The Knight, The Mage, and The Beggar

The Knight, The Mage, and The Beggar

by R.S. Brown

Prologue

The turmoil of the two houses seemed to overlap the Riverlands like a foul stench that never seemed to wane. House Hawthorne and House Prax had been at war for what seemed like ages, but in reality, it had only been around 15 years. The houses had started battling over the birthright to be named a noble house. These two homes were Bastards of an actual Banner Lord who resides in the Banners of House Ridge. There have been many trials to let this Lord of the Name Migarth admit his wrongdoings and to find his last two Bastards and put an end to all of this tyranny, but he has silenced every council that has been brought before him. Migarth has no sense of honor and does not care if his wrongdoings could potentially bring this illustrious land of prosperity to ruin.

This Lord had slept with half of the Riverlands and successfully snuffed out his Bastards, or so he thought. Two clever women dared to disobey and run for the forest. Their names were Illyanis and Maureen, unfortunately, the Paladins of the time were not too fond of the Lord's misdeeds, so they have tried striking their birthnames from the registry, but as a Paladins myself I have tracked them down. They fled to the mountain ranges to the West and created two homes, House Hawthorne and House Prax. These houses were thought to have been formed from pureblood from the West, but as it turns out these women started two houses that created a power vacuum in the West that would cause House Ridge to make a desperate attempt at an alliance. 

House Ridge proposed that the two houses should meet and try to agree to a merger into one house, becoming the strong arm of the law for House Ridge West of the Pilthar Mountain Range. The two houses agreed and began planning the meeting so they could make sure that all of the allegiances and armies of both houses were understood to be on stand-by if anything were to happen. Although they had their commanded armies on call, both houses knew if one was to conquer the other that their army would feel loyalty to the stronger House Commander. These houses were made up of thieves, lunatics, and men of no banner after all. These types of men are known to follow the ones who exude the most power. 

The night of the meeting House Hawthorne and House Prax harbored a feast in the caste known as Specter's Keep. The army stood guard as the two women of each house hid in plain sight, making a figurehead be in control of the festivities at this meeting. They had been trained and prepared on what to say and what would cause any agreements to fall through, but there was a disservice lurking beneath the shadows of the Keep that night. There was another agreement made in secret, one that would be cemented in time as The Betrayal of Two Bastards. The two men in charge of the negotiations were Jenthral Hawthorne, the bastard son of Migarth, and Jaxyl Prax, also the bastard son of Migarth. 

Jenthral had always dreamed of being in charge of a banner of his own, with his mother making strategic demands beside him. When he came of age his sworn sword Olerion Mangen explained that he had carried on his line with his wife, and he would be bringing into the world a son for him to protect. This would be the primary focus of the decision to go along with Migarth's plan to overthrow House Prax. Lord Migarth saw it as House Hawthorne already had a legitimized heir for the next line of succession, so they were the house to back. In secret House Prax had also had Mareen impregnated by a necromancer in the Land of Crows, making their house a potential magical house going forward. A dark secret formed between the two children's birth, one that would take decades to unveil.

Lord Migarth ordered Jenthral to wait until the peak of festivities when everyone was starting to fade into the night and to make his bannermen strike when House Prax was most vulnerable in their sleep. Jenthral was ready to act upon this, but his mother did not know of this plan. The strong woman that she had escaped captivity with would be involved in this, and both her son and her rapist did not have any foresight on how this would affect the years and decades to come. When both houses had drank enough to take down two full-grown Ridge Lords themselves, Lord Jenthral gave the order to become the dagger in the night. In one swoop the bannermen of House Hawthorne snuffed out the House of Prax. The only light in the outcome of this massacre was that Mareen was not found amongst the bodies, but Jenthral torched all of them just to be safe.

