A long time ago in a castle far far away.

A place for stories beyond the gates of Rhy'Din
Post Reply
Xune
Junior Adventurer
Junior Adventurer
Posts: 12
Joined: Sun Dec 01, 2019 9:30 am
Location: Rhydin
Contact:

A long time ago in a castle far far away.

Post by Xune »

OOC: Hello everyone. I would like to put a rated R warning on all of my content forever. Though this likely won't get much worse than hostel/Game of thrones there will be a variety of : Swearing, drugs, sex, violence, etc etc etc. If you have any triggers at all and are unsure if you want to read or the R rating is not clear enough on what that might entail please do not hesitate to contact me via discord or Forums. The most important thing I care about is everyone here and there mental well being. If you have a trigger or phobia and want to know if it will come up in the story please just message me. At any time I try to have at least 1-3 editors before posting and one of those editors is going to usually be a staff member or a seasoned Rhydin/Discord player as I find my way around here!

I would love to write with or work with other characters in this story. This is essentially a prequel in the world of Avara which more information can be found www.avararoleplay.com Almost none of this will take place in Rhydin. When this story concludes in chapter 10 will be when Xune has arrived in Rhydin and where I will be more closely documenting her adventures and hopefully her ascension. Feedback is always welcome and I look forward to trying to figure out the discord server and get more involved.
Xune
Junior Adventurer
Junior Adventurer
Posts: 12
Joined: Sun Dec 01, 2019 9:30 am
Location: Rhydin
Contact:

Re: A long time ago in a castle far far away.

Post by Xune »

The Silver Princess
Chapter 1


"Keep your head up." Came the supportive words, of a creature far too delicate to be among mortals. Yet there she was, unaware of the radiance that constantly flowed from her. "Come, my love, you can do it." Her sweet singsong voice gentle but with a firmness underlying, it hinted at undying support and belief that the task could be accomplished. Her crystal blue eyes watching the once tiny being in front of her, tapping under her own chin and leveling her head as an example. "Like this darling." The snow elf stood and performed a perfect curtsy. One that was fluid in movement and yet somehow when she dipped down it was not as if she was paying homage or greeting someone into the courts. She felt like an angel who was lowering herself down to earth for a brief moment to acknowledge the grace and beauty of the world for a tender moment. When she rose again the small movements caused her crown to glitter and shine. If Nephinae ever noticed the weight upon her head it bore her she never gave any indication of it, nor did she abuse the power that it gave her.

"Mother." She said standing up and then coming to her full height, still a bit shorter than Nephinae she looked at her with liquid silver eyes. "I have known how to curtsy since I was a child." Xune spoke with exasperation in her voice. Walking over to a small black bag by her vanity table she started placing items inside of it. A wax seal holding her family's crest was held in her hand for a moment before it too went with the rest of a carefully selected set of belongings. A pinching sensation formed at the back of her throat and she could feel her eyes begin to mist gently. "It's likely not the first thing that I will be required to do." Her voice dripped with emotions too large for her to understand. Nephinae crossed the distance between them, seeming to float rather than walk. "Of course not." Bringing her index finger to gently touch the outside of her daughter’s face. "It is the little movements that will cause the greatest ripples." The wisdom of her centuries on earth flowing from her with astounding affection. "Yes Mother." came the dutiful response.

The two of them alone in her bedroom Xune had never understood how no matter the condition Nephinae always was the perfectly poised Queen. Looking upon her mother the idea of reigning after her was something that swallowed her up in her dreams. Even now in the only place in the castle that she had carved out for herself she still felt the strong presence that was the radiating monarch. "What if we have interpreted the signs wrong?" Her voice said for not the first time and not the last. “We have not.” Nephinae’s reply came as surely as it had every time her daughter brought this to her. There was an incredibly long pause and for the first time in her life she heard her mother’s voice break “My beautiful child do you think that I could stand to see you go into a world where I can not follow. Where I can not be there to guide you, see you during some of the happiest moments of your life.” Xune knew that the answer was no, she knew it more than she knew anything else in her life. Countless hours of study on the ‘noble arts’ and the basics of enchanting and weaving spells into life from the arcane weave around them. Spinning the threads of destiny just enough to be able to change the tapestry of her own life.

