Once upon a time there was a man.
He was just, kind, a proud soul, but decent. He had pride in his name, but humility as well.
He was just, kind, a proud soul, but decent. He had pride in his name, but humility as well.
This man was the eldest heir of his rightful kingdom, the day his father, the king, perished under mysterious circumstances-- an illness with no prior warning killed him in a matter of hours. Some say the man did it to usurp his father's throne. Others say others tried to frame him.
Regardless, the man came to rule with his younger siblings, who were his consuls, Lords and Ladies of the realm. However, even under his careful eye, these younger siblings did horrible things that would tarnish his family's name. They were accosted with multiple accusations of murder, subterfuge, coercion, intimidation, bribery, thievery, and adultery, among other unmentionable acts.
As the responsible elder brother, the King of the Realm came to embrace all these vile acts of his undeserving kin as his own, blaspheming against his own good name for the sake of his family. He was ousted off the throne and the crown was bestowed upon the man's younger siblings, who ruled as one crown, one leader, one future. The Consulate. He was kept as an estranged relative of the throne, forever shunned and pitied by all in the kingdom as the black sheep of the great royal family.
After ten loyal years of service to his siblings and others of higher position, the man grew restless, and indeed, his very soul was begging for something more. He grew tired of others always talking behind his back, or in some cases, before his very presence, unaffected by his once prestigious position. The people who cursed his very existence as the near-downfall of their kingdom became fattened on the black sheep's blood, his soul; they were sucking it out of him.
At a celebration regarding the recent acclimation of more land for the throne, lords and ladies and relatives were invited to a massive gathering in an evening of joyous frolicking, including the man. He was there when his siblings, the Consulate, began a speech at noticing his presence, gathering the undivided attention of all the hundreds of lords and ladies in the room. They upheld and glorified their blessed reign over the prosperous kingdom that had nearly collapsed under their unfit brother's reign. Laughter ensued at the callous joking that followed, and thus raucous tongue lashings began.
The man, mad with rage, left to his small bedroom near the cellar of the castle, near the servants.
In a mad fit of rage, his mind snapped. He realized he was protecting nothing noble, and sacrificing himself no longer held any value to him. It was time to come clean, to cleanse his siblings and his family name of their treacherous mockery.
He dressed in the finest suit of lightweight but durable armor he possessed, from the time when he was king. He drew his old, but untouched sword from its dusty scabbard. He stalked back to the room of the nobles. He entered the hall, many disregarding him as a castle knight or guard here to see the Consulate. As he approached the jovial Consulate, his siblings, in disguise, they turned to greet the unknown knight.
He sliced their heads from their shoulders in one fell swoop. Screaming began as royal blood spilled over the floors. He lifted his helmet and drank from a goblet of fine wine that had nearly spilled from his sister's dead hands. He threw the wine at shocked nobles coated in the blood of the royal family before grabbing a nearby torch from the wall and dousing them with flame. Before long, half of the congregation was ablaze, a third dead or dying, and most crowding near the exits, making easy kills for the frenzied estranged prince.
Guards swarmed the palace gathering room, intent on punishing this deranged man, but he killed them all. The room was ablaze and the scent of smoldering bodies lay thick upon the air when the last of the guards outside the room barricaded the doors, trapping the lunatic inside. The only way out was to jump out of the gigantic stained glass window of the royal family, nearly three hundred feet above a rocky, crumbling cliff that was another three hundred feet above the freezing, jagged sea.
Once the fire had been doused, the guards entered to find every painting of the family shredded, every mural burnt, every body blackened, six royal members of the Consulate impaled on pikes and skinned, then burned, and every stained glass window broken.
The body of the treacherous betrayer of the throne was never found, nor was his armor nor his wickedly unique sword.
They would never know the truth, that this man, this deranged, murderous lunatic was, in fact, the best of humanity, but soured and blackened by the worst of humanity.
The rumor spread across the kingdom, their golden age of prosperity and glory was over. The kingdom would soon split into chaotic anarchy as different surviving lords attempted to split the kingdom amongst themselves and the armies conquering lands far and near were recalled to protect the innocent from their political games.
Near the edge of the kingdom in a small inn, a man wrapped in a thick cloak carrying a wicked, priceless looking sword settled by a fire with a mug of mead and listened to the traveling merchants and craftsmen gossip about the juiciest and unfortunate rumor that had recently spread.
They didn't see the new arrival lift his hidden, armored face at the news.
They didn't see him smile beneath the helmet.
They didn't see his eyes gleam with contempt.
They didn't see his hands twitch towards his sword.
They didn't see their deaths coming.
They didn't see him smile beneath the helmet.
They didn't see his eyes gleam with contempt.
They didn't see his hands twitch towards his sword.
They didn't see their deaths coming.