The sight of all the dismembered bodies and faces bludgeoned beyond recognition made him certain that any one of these women could be Mareen. This would solidify that he could tell Lord Migarth that the nuisance was rendered moot from the land. After the pikes were burned down to ash, Jenthral sent a specter to Lord Migarth to confirm that he had committed his act of loyalty to House Ridge and awaited further details. When he sat down the ring on his left hand lit up a bright emerald and a message was announced in his head:

Thank you for your unwavering act of loyalty to the high house of House Ridge, The Banner of Mountains. We recognize your house, House Hawthorne, as a legitimized house that has shown fealty to the Lord of the name Migarth. In the days and years to come, you will bear children who will be sworn into your house under no other name than Hawthorne. We only ask that in return you add your banners to the ranks of House Ridge, combining the armies of House Hawthorne and House Prax with House Ridge will make our two houses the strongest army north of The Grekseed River. We look forward to welcoming your many small lords into a realm full of possibilities. May you have peace and prosperity under our new union.

With Respect and Allegiance, 

Lord Migarth Grenden of House Ridge 

This act of betrayal sent shockwaves across the land. Lord Migarth had been thought to be close to death, but he lived for another 10 years after this event. His heirs would ask what happened on that fateful day, but all he would ever say is that the better house won, but the more powerful house still lurked unknown. Migarth was thought to have gone senile around the time of his death, but this was one constant that always seemed to be said throughout his last years. Most of the housemen and women had chalked it up to remorse for what he had done there, but some whispered rumors of revenge. The realm does not forget treason or betrayal. If a deed is done, an equal deep must be repaid.

Structure of Lords Chapter 1
Jenthal

The moons after came with many filled red, almost as if the blood of the Gods did not agree with the deed performed amongst a House of the Nobles, even if these certain nobles were bastards. The dark hollow keep seemed to echo into the mountainside as many people came to celebrate over the years of the Mighty Jenthal. The first few years the people of Jethro would build houses out of the Meerwood trees, making them a dark oak resembling the obsidian mountainside that sat dauntingly in the background. Specter's Keep stood high at the base of the mountainside. It seemed to be taunting any enemy that came by. The white walls and green banners seemed to tell passersby to be wary of the Lord of Jethro.

He had become fueled with hatred and full of power that seemed to control him more than he controlled it. His rulings were but more than one-sided, his own, and he did not say how if it came down to his house or his family, he would choose his family. The people of Jethro still celebrated, but now it was for the joy of another day they had survived. The Lord had been starved for power for so long that he controlled every aspect of his keep when he got it.

Jenthal, a new Lord of Eastwind, did not know how to lead, only instilling fear. The Township of Jethro initially appreciated the Lord who gave them a place where they could be part of Eastwind, but they soon grew to fear that same Lord who gave them their namesake. Jenthal was not violent per se, but he did have a temper. When he grew tired of a situation he would grow red with rage, but he would maintain composure while standing from his massive throne made of the old Meer trees that littered the grounds of Specters's Keep, slowly walking down the black obsidian steps of his throne room. When he approached the kinsman who was asking for assistance he would lean into their ear and whisper, 

"Is your life more important than this issue?"

This was considered a sick joke about a ruler growing mad with power, but one rising son saw a different course of action play out. It would be known as an event that would forever change the way that Jenthal would lead his Town. It was the Day of the King, 3BCE, on the 33rd day of Juniper, when a sick, frail townsman wandered into the throne room of Raven's Keep. His name was Oliver Jenstone.

He was coming to ask the Lord if he could take a loan out with the throne because the apothecary raised their prices in the aftermath of the wars since supplies were still running low, and they were anxiously awaiting the caravan from House Ridge. It had been months and many people that gathered after the war to start Jethro had become angry and unruly. Oliver decided to speak up for them.

He went into the throne room with dirty rags barely hanging on his body, his bones showing through his skin, and his eyes sunken almost completely into his face, his hair that once went halfway down his frame had now withered to a nest of unkempt thin rats nests. As he approached he cleared his throat and hit himself in the chest, almost as if to give himself power to say what needed to be said.

"We understand that times are hard after a war, but my Lord, people are dying. Your township speaks of high treason if things do not change. I come to you not only as a member of the banners that reside in this place, but I come to you as a man asking you to see what your lavish house is doing to a city that never asked to be formed. We served you when the time came, and I do not see this as a repayment of that favor my Lord."

