The old lodge, nestled deep within the ancient forest, bore the weight of history on its weathered timbers. The exterior was adorned with intricate carvings, depicting the tales of battles won and lost, and the spiritual connection between the Ashanti people and the land they called home. As you entered, the air was heavy with the scent of pine, and the flickering light of torches cast dancing shadows upon the wooden walls.
Two imposing wooden guards, intricately carved and standing sentinel on either side of the closed door, were guardians of the chieftain's sacred abode. The door, adorned with symbols representing protection and prosperity, held the secrets of the chieftain's realm.
In the heart of the lodge, a high-backed chair loomed over the room, and upon it sat the old chieftain, his furrowed brow betraying the weight of leadership. To his right, armoured guards stood like silent sentinels, their swords gleaming in the dim light. To his left, archers maintained a vigilant watch, arrows notched and ready.
As thunder boomed violently, the chieftain shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze fixed nervously on the closed wooden doors. Beyond them, the distant screams of his people mingled with the ominous echoes of the approaching storm, creating an unsettling symphony that heralded impending doom.
A moment of eerie silence settled upon the lodge, broken only by the chieftain's anxious breaths. Then, with a violent shudder, the doors burst asunder, revealing a looming figure. Cloaked in shadows, the figures azure eyes glowed coldly, piercing through the dimly lit chamber. Hathnier, the mythical mace, crackled with lightning in his raised hand, a harbinger of impending wrath.
"Glaive." The chieftain muttered underneath his gasp.
Glaive's shoulder guards and braces, bore intricate designs that spoke of divine power and ancient lineage. Hathnier, a masterpiece of craftsmanship, mirrored its counterpart from the legendary tale, its surface etched with symbols of lightning and storm.
The chieftain, overwhelmed by the gravity of the moment, pleaded with Glaive as the towering figure stood unmoving, the glow of his eyes reflecting the storm outside. The air thickened with tension, and the lodge, once a haven of history and tradition, now cradled the weight of an impending confrontation between mortal and god.
Glaive moved through the dimly lit lodge with an unsettling grace, a predator closing in on its prey. His countenance betrayed no emotion, a stoic mask concealing the storm that raged within. The chieftain's uneasy gaze followed the god of death as he advanced, the weight of impending doom hanging heavily in the air.
The armoured guards, sensing the encroaching threat, raised their swords and charged toward Glaive. With a casual swing of Hathnier, he brushed them aside effortlessly, sending them hurtling through the ancient wooden walls of the lodge. The timbers groaned and splintered as the guards crashed through, their futile attempt at resistance echoing in the wake of Glaive's power.
Pausing in his relentless approach, Glaive raised his hand, and the brace encircling his forearm became a shield against the archers' onslaught. Arrows shattered against the enchanted surface, the sound of splintering wood punctuating the silence. The archer, met with a frightening gaze from Glaive, faltered for a brief moment.
Hathnier, held aloft, returned to Glaive's grasp as he hurled it with unyielding force at the petrified archer. The hammer streaked through the air, its glowing surface illuminating the room, before finding its mark. A violent explosion marked the impact, leaving the archer's face obliterated in a grotesque display.
The rune behind Glaive's hand briefly glowed, an enchantment activating for the return of his formidable weapon. The god of death moved with purpose, catching an incoming guard's arm with ease. With a nonchalant toss, the guard was discarded like a mere ragdoll. The last remaining guard faced Glaive's merciless wrath as he was met with a powerful headbutt, crumpling to the ground.
Glaive let Hathnier fall from his grasp, its weight pressing into the now-still guard beneath it. The air resonated with the guard's futile struggle, the mighty hammer imposing its dominance. The chieftain, witnessing the god's overwhelming display of power, could only watch in horror as the scene unfolded.
As Glaive approached the cowering chieftain, the lodge seemed to reverberate with the god's heavy footsteps. The chieftain's pleas fell on deaf ears as Glaive, with an uncaring expression, seized the old man's head. Lifting him effortlessly, Glaive suspended the chieftain off his feet.
"What more does Rygor want?" The chieftain begged.
The gods cold blue eyes studied the old mans face, a twisted grin forming at edges of his lips as his eyes darkened with betraying intent.
"Your silence." Glaive's voice, low and thunderous, reverberated through the lodge. The chieftain's desperate protests were drowned out by the resonance of Glaive's heavy steps. The god, revealing his rough features by peeling back his hood, looked down upon the chieftain with an unyielding gaze.
