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Dark_Ursine
Moon
- Joined
- Dec 28, 2017
The coastal city of Floris was the capital of the Radaneian kingdom and was a mighty stone city nestled in the rolling foot hills of a massive valley. The ever growing city had outgrown its old dense walls hundreds of years ago, as buildings spread in almost organic-looking arms from the shore and pushed into the surrounding forest. It was the final destination for many a traveller seeking fame and employment. The towering city had never been breached and the people were ever loyal of the kings and life in the kingdom was far superior to any other. The current royal family, the Derravin were praised by the people for the King, who was just and fair. So, when gossip spilled through the cobble streets that the eldest princess Clara and prince Richard had been caught in the midst of perverse acts, the kingdom was in utter shock and devastation.
The scandal flourished into full on infamy when declarations of dark sorcery and necromancy snaked their way into the gossip. Word was that the king had nearly executed his eldest children, but his love for them stayed his hand. Instead due to the nature of their crimes, he banished them to Herath, or better referred to as the dark lands. Herath was situated along Radaneian's northern border, its boundary starting at the very feet of the treacherous Vorkhag Tusk mountains and spreading out further north than any known man had travel. The reason for this was simple, grotesque monsters and vicious beasts of all shapes and sizes roamed the dark and destitute lands. To be exiled to such a nightmarish place was to be sentenced to a violent and gruesome death.
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Time skip: Nearly a month after the siblings had left the safety of Floris by carriage.
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It was a balmy vernal afternoon, proving that autumnal had just released its grip upon those that resided in the kingdom of Radaneian, thus it meant that the Nowruz celebration of Springsyl would soon be at hand. It mattered little to young Prince Richard Derravin. Though he guessed he shouldn't refer to himself as a prince anymore. Twenty nine days of rumbling along with a few pit stops and nothing to do, but to be plagued by the curious and stupid notions one’s mind wonders about. The exiled prince sat in plain, dull white cotton pants and matching dress shirt, his thick wrists snared in iron shackles and his feet in scuffed brown soldier boots. All while two sneering royal guards were positioned on the silk cushioned seats across from him, weapons at the ready.
He wasn’t entirely sure why his jailers where so on edge, he was restrained, weapon less and lacked any talent for magic.His crime was that he loved and lusted after his sister Clara and embraced her desire to use him in her rituals. It was true, the two siblings were guilty of copulating and engaging in some minor necromancy, but still his eldest sister was the one they should truly fear. Her power was enchanting, the sight of a vile zombie shambling out of a dense mist after a ritual always elicited a dark thrill for Richard. He never could understand why, maybe it was the allure of power or the taboo nature of such magic. Either way he was drawn to it and never planned to give it up.
As the sound of the coachman's whip cracked and the sound of trees ruching past, his mind began to wonder again, as it had a tendency to do on this long trip. His thoughts strayed to his family back home, little Anna his younger sister crying as her older siblings were fumbled into seperate carriages. His father, Richard could not extinguish the seed of hate that blossomed at the thought of his father and his decision. That thought steered his mind back to the night his father, King James had barged into his sister’s private quarters. The look of utter disbelief and horror on his aging face as his deep-seated eyes gazed upon the scene of Clara with her eye capturing red hair bouncing her sultry figure on top of Richard’s magnificent nine-inch cock. Richard had his hands kneading his older sister’s breasts, while a purple hue had encircled them, a sign that the spell was nearing its apex.
A resounding slap and a spark of pain across his cheek, brought the twenty-year-old prince back to the present moment, his dark almond shaped eyes glaring daggers at the guard that dared lay a hand upon him. If it were not for the restraints the man would find his crooked nose broken and his beady green eyes bruised black and blue, for Richard was no weakling. Having been trained since the day he took his first steps. The six-foot-three exile was built for fast agile battles, lean muscles coiled around his arms and legs, his torso a landscape of valleys well defined between powerful muscles. He was considered dangerous with a long sword and a genius of battle tactics. Before his father had discovered the incestuous relationship, it was widely known that the young prince would have taken command of the kingdoms forces within a year or two.
The carriage came to a jostling halt, with the coachman calling out to the guards that they had arrived. The two dimwitted guards grinned as they pounced at Richard, the one that had slapped Richard was gangly and weak, the other obese and bald. The two out of shape guards hooked there arms under his armpits and dragged him from the carriage and discarded him on the hard packed earth as if he were trash. Then the bald slob pulled near and produced a key, his repulsive body odor caused the now dirt coated exile to wrinkle his nose in disgust. The scrawny, crooked nose guard held his sword tip in Richard's direction while his fellow guard wriggled the key inside his shackles momentarily until the iron creaked open and collapsed on the dirt.
Then the two scrambled back into the coach as if their lives were in danger, followed almost instantly by the sound of leather snapping at the air as the carriage driver scared the horses back into action. The broad chested young man rose to his feet, his dark eyes glancing up at the late afternoon sun struggling to shine through a thick blanket of gray skies. Not even light could bear its full brilliance upon the ragged gateway into the dark lands. The fog hung low at the base of the sheer cliffed mountain sides, as though to keep this forsaken place hidden from the gods themselves and leave the inhabitants to their own devices.