Oliver coughed as he finished speaking. He was growing tired, and he knew that Jenthal would not take kindly to being questioned in his throne room. He forced himself to stand at attention waiting for his sentence or his answer. It felt like they were the same thing in the end, this Lord did not know how to delve into justice. He only knew how to keep himself and his own just above the others. Jenthal stood, and as he grew red with rage he leaned towards Oliver only to be stopped midway by a voice,

"Yes, this matter is worth my life. I would gladly put my life on the line so others can see what you are. You stand as if you are the high moral Lord who serves out his opinions like they are handed down from a God. Well, I will tell you, Lord, you are no God I have ever seen. If you are God then I renounce him now because no God of mine would allow women and children to be sick in the streets, no God of mine would allow men to be hung. After all, they were forced into a banner of Prax because of the hard winter. None of those men served those demons. They now serve you, and as I am seeing this, you are now the demon my Lord, so forgive me if I do not care to play your demonic games."

As he finished speaking he felt himself grow faint as he fell to the floor. Jenthal had begun laughing as he leaned down to his face. When he came to eye level with the poor man his eyes went black and his grin turned into what seemed like disgust. He leaned into Oliver and placed his hand on his shoulder as if to try and comfort him, but Oliver knew that this was not like the Lord.

" Is that all that you had to say? I need you to understand something. Your body may break, your will may falter, but your essence always remains. That strong warrior that you were on the battlefield some 60 pounds ago still resides inside you. These times of difficulties are known to weed out weak men, and as it looks to me your essence of Kilthri is going to waste inside of your body my friend. I deem you no longer fit to carry that burden."

As he finished his dialogue servants in the throne room looked upon Jenthal in horror as he began to absorb the life force out of Oliver. Oliver screamed in agony as he felt his life force be drained out of him. Looking up at the Lord he saw a small orb of light reaching into the crest on his cloak and as it disappeared into the Specter his world grew dark colder than any hell he had ever been in. While Oliver remained alive, he was just a husk. He now was under the control of Lord Jenthal as a thrall. Jenthal was no necromancer, but he did practice many forms of magic just to stay ahead of any of his enemies. He used the power of soul binding to increase his power when he saw that the power that was given to others was not being properly utilized.   After Oliver people began to speak, but without the knowledge of specter travel they were forced to rely on horseback or crows, and who knows where that could lead them.

Their message could fall into a loyalist of House Specter, or worse a loyalist of House Ridge. After a year of sending letters to the Paladins at the Bastion, their prayers were answered. Sir Brenly came from the Paladins to assist Lord Jenthal on how to properly rule. House Ridge had heard whispers of a tyrant king who had let his people and township go into disrepair, so this was their answer to this injustice. Sir Brenlyly was a legend of lore when it came to House Ridge. He was thought to be the first-born son of Lord Migarth, but the rumor was that he destroyed all of the items that aligned him with him to serve the realm. He became a Paladin at the age of 4 and seemed to have abnormal abilities when it came to reading, writing, and strategy. He was not gifted with the ability of magic from within, but he was very keen on enchantments. The most noteworthy enchantment is his helmet, Helmet of the Beggar.

This helmet blocks telepathy and mind control and gives him the ability to awaken his knowledge of magic, allowing him to utilize all types of magic without being bound to one. His helmet was enchanted by an Enchantress by the name of Ellania Transum, she is thought to be the only enchantress to know this binding, and since her death, this is the only helmet that remained.  Riding up to Specters Keep, Sir Brenlyly began to observe his surroundings.

The firewood for the winter seemed to be massively unaccounted for, the merchant stalls were barren, and the people looked at him like he was another potential rival to their natural resources rather than a potential ally. He began to wonder what happened in this place and if they had made an under-sight when choosing House Hawthorne rather than the House of Necromancers in House Prax. He hitched his horse at the base of the castle and started up the steps to the Keep only to be met by Jenthal.

"How may I assist you, Paladin? Do you think you can just wander into lands that are not yours? Speak!" said Jenthal raising his hands to lift Brenlyly off the ground. As Jenthal tried to lift Brenly off the ground.