“You were far too young for the magic.” Nephinae said in the way that only a parent could, knowing their child's thoughts. “It will take time to learn, I have studied most of my life and I still am not the best spell caster in this castle.” Xune made a face and that was not a pleasant one as Nephinae mentioned the court seer. In her part, Xune found the magical lessons that she attended could be the most enjoyable part of her day. The frustrations came from the fact that she did not much like her pompous tutor and the fact that she had yet to be able to conjure anything herself. “I am afraid that the magic will not come to me. I think that while I still understand and can read it.” Her voice trailed off, the fear of inadequacy around her head as sturdy as the crown on Nephinae’s. The queen crossed the floor and took her daughter in her arms and held her saying nothing, knowing that at times there were no words that could be said as she felt Xune’s tears fall upon her as her daughter silently sobbed.


***
Time had been kind to him and unlike other people who had gone to war he had no scars or bloody battle tales to tell. Henry’s grey hair streaked with silver was longer than it had been in some time and so too was the beard on his face, the time and luxury for such things becoming further and farther between. “How much longer.” he said to the window, his own reflection being the only thing he could see. His iris’s once vibrant were now a dull sky blue and they did not hide the sagacity from his eyes, there was still a fight in him. He looked out the glass pane window on either side curtains of red and gold hung, The same red and gold that was the mighty cloak of his station. Hands in front of him as he contemplated in silent agony. “It is time your majesty.” Came the voice behind him. Seemingly in answer to his private contemplations, he turned around facing one of another in an endless line of appointments. The king of Sidwell turned around to face his friend with a look of sadness. “I do not know if my heart can bear it.” His voice cracking, the man who was not prone to wearing his heart on his sleeve and who’s very voice could be as booming and thunderous as the storms crashing about his gates. He showed a fragility that did not befit his rank and as soon as he spoke he knew it. “Perhaps another year.” He said in a voice that came out much firmer. One that was opening a table of discussion and discourse and not one that had given into the finality of what needed to be done. “I am still a young man by accounts. Surely there is more time!” His anger started to build and he thought just to command what he wanted to have his way and final say in things.

“There is not your majesty.” The voice carried only the distance that it needed to between him and his sovereign. Looking left and right down both sides of the hall he saw the kingsguard and knew that Henry perhaps was putting a bit more into his words to maintain appearances. He couldn’t imagine the tremendous pressure that leading armies, and peoples, in a time like this. Holding firmly in his hands a white tomb with red lettering and gold glyphs as minor details. “You know.” The voice had its own sorrow in it, the deep brooding voice of Edmir was one that could orate to a room of thousands without proper acoustics and still everyone would be silent to heed his words. He knew he had to say something but how could he be the one to tell a parent to let go of their child for the sake of the great good. The very notion of it revolted him to his core and he had spent almost every day of his waking life wondering if the prophecy could be changed or if it was some cruel interpretation. Edmir was not the first to do so, though the ones that had come before him often became different people. Lost to the maddening words of the prophets and their texts. Not everyone had the ability to see so clear into the future or past with magic, and none so with the accuracy of prophets.

A long time ago when it was discovered that prophets were a part of the world as surely as wizards and clerics they became sought after. No longer treated like people they were prizes to be won and used for personal gain. Those that were found with different gifts divine, arcane, or auguary were supposed to be trained during their younger years. It was not unheard of to find people later in life who were aware of latent abilities that had not accessed them or even some that genuinely found power through hard work, study, and devotion. However unlike the holy or anima casters who affected the here and now, or relatively close to it. Prophets could only reveal truths about the distant pasts or distant futures, their area of interests usually guiding their revelations. So with a breaking heart he said with a finality that came from a place of deep understanding and regret. “If she does not do this she does not inspire this fork in the prophecy and we condemn them all.” His voice and his heart broke openly before his King. Knowing that something was going to happen long before it happened could not make things easier.

Edmir was one of those prophets and he had been fortunate enough to have been born near a city that took in prophets and taught them healthy and meaningful relationships and how to be kind to one another. After leaving the guild and his tutelage he had come to find himself chasing the parent prophecy of Sidwell and those who were protected by it’s banners. “I should be there to guide you.” He said in a voice that would be just loud enough for the kings guard to hear.