His eyes shifted to Hathnier, resting atop the now-still guard, the weight of Hathnier had caused the guard to cough out pools of his own blood as it crushed him. With deliberate intent, Glaive turned and held the chieftain up in front of him. The rune behind Glaive's palm glowed as he orchestrated the ascent of the formidable hammer. The runic symbols, "ᚦ ᛟ ᚢ," "ᚨ ᚱ ᛏ," "ᚠ ᚢ ᚲ ᛞ," flickered in the dim light.
The chieftain, his protests now reduced to desperate pleas, watched in despair as Hathnier slowly rose from the still guard. "No...no...no," he uttered, the words a futile resistance against the impending judgment. The hammer, guided by Glaive's will, flew at the chieftain's head, sealing the fate of the condemned in a crescendo of divine judgement.
THE ROAD TO MADNESS
Diary of the Fallen Thing:
The road to freedom is a narrow path.
And in that path madness dwells.
And in that madness lies the truth.
The horrors of the Malignance that lingers.
In the Unseen is that which cannot be seen.
That which our minds does not want to see, hidden in between the spectrums visible to mankind.
—Asham Kalibur (the All-Seer)
THE BEYOND
"Avel…"
A feint, firm whisper called out from beyond the open space from which blinding light was illuminated.
"Avel…" The voice called again.
"I'm on my way Father." The young boy called out excitedly as he stumbled over his feet running towards the widely open golden etched doors.
A warmness touched the little boys heart as he stared up at the towering orange eyes which stared down at him. The High Kings smile was infectious, something about it made young Avel smile every time.
"My boy…"
His voice dropped with each word as the giant of a man lowered himself down to honour his son. Per custom as Avel was told, as a sign of respect one must always stand facing his recipient and place their right palm on the recipients left shoulder, when someone places their right hand upon your shoulder it is a sign of great respect and utmost sincerity.
"It is best to reciprocate this action." The Red Maidens voice in Avels brain right before the boy snapped back to reality upon feeling his father's gigantic fingers squeezing his entire shoulder. Hesitantly Avel raised his hand and placed is upon the kneeling man.
There was a gloominess to the Kings presence and facial expression as he broke out a smile.
"Good…" He said as he pat his boys head.
"Good," he repeated.
"Listen well boy." His demeanour shifted, his voice stern, his face stiff and his hands both covering the boys shoulders.
"Today is in celebration of you. What you see, what you hear, it is all for you." His voice carried a weight to it Avel could not fully place.
"For me?" The question escaped Avels mouth before he could stop himself. Avel could not see his father's face clearly, so he often liked to imagine his expressions through the tone of his voice. He imagined his father to feel pride, pride in the fact that Avel could now walk and see better than he did as a child. Not only that, but he was also healthy enough to train. Train to wield a sword and fight, like his forefathers and theirs. Train to become like the rest of his family, the pride of the Arathean people.
"Out of all of my sons, it was you, that I wanted to bring today."
He paused.
"Once every luminal lifecycle. On the day of the last Stars birth, king must honour one of his children. A representation to the people of our future. I see that future, in you."
Avel felt as his father shift his hand to cover the young boys chest, as if reaching for his heart.
"You were cursed boy. Born with nimble bones and without sight. You were gifted with weakness that I was sure you could never overcome." Ivane slowly raised himself to his full height and shifted to stand beside the boy, using his hand to guide the boy towards the ledge.
"Through your will and dedication to your duty for the Arathean people you not only survived but you can now fight, and the people have seen your potential and they love you for it. It is you I choose to be my champion and it is you, that I believe, is the most important to the future of our people."
Avel felt as his father's hands clench onto his, he was amazed at the way his father could easily lift him. Shock quickly set into the boy as he suddenly was met with an endless amount of blurs who all broke out into cheers.
"Welcome All!"
The King yelled as he raised Avel over his head for all the people to see.
"Today. We celebrate. The miracle that is my son."
A lot more cheers broke out. An overwhelming heat spread within the boy as he heard the people chant his name.
"He who was blind but can now see. The cripple who walks. The champion who overcomes. Prince Avel. My son."
With those words, Ivane set the child down beside him.
"You have all witnessed it. The miracles that which the Valinski house holds. The power to shape reality to better serve you all. To shield you from the beasts that lurk in the darkness. The monsters that slay your children, your wives, your betrothed."
The King turned his attention from the people to face his son.
"All hail the foreign prince. Avel Valinski, The Last son of Azareth."
"My son. My heir."
"MY CHAMPION!"