Brenly laughed and began walking up the steps to Jenthal. He saw the fear in Jenthal's eyes as he did not have power in the instance. He was observing a grown man acting like that of a child from power sickness. He knew that his losing all sense of power would cause him to act irrationally in these next few moments so he touched his helmet and began to speak:

"Heash, Alugae, Virntrium"

As he spoke the emerald on his helmet began to shine a bright green and locked Jenthal in place with a green aura around him. This instilled fear into Jenthal as he looked at Brenly begging for his life as if he knew that it was his end. Brenly put his hand on Jenthal's shoulder and began to speak to him in a calming voice. 

"I am not here to hurt you friend. You have lost your way, and I know that you are in need. No Lord should be feared more than they are loved. If you cannot find a balance of both, it will ultimately destroy you. There comes a time when all men must find their true path, and yours came many moons ago. If you truly accept your bloodline's mission, please follow my warning, or I will be forced to intervene."

Jenthal had finally felt fear. He understood now why all of the maidens looked at him as if he were a monster. He knew that he needed the township to fear him, but he did not want them to forget to cherish his name when he passed. He had been so blindsided by the bloodlust of battle that he had not understood that in times of peace, there was no need for the savagery that war required. He looked upon Brenly through the green aura and attempted to speak, but the aura gripped him tighter.

"Do you understand me, Riverfolk? You were nothing before this deed. You will remain nothing if I perish you to this soil where you have shed so many lives. Tell me now, why should you keep this place in high regard? If House Specter is to align with House Ridge it must be under the cooperation of the people of the realm. If you do not respect these people, how do you expect them not to turn a blind eye to you for the next bannerman who keeps them fed?! Are you so fed with power that you forget what you swore an oath to? You belong to House Ridge. You have a namesake of Hawthorne, but all of the Citadel know what you are. Don't forget your place in this world, or it will soon be taught to you with multiple lessons of cruelty." 

Brenly released the aura as Jenthal crashed to the floor. The crowd in the marketplace stood in shock and disbelief at what just took place, but they were indebted to Brenlyly greatly after this day. Jenthal learned that with every misdeed there is an equal misdeed that will be coming for you. When too many misdeeds come back to haunt you from the Plane, that is when you must take up arms and go to battle. The only battles that are worth fighting are the battles that better your people, and a battle that was started with tyranny is no battle for the people.

Jenthal would take up more time with his son Rhys when he thought that he was absorbing knowledge rather than just mocking him in his high stool. When Rhys turned 8 he began to show interest in politics and Paladin work, and at first, Jenthal strictly forbade this knowledge. He saw this knowledge as lesser knowledge for a dirty Paladin. Although he was quick with his wit, he was equally impressive with a sword at a young age. When Rhys was 10 years old his father watched him best one of the castle guards by rolling under his feet and placing his sword at the neck of the man. Jenthal was said to of looked on proudly as his son let the man live.

"Father, this is one that we let live. He fought honorably, he knows I am a leader of this house, and he bears no other colors other than the emerald of the House Specter. His essence shall remain to serve our greater purpose."

Even when Rhys made him proud Jenthal did not see him fit for the role of a Lord. His fierce loyalty to his family of course kept him in line. He sat down with Rhys when he noticed that at the young age of 12 Bristol, the 2nd born son of Jenthal, was abnormally large for his age. When he stood beside Rhys you could easily see when he was going to be the one that was more suited for the Lord title. He towered to the height of Rhys, and Rhys being 8 years older, this was worrisome. He was at the end of the possibilities of his growth, but Bristol was still growing and had more opportunities to be trained in all aspects of leading. 

This was more the failure of Jenthal of not seeing Rhys's actual talents earlier and depressing these. Rhys was more akin to magic. He always found it interesting and sought out runic devices and artifacts to possibly learn enchanting in secret.  Brenly would go out of his way to ensure that his teachings were passed down to Rhys, he knew that no matter what Jenthal thought the job of a Paladin was to preserve. If he let the realm slip into misinformation, then how was he any better than any of this bloodlust of men? He was not.