Henry looked at his old friend and nodded. “I need your guidance now more than ever.” Henry said not trying to hide the emotion from his companion nor from the guards around him any longer. He was starting to break, and yes he was still a young man in his early forties but walking your daughter down the aisle to a possible future where you might never see them again aged anyone beyond their years. It wasn’t just the elements that crashed against his gates but those abominations and perversions of life as well. He turned and knew that Edmir would follow him and his guard formed up around them. Soon the only sound was stomping boots in unison moving down the hall.

***
The sound of the rain breaking against steel plate was enough to drive a man insane. An endless drone that had once been the sing song chorus that helped him sleep at night. Back in the days past when he slept. Now, he simply waited to die.
The trench wasn’t deep, but then it didn’t need to be. Endless downpours kept the men in a state of semi submergence in thick mud that made it impossible to move about. And the freezing wind that howled across the surrounding land made it impossible to stay still. They were damned if they did and damned if they didn’t. But that was nothing new to the men. Men who had been at war for long enough that another way of life was as strange to them as the things that they guarded against in the night. Strange things that came out of the darkness, chittering and snarling, a wall of flesh and teeth that was hard to look at. Especially when it was looking back at you. Looking back through familiar eyes.

Aiden sat on a crate of food that was long since emptied, half sunk into the mud around him and pushed his back into a small alcove that gave him little to no comfort. His black hair was shorn short at the sides, but was longer on top and the rain slicked it to his brow. With his breastplate resting beside him on the floor, his under armour padding had swollen with rainwater comically. It’d been a few days since he’d last shaved and his face looked tired and haggard from the past few days' events. His silvery grey eyes were hooded and ringed with fatigue lines.
Hands, shaking from the cold, clutched the letter close under the limited cover as he strained to read. Every few moments the words on the page would vanish as his own foggy breath would cloud his sight. But he read on. He couldn’t help it. Like a man unable to tear his gaze from a corpse. A perverse and twisted curiosity.

It was not his letter, though the man who it belonged to was long since passed from this world. And when he returned in the night, his mind held no longing for words any longer. Eyes bulging and pale as he rushed Aidan like a starved dog that had been kicked too many times. On his person had been little of note, save the letter. A strange letter. A letter bearing a royal seal.
It was hard for him to make out the archaic words, the flourished prose and fanciful words that struggled to convey simple meaning. Not the correspondence the low born soldier reading it was accustomed to receiving. The author waxed long and poetically of missing the recipient's company, as though the man had been dear to her. Amid the eloquent writing was a familiar tone, a sense that the two had shared a true connection. References to personal jokes with hidden meanings and calls for him to remember ‘that night on the balcony at the duchesses ball.’

If only she knew how uncivilized it had all ended for him, his mind no longer his to command, nor his intent of his own making. Shambling towards his fellow soldiers with death in his eyes, that sick burning glow of friend remade as foe.
Sloshing footsteps heralded the approach of one of the other men and he tucked the letter into his battered satchel behind him and straightened up. The other man drew up close and together they stepped below the slanted sheet that had been erected to give what little cover was possible to the few rations they had left.“You’re back early. Captain said you wouldn’t be back before dawn.” Muttered Aiden, cramming his hands under his armpits for some semblance of warmth. The other man snorted. “Yeah. Things changed.” Aiden eyed him carefully.

“What happened Connor?” Despite the dour note, Aiden kept one eye on the last few strips of venison that hung on the rack and the small box of stale bread. Connor had quick hands and though they regularly trusted each other with their lives, that didn’t mean he trusted him with the rations. And they barely had anything left. Hunger did things to loyal men. Turned them into something else. Something untrustworthy. But even so, as he kept one eye on the supplies, he couldn’t help but notice the slight slump in Connor's shoulders.