Roars erupted, as tiny specks of blurs, all yelled out with perfect unison. A legion of praises, an army of souls, rejoicing in the presence of his grace and the child of promise. The Last son Azareth. The young prince, Avel.
THREE WEEKS PRIOR TO THE EVENTS OF GARCINIA: PRIOR TO THE HOUSE OF HORRORS
King Ivane the second, in his dark grey military attire, stood alone in his spacious study, engrossed in thought as his orange eyes befell the ancient walls of castle cadan. His authoritative presence resonated within the room.
The room was adorned with ornate tapestries, ancient relics, and shelves lined with ancient manuscripts, symbols of the knowledge he held. As the door to the study creaked open, Ivane turned to see the entrance of his son, Avel, who radiated a sense of royalty and regality. Avel's attire, a striking dark green formal ensemble, exuded a sense of authority, accentuated by the gleam of his golden earrings. His presence was commanding, bearing the unmistakable mark of his noble lineage, and his dark black boots echoed against the polished marble floor.
"Father," Avel greeted, his voice a respectful acknowledgment of the powerful figure before him. King Ivane regarded his son with a steady, calculating gaze.
"Take a walk with me," Ivane instructed, waving his hand in a subtle gesture. One of the waiting handmaidens hurriedly draped a long, dark formal jacket over Avel's shoulders, a mark of the honour they bestowed upon their prince. Together, the king and his son ascended to the palace roof in contemplative silence, where the boundless vista of Nara stretched before them. The sprawling green expanse of their planet, teeming with life and vitality, was surrounded by the vast, dark sea, its waters glistening under a gentle, comforting rain. Avel and Ivane stood side by side, the weight of their responsibilities hanging heavily in the air, as they gazed upon the vibrant yet desolate world they ruled. King Ivane took in a deep breath and he released the tension within him. "I come here once a month, to remind myself what I'm protecting and to get away from it all." He admitted, inserting a little chuckle at the end.
"I see you're studying up on everything, politics, infrastructures and state of affairs." Ivane shot down a contemplative glance at his son. "Find anything interesting."
"Not much." Avel confessed as he placed his hands in his pockets and stared out at the sea. "Everything I read I already knew, from experience and prior lessons."
Ivane smiled.
"I know, dark angels plague Mor'Thul. That's part of the reason I wanted you to grow up there. A first hand appreciation of the demons we have to face every day, I wanted you study them, to understand them, to live with that peril, facing it every day. I wanted to rid you of fear, make you a great asset in the field of battle."
"I know that my approach may seem harsh, but it is essential for the survival of our kingdom. The darkness that plagues our land has left us with no choice but to be ruthless in our governance. Our people's safety must be our top priority. It's a harsh world, my son. The corruption does not care for the suffering of our people. If we do not put their safety above all else, our kingdom will fall into ruin. I've taken this approach to teach you the harsh realities of leadership. To teach you to be strong."
The King stared down at him once more to notice his vacant glance.
"I understand." Avel whispered.
Ivane smiled.
"What do you think of Nara so far?" he asked after a brief moment of contemplative silence.
"I would say I agree." Avel softly stated.
"Agree?" Ivane furrowed a brow. "With what?"
"This place," the boy began, "it's beauty is worth protecting."
The King smirked as he crossed his hands behind his back.
"That's why we're here. To protect everything our forefathers have built." Ivane placed a firm hand on the boys shoulder. "But for that to happen we'll need to stand united, more-so than ever." He confessed. "We need power. A lot more power than we currently possess."
The King stood with his hands crossed behind his back once more, his eyes fixed to the horizon, his once pleased face now stern and serious.
"Which brings us to the beginning of your final lesson. What do you know of power, Avel?"
The boy furrowed a boy. "Our power comes from military might, alliances, loyalty of the people and religion thanks to the coven." He attested.
"Yes, all those are forms of power."
"But which power would you say we need given our current circumstances. If you were to rule, what would be your verdict?"
"I would say our power, is multifaceted and complex. It's a combination of different elements that work together to ensure our control and dominance. Our most visible source of power is our military might. Our armies are loyal to the crown, and they enforce our rule, protecting our kingdom from external threats that emerge as a result of the corruption."
He smiled once more. "A textbook response."
"Son, do you know why we rule? In a world overrun by beasts, power is not a matter of lineage or birthright. It's about the unyielding will to do whatever it takes to keep it. You wish to understand the truth of power, then listen closely. There are no rules in this game of survival. There is no morality that governs the pursuit and maintenance of power.