Rhys quickly adapted to Paladin's teaching, showing a natural ability for seeking and retaining knowledge similar to Brenly's. Over the next couple of years, he devoted much time to practicing various forms of magic. It was during this time that he discovered he had an affinity with a specter orb, allowing him to absorb life forces and harness mana like no other. His father also had a similar device implanted in his blood vessels, allowing him to absorb the essence of others and merge with their power.

Rhys did not like taking what made people themselves. Instead, he would ask for permission to borrow some of their power so he could withstand the fatigue of casting multiple types of magic. This made him very popular with the watch parties that would go beyond the wall. They started calling him the Dark Specter because whenever something went awry, he would appear in the shadows with a spell to bring forth the most intricate wave of magic that most people had ever seen.

 He had become a legend on the patrol roads by the time he was 18. He regularly led caravans to other parts of the strongholds to ensure that nothing was affecting the loyalty of the people in his lands.  Brenly often thought that Jenthal should observe Rhys in action and then pass judgment on the rightful heir. Not only would this cause an uproar, but it would be considered blasphemy in the name of the first legitimized Hawthorne of the land. What kind of message does that send? Certainly not the message he wanted to convey.

When Brenly returned to the Keep, he noticed that the Lord was showing his throne room to Bristol.  Brenly knew that the Lord would be boasting without him in his presence, so he snuck around to see if he could catch him in the act and have proof. As he approached, he heard Jethral speaking about his house in a manner he did not expect. It seemed that after all these years, being a moral compass can overturn a mad mind.  Brenly sat still for a minute and listened, surprised by what he heard.

"Son there will come a time when you will lead with your brother here in this throne room. You have might and the most keen battle senses I have ever seen on the battlefield, and I dare say that you could best your brother in a fight. This does not mean to start a fight with your brother you imbecile, but that you are a man at a young age. There is a prophecy of two brothers who will come to the realm to reunite the light that was stolen when the Planeswalker began to rift into our dimension. 

Little by little the light was absorbed through tiny portals that would seem to take a small amount of light, but as more and more people began to use Planeswalking on both sides they began to see tears in the rifts of time. This would be the end of the Golden Era. I do not believe that anyone alive today was alive during the Golden Era to be exact." 

Brenly sat captivated by stories he had never heard before, scribbling into his notepad in the hope of capturing every word as it came out of Jenthal's mouth. This was possibly the most information we had heard about the Golden Era since the time of the living Paladins. Forgotten knowledge, and not just any forgotten knowledge, but the knowledge of The Onyx Cathedral. The Paladins knew that deep within those halls lay hidden knowledge, but only those of House Hawthorne dared to enter. There was an ancient blood curse that would extract your essence from your body, turning you into a thrall, a slave to serve without freedom.

"Your birthright stands atop the Onyx Cathedral. We are no mere mortals, son. Why do you think that our eyes grow dark when we grow angry? Do you think that we survive wounds no mortal man can we are blessed by luck. Ha. Ha. Foolish boy, we are what is left of the High Calthrix. This house is an ancient house made of many different banners. Some banners created their banners, others married those banners, and after time many of the names were lost to the wind, but one remained. Calthrix. We do not represent this banner on our sigil, nor announce ourselves as such, but we are the last house blessed with these ancient abilities." 

Jenthal looked down at his son and noticed that he was almost angry at what he was saying as if he would rather be doing anything other than what he was currently engaged with. This slightly annoyed Jenthal because he was imparting knowledge that no other person, other than High Calthrix, knew. The importance of this knowledge would determine the fate of his bloodline when he died. He could not leave his beloved children alone with no protection in the world. Their birthright was power, and they needed to cooperate and harness every skill to utilize it properly.

"What is it? Does what I speak not interest you?"

"You're speaking to me like I am some type of weapon." Bristol looked upon his father and began to laugh.

