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PostPosted: August 26th, 2016, 5:10 pm 
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Duke

Joined: May 30th, 2015, 5:52 pm
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Location: Stirling, Scotland
The following lore is being backdated due to an oversight on my part. There will be several installments which may not match the current date they are published on but this is necessary for the story to stay on track.

Year 510 of the Emperor, Phoenix 01|02, Third year

The air filled with the clash of metal as the bells tolled through the streets. Amena started, looking up from the pastry in her hand and smiling as she realized it was the school bell. From the upper city a swarm of children rushed down the stone steps, desperate to get away from the school ma'am. Marge, one of the sisters who owned the Bearded Brides' Bakery, smiled at her reaction.

"It's just the school bell, m'lady," Amena smiled at her.

"Indeed, I'm sorry, i don't mean to be so frightful,"

"Not to worry, ma'am," Marge nodded, "After the stories I've heard of your times I wouldn't blame you at all," Amena nodded, then offered a purse of coin. "Oh no, on the house m'lady," Amena, taken aback, returned the purse to her side and thanked her for the pasty. As she moved away a strong hand took her arm as Marrec moved to join her.

"Careful, the little tikes will run you down!" He called, pulling her back from the main road. She smiled just as two boys rushed past, sugar canes swinging like swords. After they had passed the couple moved into the street and meandered back up the hill toward the ceilidh hall. As they passed beneath the gate the guard nodded and smiled warmly and then bowed. Amena shifted, concealing her discomfort. Marrec nodded once and they continued. Since Brandon's death and their marriage Tremaine had returned to a flourishing market city. Amena had immediately taken to the people of Tremaine and enjoyed strolling through the streets and talking with the locals. And yet, in the seven years since then, though the people had welcomed her warmly, they never ceased to treat her as a noble. It drove her mad with the constant flattery, the bowing, the muttering of 'm'lady'. Marrec knew her discomfort and they hurried on up the hill.

They reached the ceilidh hall to find Ronan standing by the door. Ronan was a tall man, Marrec's cousin and son of Helori. Eleven summers older than Marrec he was well respected in Carrickshire and it was clear to see why; his beard was well kept and he radiated confidence, from his handsome face to his proud stance. He smiled as they approached and offered a mug.

"Marrec! You have some catching up to do!" Marrec smiled and took the ale as Amena peered inside.

"How is mother?"

"Morganna? She is dancing with the old one."

"Ula is dancing?" Marrec asked, "But she's a hundred years old!"

"Near enough," Ronan chuckled. "But she can do a riverside jig that'll run you off your feet." Amena grinned as she spotted her mother and great aunt waltzing near the centre of the dance floor. "Amena, would you care for a dance?" Ronan asked, smiling as he offered her a hand, "Unless Marrec is man enough to show me how it's done?" He smiled and winked to Marrec. His chest swelled and he made to take her hand but paused, his leg trembling. She moved her hand carefully over his wrist and could feel his heart beating frantically. She eyed his leg then shook her head.

"You don't have to,"

"But I want to," Marrec objected.

"No you don't...rest," She kissed him lightly then smiled to Ronan. "Go and dance with Kyna, she's always in need of a partner." Ronan's face had fallen as he realized the exchange between them and nodded, embarrassed, before moving away. Amena took her husband's hand and led him to a table to the side of the dance floor. They sat and Marrec released a long, low sigh. She eyed him worriedly as her thoughts moved to the wound on his thigh. They had only recently returned from an inspection tour of a new road in the infamous netherworld. The roof was yet unfinished and an assault from a team of ghasts had all but destroyed their convoy. Amena had nearly been killed had Marrec not leapt from his horse to pull her out of the way. In the process, shrapnel had embedded itself in his inner thigh. After that they had fled, riding back to Tremaine with all haste. By the time they got back the wound had taken it's toll and Marrec was near death. It took six days for him to be stable enough to stand, but the diagnosis was synonymous among the doctors; the damage inflicted by the shrapnel meant he would never bear children of his own. They had not yet had any children, deciding instead to wait until they were both older. Now the opportunity had been robbed from them by the temper of an overgrown hot air balloon.

The song came to an end and the crowd applauded. From the stage the band called a brief intermission and the dance floor emptied. Morganna caught her daughter's eye and swiftly made her way toward her. She was a beautiful woman, and a respected leader. She had kept her title of Duchess though she shared the role with Amena and Marrec, tutoring them so they would be ready to take over the role eventually. She threw herself down and took up a pitcher, drinking deeply before setting it down with a loud clink.

"Oh that woman knows how to dance I tell you!" She grinned as Amena smiled back. "Pasty?" She asked, nodding to the package in Amena's hand. She nodded.

"Though I don't care for it, would you like it?" she offered it.

"Oh no, it would only get in the way of the dancing!" she smiled, patting a hand on her stomach. She sighed and lifted the pitcher to her lips again.

"Excuse me, please," Marrec stood and moved swiftly from the hall. Morganna made to stand but he was gone before she could put her drink down. Amena watched him go and as he disappeared down teh steps she took the mug from before her and downed its contents.

"You sure you don't want that pasty?" Morganna asked. Amena shot her a dirty look, then put the mug back on the table. "How has he been?"

"Outwardly he's fine." She said simply. "Aunt Ula has been a great help, she has been talking to him a lot these past days." Morganna nodded.

"I asked her to," Amena frowned and Morganna lifted an eyebrow. "Did you not know what happened to Felandris?" She shook her head. "He too was injured in an accident in the nether. It was Ula who pulled him out of there and brought him home." Amena blinked.

"I had no idea."

"Aye, I hear it was an awful thing too," Morganna shook her head. "She knows what Felandris went through after that, so I asked her to stay around and help Marrec." The women sat in silence for a moment. "How are you doing?" Amena took a moment to answer.

"I'm fine," she said at last. