Freezn
Above All ~ Self Control
- Joined
- Jul 15, 2020
- Location
- Lost in the Someplace
Harken closer dear reader and hear tale of the betwixed pair. Subjects born unto to the Kingdom of Embrath, Miracle of the Languished Sea. First among the nations of man to harness the power of the gods. The reality warping craft we commonly call magic.
Its mages tore apart the world in the age of myth to forge the mightiest nation in the land. Led by the Lambrac the Conqueror, they drove out the mighty beast that had plagued mankind since the dawn of time. Goblins, orcs, fang hounds, dragons, aberrants, demons, none could stand before the might of his cabal. Into the mountains and through the deep forests the beasts were chased, driven into the realms of the barbarous. In their wake was a newfound peace, the likes of which mankind had never experienced.
In the shadow of peace Embrath was born. Its majesty twisted and stretched, clawing its roots deep into the ground until not even the greatest of catastrophes could threaten its dominance. As ages came along other kingdoms rose to challenge Embrath for its title of mankind's greatest nation, but each and everyone fell short. The line of Lambrac was served well by his cabal, hence dubbed the Royal Court. Their wisdom allowed the Kings and Queens of Embrath to outwit the cleverest of foes. Their persistence warded off even the most enduring plots that thought the shadows might hide their wicked deeds. Their power crushed mountains and eradicated all who would stand against the throne.
A millennia has passed since the ancient time of Lambrac the Conqueror, and still his Royal Court continues to provide for the thriving kingdom. No other nation could boast of mages equal to the Royal Court. Their achievements are legendary and vast. Their virtues a guiding beacon for all of mankind. Their power unmatched.
This is the narrative that spread throughout the world. Carefully cultivated and tended to as horticulturist might their prize-winning garden. The Royal Court's displays of power and record of unquestioned victory did well to further this tale. However more subtle aspects supported the mythos in an even more crucial manner. It was the rare few who ever had the privilege to be in the presence of a member of the Royal Court, let alone truly know or think to join their number.
The King had his duties to the masses, many knew his face, understood his public thoughts on prevalent matters. His courtesans were well accounted for, his friends a favored topic of gossip among the town criers. The royal presence was seen in the slums and frontlines in equal measure as he inspired loyalty.
None of which could be said for the Royal Court themselves.
They held languid parties of exorbitant privilege it was told, but none had ever been able to attend. They were said to be the wisest in the land, but all knowledge of their advice came second hand. Isolated high above all others, "To join the Royal Court," was a saying of far off wishes that none thought possible.
Such was the way of the world as Deckard of House Malek dawned his silver embroidered tailcoat. The luxurious fabric pulled from the undercoat of kraisian mountain beasts provided a snug, comfortable fit to the man's hawkish figure. It accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The coloring matched well with his shoulder length raven black hair, pulled back into a loose tail, the tips still free to gently curl at the ends. His face was freshly trimmed, drawing his pale blue eyes, sharp nose and pointed jawline into precise focus. Where his gaze wandered, his desire was done.
He carried himself with the dignity of a man well accustomed to bending the fabric of reality as he saw fit. His stride never slowed as he approached the doors of his private study, the mahogany opening of its own accord, before shutting behind him with equal grace. The tower had been in the hands of countless members of the Malek line, each of which had been a member of the Royal Court. Each imbued their will to the structure. Over the span of centuries, their combined efforts had laced a working that made the grey stone, and dark wood of the ancient structure respond to the barest touch of their wills. It was so well bound to Deckard that when he thought of the Gargoyle Tower as it was so affectionately called, he thought of it more as a pet than his place of abode.
On this day it sensed his annoyance and cast out in kind. The torchlight of the halls did not reach quite so far this eve. Its stone walls drank in the heat of the coming spring, leaving the chill of winter to creep through its halls. The stone under Deckard's feet groaned and moaned pitifully, the whimper of a dog all too accustomed to a master's ill intent. Farther down the hall, a lock unlatched. It released with it a breath of stale air, upon which road the ghost of screams long since released. A new apprentice was to be received today. The tower made welcome her room.
♦♦──────────────────────────────♦♦──────────────────────────────♦♦
The road to the Gargoyle Tower was a long one. The dusty path was far from worn and provided a smooth ride under the shadow of vinecovered oaks. The bright green of life prevalent despite the true bloom of spring many weeks away. A damp mirky heat warded off the winter chill along the path, before ending as the woods broke. At the base of the many storied tower, the trees were cleared away to provide space for lavish gardens and small ponds that sang with the marsh's wild life. At the center of which rose the entrance to the tower. Two massive doors of thick wood, inscribed with wards that drew from deep within the ground to facilitate the miniature ecosystem. Over these doors hung the namesake of the Gargoyle Tower. A massive creature of stone, carved and shaped out of marble in the shape of a impish devil. Its great wings cast a shadow over all who crossed the doors threshold. Its blank eyes giving off the impression that it was looking upon any whom traveled the gardens.
As a painted black carriage trimmed in gold came to a halt before the walkway leading to the great doors, a spindly older woman stepped out from within the tower. Her silver-grey hair was pulled up into a bonnet and she wore the plain grey and white dress denoting her a servant of the house. The glittering necklace of silver hanging from her neck spoke otherwise. Her aged face was scrunched tight into perpetual squint and pursed lips combination.
The old lady regarded the woman who exited the carriage with an up and down look over before offering a soft smile. Its warmth never quite making it to her eyes. "Welcome to the Gargoyle dear. Please come inside." The frail woman pushed the massive doors open without so much as a grunt, revealing a well-lit atrium complete with a glittering chandelier hanging three stories overhead. Tiny crystals gave off a soft white light throughout the windowless hall, lining door frames and base boards of the room. The black and white marble of the floor was checkered and gave ample places to sit or stand as one desired. A bar was tucked off to one side and was attended by a finely dressed barkeep seeing to a pair of individuals who kept their hoods up and faces shadowed. As the elderly woman and her guest made their way through the entrance a soft hiss could be heard from overhead while the door shut on their own volition. As they thudded shut, the wards upon it brightened, fusing the two doors into a single piece of wood.
"My name is Ravice dear. Set your bags and cloak down there." The woman gestured with a wave of her hand off to the side where a luggage cart resided. "When you have need of something, just say my name and I'll be along shortly." As she spoke, she strode her way across the great hall, towards a back door that led to a flight of stairs. Neither her age nor her many layered dress doing anything to slow her. "Unfortunately, I cannot give you a proper tour of the tower at this time, Lord Malek has requested your presence in the testing chamber as soon as able but rest assured that we shall familiarize you with the many halls and floors as time allows."
She continued to speak, her breathing interrupting her words as she began to lead up the spiraling staircase. "Remember now… when in the Lord's presence… do not forget to use his proper title. Pref.. preferably Lord Malek until… he admits you as his apprentice… officially." As they rose up flight after flight, the halls became no less grand, marble stone still lay beneath their feet. Paintings and mirrors and trophies and sculptures of unknown value still lined the halls. It was only less comfortable. Gone was the warmth of the floors below, the remnants of winter now crept back in. Gone was the bright light of the crystals, now only smokeless torches and scant rays of light from partially blinded windows illuminated the way.