As he laughed, you could see rage swelling in Jenthal's eyes. He knew that somewhere lurked Brenly, just waiting for him to step out of line. In recent times, however, he seemed to become more diplomatic. The leadership of Brenly had instilled a sense of morality in a man thought to be just food for the gods or a cruel plaything to watch squirm to them. Jenthal knew that his peace kept a certain sense of hope for Bristol to not turn out like him. He knew that a cold shoulder was what Rhys needed, just as he knew that the strategic approach of explaining morality was left to Bristol. After all, this is what saved him from madness.

"Son there will come a time when I cannot absorb enough souls to outrun the reaper. There will be great grief in those days, but the importance of your heritage must be taken seriously. We need to adjust how you are viewing the world. I once viewed the world this way as well, and I think that I have an idea."

Brenly frantically finished scribbling the last bit of lore into his notes and stuffed his notepad back into his belt. He turned the corner and began to head to the other side of the throne room. This morality mission had just become a mission of protection. He knew that there was power in the name Calthrix, especially a High Calthrix. He needed to trace back the bloodline further than Migarth. Migarth's family was known to be regular men and to die as such, so it became apparent that it must be the mother. He pondered ways that he could convince Jenthal to summon his mother. Approaching the two men, he tapped Jenthal on the shoulder, interrupting him as he was speaking.

"Jethral, you know that I do not like morality being discussed unless I am a part of the discussion. I cannot risk you poisoning the minds of your heirs."

Brenly had to act normally to avoid suspicion, and his approach went undetected. Jenthal burst into laughter and explained that he wanted a dual line of succession. He stated that he wanted both men to rule alongside each other for the good of his lands. He smiled at Brennly and placed his hand on Bristol's shoulder. Jenthral had aged since the betrayal of House Prax, but the overwhelming burden of having to eliminate an entire house, along with their army, was a weight that no man could bear for long, especially since those on the opposing side were possibly brothers and sisters of high standing in their lands – in his case, they were his actual brothers and sisters.

Brenly smiled down at Bristol telling him that his brother awaited around the corner for him a little while ago, but he seemed to have wandered off somewhere. Bristol rolled his eyes and chuckled. Bristol knew where Rhys had gone, but he was not about to let it be known so easily. He was waiting for him to guide some stupid caravan down to the river folk so they could eat. Ha. He laughed at the absurdity of his brother, a high-born prince of House Hawthorne so keen on showing such disregard for how disgusting these peasants were.

He mingled within them making himself known as some sorcerer. Enchantments on armor are one thing, but when it comes to actually binding yourself to something other than the astral plane, you are dealing with something more than just a cursed weapon, or maybe a cursed object that leads you to a place of vast wealth, only to have you trapped inside of the great vault to add you to the collection. It was absolute blasphemy to bring any other magic than what he now knew to be Calthrix magic into the house of Hawthorne. He would approach his brother and conclude what they should do. He was fine with him practicing these in private, but he did not want the townsfolk to think of them as weak, and what is more weak than a demon?

A sorcerer. 

Bristol walked with his hand on his belt making sure to show off his sword. His family made their weapons out of the obsidian mountainside in which their home resided, so when it was hit with the faint light that did shine through the sky, it would shine as if hit by the light of the Gods. He walked through crowds daring anyone to speak about how abruptly his pace had become. He would find his magic brother before he became a necromancer. How could he live with himself if he allowed his brother to become the walking death? He had to be able to talk sense into him about these arcane arts before it was too late. 

As he turned the corner of the pub he noticed the sign blow towards him making the chains rattle. He thought that it was strange because there had been no wind before this, but he carried on as he began shouting for Rhys. 

"Rhys you better hope that father finds you before I do. This caravan can wait. We need to go and listen to him in the Keep." Bristol shouted as he began to grow irritated with his older brother.

Just as he passed by the sign he felt a light tap on his shoulder and a laugh. He turned around angrily, but this was nothing unusual for him.

"Hello brother how are you? I think that you have been searching for me. Well, I have a surprise for you. I have been by your side this entire time. Ha." joked Rhys. 

