickly settled back in for us common folk, for what impact did the far-off happenings of the lives of royals ultimately count for to the common man anyway?
By that year’s harvest, the king’s grief had twisted into a burning hatred. He blamed magic in all its forms for the death of his beloved, neglecting his infant daughter to initiate a bloody crusade to free his land from the unholy corruption of magic.
Our neighbors the fae were forcibly driven from their homes within the year. Those that remained within the king’s land were hunted like mere beasts. Those purveyors of magic among humanity met their end at the edge of a sword. It's amazing how quickly people can turn on each other in the face of hurt and violence.
A branch of the king’s guard was formed. Initially composed of mercenaries and sell-swords bought to hunt down mages, they came to be known as the Kestrels, and came to work with an ultimate authority over the peoples of the land, second only to the word of the King.
Ten years’ time has passed since the beginning of what the nobles came to call the Cleansing, and as violence eased the kingdom returned to some sense of normalcy. Instead of immediate slaughter, those mages who stubbornly remain in the kingdom instead face a front of perceived justice, thrown in dank dungeons to await sure execution. Torches now burn in the place of enchanted lanterns, and crops are a bit harder to grow, it is true, but we will heal stronger for our struggles.
Word from within the castle is that the king never roams the halls of his home these days, content to confine his ravings to within the walls of his heavily tapestried chambers. The princess Brígh is all but forgotten, only kept in our memories, and in hushed stories of faint hope that when she come of age she might rule with more love than her father had shown the land.
In our history, Cantawar was a land of peace and prosperity. The mundane and the magical lived together in harmony and cooperation, and our land flourished for it. But nothing that good is ever meant to last.
The beginning of the century found our kingdom ruled over by a benevolent king, Maeleg Tirron, his queen Corethia, and their recent addition of a princess who they named Brígh. It was our unanimous opinion that our new princess was a startling beauty of a child, only surpassed by the beauty of the queen, aglow and joyous in her motherhood.
Dark clouds seemed to cover the kingdom when the word went out. The queen was dead. Murdered, they said. The means of it were obscured by word of mouth as the news passed through the people, each messenger telling a different story. One told of an assassin in the night, with an enchanted arrow. Another, an abomination controlled by a beastmaster in the shadows. Yet another told of a family-held curse that a witch had placed upon the kin of the queen in ages long passed. Only one element held constant in all the tales: Magic had been involved.
And so we were left to mourn our fair ruler in mystery. Life quickly settled back in for us common folk, for what impact did the far-off happenings of the lives of royals ultimately count for to the common man anyway?
By that year’s harvest, the king’s grief had twisted into a burning hatred. He blamed magic in all its forms for the death of his beloved, neglecting his infant daughter to initiate a bloody crusade to free his land from the unholy corruption of magic.
Our neighbors the fae were forcibly driven from their homes within the year. Those that remained within the king’s land were hunted like mere beasts. Those purveyors of magic among humanity met their end at the edge of a sword. It's amazing how quickly people can turn on each other in the face of hurt and violence.
A branch of the king’s guard was formed. Initially composed of mercenaries and sell-swords bought to hunt down mages, they came to be known as the Kestrels, and came to work with an ultimate authority over the peoples of the land, second only to the word of the King.
Ten years’ time has passed since the beginning of what the nobles came to call the Cleansing, and as violence eased the kingdom returned to some sense of normalcy. Instead of immediate slaughter, those mages who stubbornly remain in the kingdom instead face a front of perceived justice, thrown in dank dungeons to await sure execution. Torches now burn in the place of enchanted lanterns, and crops are a bit harder to grow, it is true, but we will heal stronger for our struggles.
Word from within the castle is that the king never roams the halls of his home these days, content to confine his ravings to within the walls of his heavily tapestried chambers. The princess Brígh is all but forgotten, only kept in our memories, and in hushed stories of faint hope that when she come of age she might rule with more love than her father had shown the land.
The beginning of the century found our kingdom ruled over by a benevolent king, Maeleg Tirron, his queen Corethia, and their recent addition of a princess who they named Brígh. It was our unanimous opinion that our new princess was a startling beauty of a child, only surpassed by the beauty of the queen, aglow and joyous in her motherhood.
Dark clouds seemed to cover the kingdom when the word went out. The queen was dead. Murdered, they said. The means of it were obscured by word of mouth as the news passed through the people, each messenger telling a different story. One told of an assassin in the night, with an enchanted arrow. Another, an abomination controlled by a beastmaster in the shadows. Yet another told of a family-held curse that a witch had placed upon the kin of the queen in ages long passed. Only one element held constant in all the tales: Magic had been involved.
And so we were left to mourn our fair ruler in mystery. Life quickly settled back in for us common folk, for what impact did the far-off happenings of the lives of royals ultimately count for to the common man anyway?
By that year’s harvest, the king’s grief had twisted into a burning hatred. He blamed magic in all its forms for the death of his beloved, neglecting his infant daughter to initiate a bloody crusade to free his land from the unholy corruption of magic.
Our neighbors the fae were forcibly driven from their homes within the year. Those that remained within the king’s land were hunted like mere beasts. Those purveyors of magic among humanity met their end at the edge of a sword. It's amazing how quickly people can turn on each other in the face of hurt and violence.
A branch of the king’s guard was formed. Initially composed of mercenaries and sell-swords bought to hunt down mages, they came to be known as the Kestrels, and came to work with an ultimate authority over the peoples of the land, second only to the word of the King.
Ten years’ time has passed since the beginning of what the nobles came to call the Cleansing, and as violence eased the kingdom returned to some sense of normalcy. Instead of immediate slaughter, those mages who stubbornly remain in the kingdom instead face a front of perceived justice, thrown in dank dungeons to await sure execution. Torches now burn in the place of enchanted lanterns, and crops are a bit harder to grow, it is true, but we will heal stronger for our struggles.