“Found third company.” Muttered Connor, reaching into a small pouch that hung in a pouch around his neck. Digging out a small ball of tobacco he wadded it up and popped it into his mouth to chew. After a few moments he let out an exasperated sigh and looked to Aiden.
“They’re fighting for the enemy now. Whole company. Reckon they’d been dead a week by the time we got to them. So they’re gone. No one else north of us.” He sounded exhausted, but entirely lacking compassion. Both of them had seen too much by now to try and muster it when talking about the losses they’d been forced to endure on the frontlines. “How many?” Aiden asked. It was a pointless question. At a certain point numbers became irrelevant and they’d long since been outmanned by the dead that came in the night. Connor shrugged. “Three more than when we arrived. Rabbit tripped over one half buried in the mud. Thing had him in a heartbeat. Lucien tried to pull him free and they swarmed us. By the time we made it to the treeline we lost the new kid.” He frowned a moment, trying to recall the name and Aiden realized he didn’t know it either.

“Three men, no supplies and no third company. What a waste.” Aiden said, his tone as lacking in compassion as Connors. They just stood there, exhausted, the sheet over their heads doing little to keep the rain off their backs. Suddenly Connors hand was on his shoulder and Aiden flinched slightly at the unexpected contact. “You’re out of armor. Captain’ll chew you out.” It was true, but then it was also true that he could barely still stand. As he glanced along the length of the tunnel, he tried to figure out if him and the other men had made any progress today. It was hard to tell with over a foot of water on the ground. And it wasn’t what he’d trained for. But the sappers that they’d been counting on to dig these pits were long since dead and the orders hadn’t changed. So the men had resorted to digging with what they had. Using axes like plows and piling mud onto shields.

It was grueling work. Grueling and slow. No matter how hard they worked, the ceaseless downpour seemed intent on driving more and more mud back into the trench. Aiden was starting to think that by the time they were done, the wooden stakes that they had brought to fill the pits with would have rotted away. As he trudged away to the where his armor lay he glanced back in time to see Connor moving towards the command tent. He watched him go as he hoisted the breastplate off the ground and began to fasten it in place. It wasn’t easy to do on his own, but the only option he had for help had just walked off with-

Aiden did a quick double take and checked the rack. Did Connor steal some of the meat that was hanging there? Chest armor still half hanging off him he trudged on over to look at it before he blearily rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t remember. Couldn’t recall how many there were when his shift started. And right then he couldn’t summon the energy to care. Retaking his seat, his gaze turned to the dull light that flickered from the command tent and he pondered what would happen in the next few days. Things had been dire for months now, but they’d always known that they weren’t in it alone.

Along the eastern front there were other companies of men holding the line against the army of the dead. Soldiers and levies, knights and horsemen, people of all walks of life united in the fight of the living versus the dead. Or at least there had been at first. But over the past few months, the losses had begun to pile up, as had the bodies. And every time a company was lost in the fight, the enemy used those bodies to fill out their ranks. In an effort to counter this, measures had been set in place to deprive the enemy of soldiers. It was a gruesome process, usually achieved through burning the dead and scattering their bones. But also it included the work being done here. Aiden and his men had been digging for almost a week and now they occupied a six-foot deep trench line that was over four feet across. While they worked, a secondary group of men kept watch and harried the enemy line some mile east of them.

They’d suffered horrific casualties, but through sabotage, assassination and a fair amount of luck, the enemies advance had been stalled for the time being. But it wouldn’t last for long. In the meanwhile, the trench was to be filled with wooden spikes and coated in pitch. As the enemy advanced, the trench would be lit and the last remaining cavalry that the company commanded would sweep in from the north to carve their advance in two, forcing their front line into the fire and flames.

From behind the trench line, the rest of the company were to use bows to confuse the enemy and even hurl small urns full of animal fat into the enemy lines to be set ablaze in their number. An inspired tactic and one entirely untested. But the commanders were unaccustomed to this kind of warfare. Not against a nation. But against the ungodly magics of fowl necromancy.
As Aiden finished donning his armor, lost in thought, he heard Connor returning.
“Don’t bother. Your watch is done. Get some sleep.” Aiden's hand paused on one of the final straps. “You waited until I was almost done to say that?” Connor shrugged.