Rhys noticed that Bristol seemed to be boiling with rage as he laughed. He knew that his brother had a temper, but he did not know that his volunteering them for an expedition would be a bad thing. This could be what he was mad about. Sometimes Bristol is known to get overwhelmed with his emotions, so it is best to allow him to properly process them. This did not seem like one of those times that you could allow Bristol time to calm down. He was enraged by madness. Why did he smirk as the rifts lit up? What did this mean?

"Bris? Are you okay? I was just playing a prank." said Rhys.

Bristol spit at his feet and began walking back and forth with his armor glistening in the passing light above through the dark clouds. He had a tough decision to make, so he decided to take the approach head-on. He knew that his brother had strayed away from solely the teachings of the Spectre. This was known but for some reason allowed by his father. After today Bristol saw it upon himself to decide for his father. 

"Today brother I draw my sword. I suggest you do the same. That is unless you agree that these peasants will be fine carrying their bangs of shit and filth to the next town. We have guards for this kind of thing or did you forget that? They know you as the Peasant King. Do you know what this does to our house?! We will fight here and now for the succession of our fathers Lordship. I can tell you do not want it, so do not put up a fight like you do. I will kill you."

Rhys began to take a few steps back as he unsheathed his obsidian blade and gripped the stained maroon leather grip. He had killed many men the size of Bristol, but none of them were ever his brother. He had to think on his feet and he did the only thing that he could think of.

"I demand a one-on-one duel. We may use anything that the other should know for their age according to the magic of our home. Is that a deal?" announced Rhys.

Bristol thought it over as he twitched his hands at his side. He knew that he had the upper hand in this fight, so what do you do when you find free meat? You eat! Bristol stepped forward and stuck out the sharp jagged tip of his obsidian sword a few inches from Rhys's throat and smiled and began to speak.

"I agree to these terms, brother. Let me ask you, do you plan to tell your peasant friends that you stared down a sword and lived to tell a tale because of a pact our father has with a Paladin, or are you going to tell them another one of your fables I have never actually seen you perform."

Rhys responded by throwing a small dagger upward as Bristol managed to pull his sword from Rhys's throat. He had almost hit him intentionally with a kill shot. His brother did want him dead. He was using this opportunity to say that he had gone mad! He was the one mad if he thought he could get away with this. Bristol thrust his sword forward as Rhys rolled and unsheathed his sword seconds before Bristol's blade collided with obsidian to obsidian. Bristol pushed down as hard as he could shouting at his brother.

"You are not one of us. I know that you bear that name, but there is something off about you. I do nothing but try to make this house great, and all I get in return is ridicule because of my age. Look around I am a man, I tower over ever being that I am around my age. I would kill them if I played with them. I belong in war or at the very least an army, but I was born a Hawthorne. I will rule!" shouted Bristol.

Just as he finished his sentence Rhys remembered the terms that were agreed upon. Bristol at his age should now be learning about summons with specters and he saw in his eyes that he had been waiting to use it, so he countered him with his specter summons.

"Berractum" shouted Rhys.

"Verruckt" countered Bris

A bright field of energy erupted around the two boys as the merchants began to disperse, hoping to save their lives in trade for their goods in the stalls. Rhys slowly picked up his sword and coughed as he wiped blood off of his face laughing. 

"You think that you are going to be able to hurt me? I know all of the protection magic that we teach in House Hawthorne, plus I may have studied up on some more advanced teachings that you would not understand." 

Hubris is something that all of us experience in our lives, so let us try not to get angry at  Rhys here. Bristol gripped the dirt at his feet and using his right arm pushed himself up to look at his brother in his eyes. He stared angrily at the smirk on Rhys's face and pushed himself off the ground, charging at Rhys.
"This magic that you use is blasphemy. Paladins have taught you their ways in hopes that you will close the rifts. House Hawthorne is aligned with those Riftlords. Have you no faith that we can gain a world of peace and beauty within the darkness? You faithless mage types never seem to understand."

As he finished speaking he swung his sword down towards Rhys's shoulder and just as he connected he felt himself fall forward onto the ground, collapsing in front of a crowd of beggars. They began to laugh and point at the prince as he was wiping his face and spitting blood onto where he had fallen. Bris began shouting as he raised his left hand and began to murmur hexes towards the crowd.

