Post by Azuloth on Jun 16, 2016 20:42:29 GMT -5
The catacombs of the castle held a great many terrible things in this era. The Elkagr woman who was running the country now knew this to be true. Many of those things had been put there by her kin. The Cruinthians had in ages past the tendency to preserve all their heroes in ice. A practice no longer done since the empire took control of the nation. That didn't mean those heroes weren't still there. They just weren't in the city. The hall of heroes, or the ruins of the hall of heroes rather, had all their names.
It took her the better part of a month to find this man, and his tomb. He had been interred for a hundred years.
She strode up to the stone coffin. It was bound in arcane runes, not only to preserve him, but to keep him asleep until he was necessary.
One of her acolytes presented a book to her before she asked for it.
"Go, I wish to be alone with him. Now where was that incantation." She paged through the leatherbound journal. She couldn't believe things had gone to shit so quickly. The so called Royal Justean Guard had taken three provinces from her and cut her and her troops off from the rest of the empire. If her seers were to be trusted, the fools preaching demoracy would take another province, and the fucking skaldi would take Rosterford. That left her with the middle, and the duchies. The Duchies didn't know any true loyalty for the crown.
First she mumbled to herself the first passage:
"Highest honors to you o' hero of the age. Your deeds and life shall be preserved in text and stone for the ages to come. May your dreams in your eternal sleep be of pleasant times, may your prowess go unmatched, and may the nation never need your spear and bow again, your rest shall remain uninterrupted but at my word."
Then:
"Here it is. Wake Palejaw, o' great tamer of beasts. O' slayer of false men, traitors, and monsters of darkest origin. O' great screaming eagle, your nation needs your prowess. Wake from your dream. Drench your spear and bow in the blood of our enemies. Our darkest hour has come."
What happened wasn't what she expected. She had expected some pale hand to come out of the crack of the sarcophagus, pushing it aside slowly. Some raspy voice calling to her. No, the man exploded forth from his tomb. The stone shattered and she was nearly killed by a chunk of it. He emerged from his tomb fully armed and armored. She was lying on the floor of the tomb ravaged by the rock. Blood oozed from her nostrils, her vision shook and blurred. Her spine felt broken. She couldn't move.
"'A. And 'o the fuck do you think you are, Imperial bitch?"
"I'm your ruler."
"Last I checked, and this is just me thinking to myself 'ere. The fucking imperials didn't rule Cruinthe, the sorcerer-king did."
"He's indisposed. Help me. I think I'm dying."
"Sucks for you then."
"You're going to do nothing?"
"HA! Nothing? I'll put you out of your misery, that's what I'll do."
"No, wait!"
He shoved his voulge through her face on his way out.
"Let's see what this age 'as brought me."
It took her the better part of a month to find this man, and his tomb. He had been interred for a hundred years.
She strode up to the stone coffin. It was bound in arcane runes, not only to preserve him, but to keep him asleep until he was necessary.
One of her acolytes presented a book to her before she asked for it.
"Go, I wish to be alone with him. Now where was that incantation." She paged through the leatherbound journal. She couldn't believe things had gone to shit so quickly. The so called Royal Justean Guard had taken three provinces from her and cut her and her troops off from the rest of the empire. If her seers were to be trusted, the fools preaching demoracy would take another province, and the fucking skaldi would take Rosterford. That left her with the middle, and the duchies. The Duchies didn't know any true loyalty for the crown.
First she mumbled to herself the first passage:
"Highest honors to you o' hero of the age. Your deeds and life shall be preserved in text and stone for the ages to come. May your dreams in your eternal sleep be of pleasant times, may your prowess go unmatched, and may the nation never need your spear and bow again, your rest shall remain uninterrupted but at my word."
Then:
"Here it is. Wake Palejaw, o' great tamer of beasts. O' slayer of false men, traitors, and monsters of darkest origin. O' great screaming eagle, your nation needs your prowess. Wake from your dream. Drench your spear and bow in the blood of our enemies. Our darkest hour has come."
What happened wasn't what she expected. She had expected some pale hand to come out of the crack of the sarcophagus, pushing it aside slowly. Some raspy voice calling to her. No, the man exploded forth from his tomb. The stone shattered and she was nearly killed by a chunk of it. He emerged from his tomb fully armed and armored. She was lying on the floor of the tomb ravaged by the rock. Blood oozed from her nostrils, her vision shook and blurred. Her spine felt broken. She couldn't move.
"'A. And 'o the fuck do you think you are, Imperial bitch?"
"I'm your ruler."
"Last I checked, and this is just me thinking to myself 'ere. The fucking imperials didn't rule Cruinthe, the sorcerer-king did."
"He's indisposed. Help me. I think I'm dying."
"Sucks for you then."
"You're going to do nothing?"
"HA! Nothing? I'll put you out of your misery, that's what I'll do."
"No, wait!"
He shoved his voulge through her face on his way out.
"Let's see what this age 'as brought me."