“You took it off on your watch.” A cruel smile flickered on Connor's features. “You should know better. Now go on, get. I need to take a load off. Don’t worry, I’ll wake you if we’re all about to die.”Offering Aiden a hand he helped him to his feet and took his place and sat on the overturned crate.“Before you go, you gonna share?” There was a slightly mischievous edge to his voice and Aiden turned and raised an eyebrow to him.“Share what?”Connor chuckled. “Aiden. You’re an orphan from some backwater shit hole who spent half his life on the streets. No one writes to you.” He gave him a wry smile. “So. Who’d you steal that off? And why bother, you can barely read?”

Aiden bristled slightly. It wasn’t the barb that stung, he’d heard it all before. No it was more that he didn’t want to share the letter. It felt somehow personal to him. His hand reached over and picked up the satchel, slinging it over his shoulder as he began to march in the direction of the steps that lead out of the pit. “It’s from your sister. Talking about how much she misses my bed.”
Connor laughed as he walked away, but let it lie. Aiden made his way to the steps and slowly pulled himself free at long last from the thick sucking muddy ground and ascended up the steps to glance west. In the distance he could make out the treeline and the promise of shelter. With weary steps, he began to trudge his way back. And as he walked, he kept his hand clutched on the satchel, wondering of princesses and knights.

***
Gasping and choking, the man awoke midsts of screams of panic. From his expression it was clear that he’d been lost deep in a nightmare, but now the nightmare had become real. From the corner of the room, the man with the golden eyes watched him struggle uselessly against the restraints on the table that held his arms in place. Moving to his side in as reassuring a manner as he could, the surgeon tried his best to calm the wounded soldier, but for the first few minutes his screams echoed through the small stone chamber. Finally, throat hoarse and ruined from terrified cries, he seemed to slump inwardly to sob.

“Please, try to be calm. You have been through a horrible ordeal. Your body is still recovering as best it can. Can you tell me your name?” Despite the state of the man on the table, the surgeon standing over him hadn't lost his composure or his temper with him. He still sported a warm smile on his aged features. He was tall for a human, but his age had given him an impressive stoop that made him seem somehow larger than he really was. Dressed in simple shoddy grey robes, with a surgeon's leather apron across his front, he looked more of a monk than a medical man.

Beside him, the wounded man seemed to slowly be regaining his faculties, trying to figure out where he was or who the two men in the room were. Finally, he locked eyes with the surgeon.
“Where am I? Who the fuck are you?” His voice had an edge of rising terror once more as he strained his arms against the restraints. The surgeon placed a gentle hand on his chest to reassure him and though he tried to pull away from it, it was a fruitless endeavor.

“Try to relax. My name is Doctor Ruven. You’re safe now. You were injured in battle, but your friends managed to drag you away from the fighting.” For a moment he paused and from the corner of the room, the man with the golden eyes studied the surgeon as he prepared to break the news to his patient. It was an interesting process to watch. And for once, the old man took slightly too long. The third man's gaze fell upon the soldier who managed to slowly raise his head high enough to look down towards his body.

His armor and tunic were removed and his body was stained with dried blood that had mostly been cleaned away. Along his ribs, wounds ravaged one side of his torso. They’d been stitched closed but were still raw and red with heavy purple bruising that indicated a lot of internal bleeding. Whether or not he realized the extent of his injuries, the silent onlooker couldn’t tell. But it was obvious that he was lucky to still be drawing breath. That didn’t seem to be the man's focus though. Before the surgeon could speak he rasped, “I can’t feel my legs.”

They were draped in sheets that were slick and stained with blood. As he tried to sit up, the surgeon gently pushed him down and despite the older man's frail form, it was still too much for the soldier to push against. He slumped down again against the table.
“No. I’m afraid as I said you were grievously injured. Can you recall your name for me, child?”
It looked for a moment that the young man was too in shock to process the question. But then with enormous effort, he managed to reply.
“Rabbit. My name is Rabbit.”

