"I, Hagavard, son of late Arbus, curse your lineage to end after five centuries by your own heir, the strongest in the kingdom of Lavichia".
These final words from the demon's grey lips as he fixed his crimson eyes on Narold, twelfth chief of the Camicia family. With a faint breath, the last heir to the Enicryde Throne collapsed, his ancient blood seeping into the gravel.
This all started two years ago in 982, this was an era when demons, fairies and dragons weren't just myths. It was an era of monarchy where monarchs weren't just Royalty but Gods, an era of blind trust making fog more visible and promises, an era of conspiracies making words more delicate than thin glass.
In Carnivus, the jewelled capital of Lavichia, Master Narold paced his study within the Camicia headquarters, getting more impatient by the minute when a servant knocked at the door "My lord, I have come inform to inform him of the arrival of Lady Silva, the deputy commissioner of the eastern district and his youngest cousin.
The Camicia family was in control of the Department of Justice of Lavichia. The sect heads occupied strategic positions based on by birthright instead of merit; a cruel hierarchy set cunningly by the first chief of the family. Their control extended across hiring of three formidable branches that operated beyond royal oversight: the Judiciary, the Patrollers, and the Emergers—a network of nobles and soldiers answering to Camicia blood rather than crown.
Thus, every year on the birth anniversary of their 'heroic' founding father, the Camicia family transformed political necessity into
Thus, every year on the birth anniversary of their 'heroic' founding father, the Camicia family transformed political necessity into sacred tradition discussing the strategies to fortify the illusion of their perfect regime.
As master Narold's brown boots hit the marble floor while he walked towards the meeting hall from the study, his loud footsteps made every servant in the corridor shudder, his gaze was sharper than a sword's blade. When the massive doors swung open, conversation died instantly. The clan heads sitting at the long table made from the finest wood obtained from the heart of the thick forests of Alavad, rose from their velvet seats, bowing deep enough to show respect, shallow enough to maintain a sense of bond and familiarity.
"Please take your seats", said Narold, returning the respect. He was a fine young man in his 30s, acquiring the Camicia throne about 3 years ago from his late father, the eleventh chief, Kabir.
JUDICIARY
The Judiciary—mockingly dubbed "The House of the Ordinary" by those of higher birth—operated in the shadow of Lavichia's grand palaces. It was a court system where commoners' fates were decided with far less ceremony than those of their noble counterparts.
While public defenders and prosecutors allocated to cases of commoners who couldn't afford expensive lawyers, shuffled through the loud crowd, gasping for breath, the specialized lawyers in embroidered robes sipped wine with lower nobles, assuring them their indiscretions would vanish for the right price. Of course, there were judges that could be kept by the nobles' hefty pockets for proving them innocence with a pretentious act of righteousness.
At the apex of this pyramid sat the Magister— Always ready for food and wine but never keeping a check on the judges and lawyers. At this time, the magister was Koldin, one of Narold's uncle.
"Respected members of the Camicia family. I here call this council into session on the anniversary of birth of our great founder.", announced Narold
"Three issues of urgent concern require our urgent attention," Narold went on, pointing a finger toward the eastern provinces. "First, I am reported of revolts in the rural provinces. The peasants around Lavichia have started gathering at night, no longer with shovels but with arms in hand. They demand for 'justice' and 'liberation,' as if these were not beneficences our family has given them for centuries."
"Second, the indiscretions of our Patrollers have not escaped the notice of others. The King's own cousin, Lord Barnabas, has penned letters questioning the conduct of those entrusted to bring justice."
General Harvid's expression darkened. "The men obey orders as issued, Lord Narold. If some orders happen to be issued by branches of our line of family that have become. tainted,
perhaps the time has come for some pruning. Besides the wages are too low forcing them to take tributes, perhaps budget allocation is the real problem."
"Do you realise what you are speaking of, brother", said General Damian to his twin.
Lady Elenor, the countess of the treasury said, "Well, that is not simply possible. How are we supposed to increase the budget when the revenues aren't reaching the treasury."
PATROLLERS
Under the iron grip of General Damian and Peter-Narold's second cousins, stood the kingdom's so-called 'ever-active police force', consisting of not real soldiers but their shadows- rejects who failed to qualify for the royal army or the emergers, men with capability not enough but responsibilities huge enough.
Patrollers, they called themselves, sworn protectors of law and order throughout Lavichia's towns, seemed to be big bullies who crawled through the markets like rodents, 'inspecting' merchants' finest goods before declaring them "confiscated for quality assessment"- regular assessment that occurred in their own homes over dinner- A baker's pie or tailor's finest robe, all had to be inspected countless times. But perhaps they were someone more than 'mere bullies with authority'; behind these muscles were hungry crying children and worried wives. The low wages left them no choice.
With this, a fierce dispute came to a start among the heads, when suddenly a voice, hotter than magma stopped them.
"Silence!", said Narold, making everyone quiet.
"Moving on, the third problem as mentioned by Lady Elenor, the quarterly tribute collections have arrived seventeen percent below the projected yields." Lady Elenor said, "Dear nephew the people cannot pay for something they do not possess. Three poor harvests following added taxes have emptied provincial coffers. I warned against it at our last assembly, if my lord recalls."
"What you think of as a warning, I perceive as defeatism," Narold replied coldly. "The Camicia family does not fall victim to circumstances—we shape them to our will. These issues imperil not our comfort, but our very authority."\"The people, the government, wishes for results, we'll give them results.", Said the gluttonous Koldin, with his evil fat smile.
"Seems you have an idea, uncle", replied Narold with the same malice, showing his
true greed and evil usually covered with a mask of discipline and generosity
EMERGERS
They were no common soldiers but warriors with fire in their eyes—elite fighters who had missed the imperial army's ruthless selection by mere inches. Rejected by the crown's army but welcomed by the Camicia family, they were talents who shaped their hard work into worth. General Harvid-Narold's first cousin with a voice that cracked like lightning across parade grounds- kept these beasts in order.
When darkness crept into Lavichia's borders- The emergers were the ones who rode their horses straight into the battlefield, not fearing anything, while the plump district supervisors who took a part in the expedition just for a raise, watched from afar.
Villagers whispered tales of these riders who stood between them and the shadows, the warriors finding their own glory under Harvid's banner. In Carnivus taverns, soldiers of the imperial army might still look down at their uniforms, but they raised their wine glasses with utter respect when General Harvid's forces returned bloodied but victorious from another clash with the darkness encroaching on Lavichia's borders.