Ignoring the retreating shapes of the departing coaches, Richard collected a small leather sac the guards had dumped not far from his feet. Inside he found a small ration of bread, cheese, some dried meat and a skin fill with water. Sealing up the sac with a soft grunt he turned his eyes in the direction of his gorgeous sister. "Well I guess we need to find someplace to camp for the night" he suggested in his smooth, deep baritone voice with a smile. He didn't care that he was discarded at the entrance to what many people call hell on earth as long as he had Clara with him.
The scandal flourished into full on infamy when declarations of dark sorcery and necromancy snaked their way into the gossip. Word was that the king had nearly executed his eldest children, but his love for them stayed his hand. Instead due to the nature of their crimes, he banished them to Herath, or better referred to as the dark lands. Herath was situated along Radaneian's northern border, its boundary starting at the very feet of the treacherous Vorkhag Tusk mountains and spreading out further north than any known man had travel. The reason for this was simple, grotesque monsters and vicious beasts of all shapes and sizes roamed the dark and destitute lands. To be exiled to such a nightmarish place was to be sentenced to a violent and gruesome death.
===================================
Time skip: Nearly a month after the siblings had left the safety of Floris by carriage.
====================================
It was a balmy vernal afternoon, proving that autumnal had just released its grip upon those that resided in the kingdom of Radaneian, thus it meant that the Nowruz celebration of Springsyl would soon be at hand. It mattered little to young Prince Richard Derravin. Though he guessed he shouldn't refer to himself as a prince anymore. Twenty nine days of rumbling along with a few pit stops and nothing to do, but to be plagued by the curious and stupid notions one’s mind wonders about. The exiled prince sat in plain, dull white cotton pants and matching dress shirt, his thick wrists snared in iron shackles and his feet in scuffed brown soldier boots. All while two sneering royal guards were positioned on the silk cushioned seats across from him, weapons at the ready.
He wasn’t entirely sure why his jailers where so on edge, he was restrained, weapon less and lacked any talent for magic.His crime was that he loved and lusted after his sister Clara and embraced her desire to use him in her rituals. It was true, the two siblings were guilty of copulating and engaging in some minor necromancy, but still his eldest sister was the one they should truly fear. Her power was enchanting, the sight of a vile zombie shambling out of a dense mist after a ritual always elicited a dark thrill for Richard. He never could understand why, maybe it was the allure of power or the taboo nature of such magic. Either way he was drawn to it and never planned to give it up.
As the sound of the coachman's whip cracked and the sound of trees ruching past, his mind began to wonder again, as it had a tendency to do on this long trip. His thoughts strayed to his family back home, little Anna his younger sister crying as her older siblings were fumbled into seperate carriages. His father, Richard could not extinguish the seed of hate that blossomed at the thought of his father and his decision. That thought steered his mind back to the night his father, King James had barged into his sister’s private quarters. The look of utter disbelief and horror on his aging face as his deep-seated eyes gazed upon the scene of Clara with her eye capturing red hair bouncing her sultry figure on top of Richard’s magnificent nine-inch cock. Richard had his hands kneading his older sister’s breasts, while a purple hue had encircled them, a sign that the spell was nearing its apex.
A resounding slap and a spark of pain across his cheek, brought the twenty-year-old prince back to the present moment, his dark almond shaped eyes glaring daggers at the guard that dared lay a hand upon him. If it were not for the restraints the man would find his crooked nose broken and his beady green eyes bruised black and blue, for Richard was no weakling. Having been trained since the day he took his first steps. The six-foot-three exile was built for fast agile battles, lean muscles coiled around his arms and legs, his torso a landscape of valleys well defined between powerful muscles. He was considered dangerous with a long sword and a genius of battle tactics. Before his father had discovered the incestuous relationship, it was widely known that the young prince would have taken command of the kingdoms forces within a year or two.
The carriage came to a jostling halt, with the coachman calling out to the guards that they had arrived. The two dimwitted guards grinned as they pounced at Richard, the one that had slapped Richard was gangly and weak, the other obese and bald. The two out of shape guards hooked there arms under his armpits and dragged him from the carriage and discarded him on the hard packed earth as if he were trash. Then the bald slob pulled near and produced a key, his repulsive body odor caused the now dirt coated exile to wrinkle his nose in disgust. The scrawny, crooked nose guard held his sword tip in Richard's direction while his fellow guard wriggled the key inside his shackles momentarily until the iron creaked open and collapsed on the dirt.
Then the two scrambled back into the coach as if their lives were in danger, followed almost instantly by the sound of leather snapping at the air as the carriage driver scared the horses back into action. The broad chested young man rose to his feet, his dark eyes glancing up at the late afternoon sun struggling to shine through a thick blanket of gray skies. Not even light could bear its full brilliance upon the ragged gateway into the dark lands. The fog hung low at the base of the sheer cliffed mountain sides, as though to keep this forsaken place hidden from the gods themselves and leave the inhabitants to their own devices.
Ignoring the retreating shapes of the departing coaches, Richard collected a small leather sac the guards had dumped not far from his feet. Inside he found a small ration of bread, cheese, some dried meat and a skin fill with water. Sealing up the sac with a soft grunt he turned his eyes in the direction of his gorgeous sister. "Well I guess we need to find someplace to camp for the night" he suggested in his smooth, deep baritone voice with a smile. He didn't care that he was discarded at the entrance to what many people call hell on earth as long as he had Clara with him.