"Ambaler Incanti SA.." just as he was about to finish the cast he was interrupted by Rhys casting a constrict charm onto him. 

As Rhys approached he began to cast his own hex upon Bris. This was not something that he took pride in doing. He did not want to harm his brother, but the darkness from the rift had eaten away at any dignity that he had left, and he could not sit back and allow his townsmen to be needlessly slaughtered because a spoiled brat could not handle being bested in a fight.

"Silenci Constricto Cerbe" 

As he finished casting Bris's mouth began to sew itself shut and his arms and legs began to grow limp. Rhys watched as his brother became a limp pile of bones and loose skin, and in the middle of all the screaming, he began to speak to Bris. This was not meant to be mocking, but he needed him to understand that he could kill him, but that did not mean that he wanted to.

"Brother, these hexes are temporary. The hexes you attempted to cast upon the townsfolk who found humor in your misfortune were anything but temporary. You cast with such disregard for the people around you. Your wounds will heal, but as they do I plead with you to consider an approach that is less of a hassle for the people in your corner. We are supposed to be allies, but as of late I see you as my biggest adversary." 

Rhys stated these words with a heavy heart. He cared for his brother deeply, and he knew that he was not responsible for teaching his brother a moral compass, but he could not help himself from attempting to give him a sense of humanity through one of the many lectures he had given him. Rhys reassured himself that he did not take any pleasure in the pain of his brother, nor him besting him in a fight, why should he feel accomplished for beating someone six years his junior? Bristol collapsed to the ground as the hex took full control of his motor functions and Rhys kneeled and threw him over his shoulder.

"This is getting harder to do brother. We are nearly the same size now, and I had hoped by now that you would understand that you were given great strength for a great purpose. Many people look up to you, and I know that deep down you do not want them to see a low IQ bloodthirsty psycho who is only fixed on his next kill. We have plenty of those. Why don't we focus on becoming the last shining light of the realm? I am going to try to sneak you past Brenly because lord knows he will have something to say and father cannot take any bad news at this time. I am not sure how much more bad news he can take, so I highly advise you to tighten up your grip on your ship."

Rhys climbed the steps of Specter's Keep and slowly opened up the dark woodstained doors that led to the stone hallways below. There were rooms down here where when he was Bristol's age he would sleep off the night's booze stash that he scored from his father. That was when things were a lot simpler. He could be young then. He did not need to worry about the perceptions of men he knew nothing of. As he laid Bris down on a bed in the servant's quarters he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. He turned around to be face to face with Brenly who had a frown on his face that would have rivaled the wrath of the Gods at the end of the Golden Age.

"Would you care to tell me what you think you are doing here? We asked you to mentor him, we did not ask you to cripple him and render him obsolete. Your father can barely breathe, and I have been tasked with looking out for you two." Brenly paused as he looked at Bris breathing slowly in the bed as his eyes were full of rage. 

"I think that it would be best if you were not around for a while. If you continue to torture a tortured mind then you are doing no good for it. Bris will hate you for besting him, it's how his brain works, but your continuously beating him in a manner that is not only degrading but downright disrespectful may make the relationship you have unable to be repaired. I fear that I must ask you to leave House Hawthorne. I think that you will be better served as a member of your own banner. You are legitimized, and you can always change your name to anything you please. I think that it is time for you to take your leave."

As he finished his speech Rhys was already packing his things in the room that they were in. It seemed that they had not noticed that Rhys had been staying down here without raising suspicion. He grabbed the notes and books that he had been reading and prepared his knapsack to travel. As he grabbed his collection of daggers and two swords he began to walk towards to entrance to the wall that surrounded Specter's Keep.

Rhys turned around to take one more look into the place he had called home for so many years. Turning around he began to signal for the caravan to follow him. No matter where he was he knew he was in good for work, but without a place to stay how was he more than just a simple beggar? He looked down at the ground as he prepared to lead the caravan South towards the red lands, maybe he could start anew there, but he knew that nothing would compare to the halls of Specter's Keep.