The ends justify the means. This means, Avel, that in our relentless pursuit of power, we must be willing to employ any method necessary to attain and maintain it. We must be prepared to get our hands dirty, to betray, to deceive, and even to commit acts that others might view as cruel.'
Leading to fear.'
Fear can be a more reliable tool for control, especially in a world filled with vile beasts. Our people must fear the consequences of betraying or opposing us, for that fear can keep them in line, ensuring our rule remains unchallenged.'
Power does not discriminate between the poor and the rich. It belongs to those who are willing to shed the veneer of morality and embrace the grim reality of our world. In a world full of vile abominations, we hold power not because it was granted to us, but because we have seized it with unwavering determination. To survive in this cruel world, you must embrace these truths and be willing to do whatever it takes to maintain our rule."
Ivane stated as he firmly squeezed Avels shoulder.
"Is that how you want to be remembered?" The boy asked and the King smiled though his eyes grew in intensity.
"How I wish to be remembered is secondary to the survival and prosperity of our kingdom. In a world plagued by death, the well-being of our people and the endurance of our rule must take precedence over personal legacies. If my actions are remembered as ruthless and unyielding, so be it. It is the price we pay for securing our kingdom's future in this merciless world.
Remember, it is the kingdom that must endure, and if my legacy is one of unwavering determination to protect our people, then I am content with that. In time, you will understand that a ruler must make difficult choices and be prepared to be remembered for them, even if those choices are not always admirable." This time, Ivane brought Avel so they could stare at each other directly, his hands firmly gripping the boys shoulders. His gaze un-averting, hammering the words and intensions into the boy. Cruelty, ruthlessness, cunning, calculative these were the qualities he was instilling into the boy, to make him an object of fear. A concept no one understood as much as he did and one he knew the boy would come to fully grasp in time. The King released his hold on Avel, maintaining his burning gaze. His features stoic and his demeanour borderline cold. "Do you understand?" He said dryly. "I understand." The boy said as he stood firm, his hands tucked together in front of him. The tranquil breeze rustled through the surrounding area as Ivane and Avel stood side by side, each lost in their thoughts. Ivane cast a contemplative gaze upon his son, his penetrating eyes studying the boy's face. Avel, with his striking beauty, possessed features that hinted at a certain fragility, his eyes holding a feline curve. Wet strands of hair partially obscured his gaze, lending him an air of unfamiliarity. Finally, Ivane broke the silence, his voice soft and filled with an underlying tension. "You remind me of her," he admitted, his words heavy with a mixture of fondness and sorrow. Slowly, he turned to face the vast sea that stretched out before them. "You look just like her." Avel's eyes followed his father's gaze, and they both stared into the distance, leaving the boy with thoughts that him weighed down, thoughts of a woman he had never met, a woman whose existence had been kept hidden from him. A figure shrouded in silence and secrets; the only thing Avel knew of his mother was that she looked like him.
Amid the tranquil surroundings of the palace gardens, Avel mirrored his father's posture, tucking his hands behind his back with the same regal demeanour. The faintest hint of a breeze ruffled his wet strands of hair, giving him an air of cool composure. "I know what power I want now," the young prince declared, his voice soft but firm, each word laced with a sense of profound understanding. Ivane, the imposing ruler, turned to his son, his steely eyes demanding the revelation that rested on the boy's mind.
"Tell me." Avel's response was immediate, unhesitant, and carried an intensity that permeated the heavy air around them. "The power to make them fear us." His father, for a moment, appeared taken aback. He felt the weight of the boy's words, their implications, and the dark determination behind them. "The people already fear us, and they love us," Ivane reasoned, but Avel's intent ran deeper.
"No, not the people, Father," Avel corrected, his violet eyes locked with the King's. "The demons, the dark angels, everything that is working against us, fashioning our doom. I want the power to destroy them all. I want the power to attain freedom and liberation from this dark plague. I want the power to instil fear into the dead hearts of those dark forces, to make them fear us, to make them run and hide in terror at the mere mention of our name."
The intensity in Avel's gaze was unwavering, shimmering with fervent righteousness. The magnitude of his ambition weighed heavily on the father and son. A moment of silence lingered, thick with the gravity of their conversation, until Ivane, an unsettling smile forming on his lips, spoke his acceptance. "So, you shall have it."
"Soon, you shall partake in the choosing. Only then will the role chosen for you by the gods be revealed. And I know that yours will be even greater than mine." The King expressed as he stared to the heavens.
"You are the future."