Word from within the castle is that the king never roams the halls of his home these days, content to confine his ravings to within the walls of his heavily tapestried chambers. The princess Brígh is all but forgotten, only kept in our memories, and in hushed stories of faint hope that when she come of age she might rule with more love than her father had shown the land.
The king is dead. Sometime before the sun had risen, the dawn was shattered into chaos as a massive beast appeared within the castle. Taking the form of a monstrous white bear, it rapidly tore its way through the interior of the structure, leaving destruction and death in its wake. The king's men had only barely begun to gather in the courtyard when it burst out. They could not stand against its fury, their attacks seemingly having no effect on its oversized form, and their numbers were quickly overwhelmed by the sudden unexpected threat. It tore through the heavy courtyard gates as though they were matchsticks and made off into the countryside.
The assassin's beast had eliminated the king, but faced with royal blood in the form of the child, its nerve must have wavered. The princess had instead been taken. For what end, it was yet to be seen. They could only hope she remained unharmed as they regathered their forces and their wits to pursue the beast and its yet-unseen summoner.
It didn't take much calculation to know they were up against more than they could handle. It had been some time since the Kestrels had faced any fully powered magical threat, and even in the early days when magic still ran rampant in the land they hadn't faced something with this much raw power raging out of it. They rapidly came to the conclusion that they were out of their depth. They'd have to seek help from a despised source.
And so it was that the bedraggled regiment found themselves rallying in town, chained and disoriented mages in tow. Most townsfolk had cleared out of the immediate area when the alarm bells had sounded and it became apparent that the threat was coming from the castle rather than its walls being a source of safety. There were still a brave few who remained in the capital, however, and the Kestrels welcomed their aid.
Erik blinked against the brightness of the sun. Not that it was particularly sunny – dawn had not yet fully risen, and the thick clouds hanging overhead made sure not much shone down anyway – but after the darkness of the dungeons it was effectively blinding.
“Mages, I won’t waste my time justifying your imprisonment or reminding you of your crimes. You are a scourge upon these lands, a curse upon the peaceful people of Cantawar. If it were up to me, we would have already painted these stones with your impure blood. But let me ease your foremost concern: You were not brought here to be executed, though whether your life continues from this point depends upon your actions from here. Allow me-”
The captain of the king’s glorified mercenaries was yelling something at them. Hurling words like mud toward the ragged line of mages, words that flew past Erik’s ears unheard. They had been hauled out, mage’s-bane-infused chains and all, and brought through the unusually silent streets to stand in some nondescript town square. It seemed reasonable to assume they were being dragged to their execution.
“-to be frank: We have found ourselves in a crisis. One that affects the future of us all. And like it or not our hand has been forced. We are asking for your, help.” There was an almost imperceptible hesitation as she forced out that last word. “If you agree, you will be rewarded. You will-”
Odd though, Erik noted with a tilt of his head, that other than the prattling on of the captain, it was deadly quiet out here on the muddy cobbles. No sign of the inhabitants of the capital presented themselves, no smoke rose from kitchen chimneys, no horses knickered from the direction of the nearby stables. Erik found his interest peaked enough to start actually listening to the words being thrown towards them.
“-be permitted to continue your practices, with one condition: You shall not interfere with the running of this kingdom. You don’t bother us, we are ready to turn a blind eye to you. In nearly all respects, we shall hand you your freedom.” She stood planted in front of the line of prisoners, right hand resting on the sword at her side, still as a statue aside from a quick, nervous tapping of her gloved fingers upon her weapon’s pommel.
“Now that we’ve covered incentive, let us move on to the situation at hand- The king is dead.” Her words were delivered sharply, without emotion. Her face did not flinch and the tapping continued unbroken.
Erik’s eyes finally fully came to focus in the rising sun. It had been common knowledge for some time that the king was not well in mind, but as far as the people of the kingdom knew he was in good physical health, and the kingdom didn’t currently face any foreign power as a threat. No scenario immediately presented itself to explain why the king should be dead. Not that Erik was unhappy at the news, quite the opposite, for sure.
“This morning the alarm was sounded and we were brought word of a terrible creature rampaging the inner castle. By the time my men and I arrived, the beast had torn its way through the inner chambers and broken out into the courtyard. We tried to take it there, but we could not hold. The creature was massive, and my men were sorely unprepared.”
“What the hell-“ Erik managed to croak out, voice rough from time of disuse. The captain’s steel eyes met his for a moment before continuing to scan the line of the condemned.
“Unable to stop the creature, we turned our attention to the castle’s occupants.” The tapping quickened as she weighed her next words, then stopped. “The princess has been taken by the beast that murdered our king and slaughtered our people. We can only assume that whatever force sent the evil thing had the kidnapping as its main purpose.”
Ah. So that’s what she was leading up to. “You’re saying you want us to go rescue the brat.” Erik interrupted, voice clearer now, “What reason could we possibly have to do that? We have no reason to want to help a royal, and from what you’re saying, it’s suicidal.”
The captain’s rigid posture conveyed the effort it took for the restraint not to snap back at the challenge. She sighed, and it was almost a growl, “It’s true that you may die, but your situation is this: If you refuse, we will execute you where you stand. If you agree but try to turn against us once your chains are removed, you will return to life as hunted animals and we will still see to your execution in time. We captured you once, we can do it again. But-- if you agree and help us find the princess, you shall have your freedom, a chance at life.”
Erik grimaced, but fell silent. It seemed they didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter. Also, his curiosity had been awoken.
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