Nodding the surgeon poured him a glass of water, seeming to note the man's raspy voice.“Thank you Rabbit. Drink, you need to get your strength back. It’ll be a few days before I can discharge you I’m afraid. Your injuries almost killed you. When your friends brought you in I didn’t think you’d pull through, but you’ve got a lot of strength.” Smiling Doctor Ruven gave the man a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he held the cup to his lips to drink deeply. “I imagine you’re eager to be back among familiar faces?”There was a look of confusion from Rabbit, but already the drink was starting to cloud his head a little. A small smile began to spread across his features. Almost peaceful. “Yeah...I gotta get back. People waiting.” The Doctor helped him settle back on the table. “Of course Rabbit. We’ll have you back with your men as quick as a flash.” As the young soldier began to drift off, the Doctor gave a nod to the onlooker and he slipped out of the shadows to approach the table.

“Remarkable.” He said evenly to the elderly surgeon. “Truly some of your finest work Doctor.”
“Thank you my Lord. He will be ready on schedule.” Ruven grabbed the edge of the cloth sheets covering Rabbit's body. “However, I will require your assistance with the more extensive damage. If this is to work, I would strongly advise you see to the intricacies personally.”
Slowly he peeled back the sheets with a soft wet slick sound as they revealed the raw meat beneath. Legs chewed to the bone, muscle hanging in visceral strips, where it was even found. A Rabbit that would never run again. At least not without intervention.

Moving the elderly surgeon to one side, the man with the golden eyes began to whisper in a strange tongue to himself as he reached into his bag and pulled out rolls of linen bandages. As he spoke his other hand moved to a nearby shelf and opened a large jar of thick red paste. The sharp smell of copper assailed his nostrils as he began to mold the substance like clay and then apply it to the exposed bone of the man's legs. As he worked, his words seemed to breathe life into the substance and he grafted it into flesh under his touch. Piece by piece the muscle was joined with the gelatinous material until it formed smooth lines attaching the legs more resolutely. As each synthetic muscle was affixed in place, his parting touches brought spasms of life through the reforming flesh, each twitch corresponding with a word spoken.

When the first leg was finished, there was no skin to cover it, but it resembled the shape and build of a humanoid leg. It was however, clearly not a singular piece of craftsmanship. The shades of pinks and reds were bonded with black lines of necrosis where the ruined leg had already begun to putrefy. As the golden-eyed man turned his attention to rebuilding the other leg, Doctor Ruven began to apply salve to the conjoining repairs and then wrap his leg from the thigh downward. The two men worked in tandem, putting Rabbit together again as he slept under the influence of a powerful sedative.

When the final bandage was applied, the two men stood back to admire their handy work. It was fine art to be sure, a true miracle. Though only the surgeon seemed to show it. As the man with golden eyes stared at their creation, he simply let out an impatient sigh. The rest is up to you Doctor. Time is not on our side here. He must be returned to his company within the next two days. Else our endeavor is wasted.”With that he turned and headed for the door, pausing as he opened it to glance back at Ruven. “Do not fail me Doctor.”Then he stepped out and began to walk down the corridor. As he walked, he whistled tunefully to himself. And soon his jaunty song was lost amid the noises that came from the cells he walked past, a chorus of woe and pain and sounds that no human could make echoed about him.


As he reached the final cell on the left, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. Three pairs of eyes turned towards him and all fell away to the ground as they backed into the corner of the room. They trembled in silence as he walked around to gaze upon their creation. An ugly and brutish thing. Rendered useless now Doctor Ruven’s experiments had at last borne fruit. But there was a certain beauty to its simplicity and single-minded nature that he found almost charming. “I’m afraid you have failed. No one is more sorry to say this than I. Your work has been important and you shall be remembered as such.”One hand reached out for their work and it began to twitch, stirring under the blood soaked rags on the table.

“My king, please! I beg of you, were we to have more-” began one of the men in a desperate plea, but a single glance of those gleaming golden eyes was enough to silence him.
“I am no king. Kings are mortal flesh that even primitive minds like you can shape. No, I am…” he paused for a moment and breathed in with a shudder of delight. He felt it awakening within him and he shared in its hunger for a moment. “...something more.” he finished.
Rising off of the table its legs swung clear and it climbed to its full height, blotting out the light of the chandelier that hung from the ceiling.“You’ve served me well. Find peace in that.” As he turned to walk from the room, their creation fell upon them with laudable savagery and he smiled to himself. Perhaps he would find a use for it after all.
Post Reply

Return to “Beyond the Gates (shared)”

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 2 guests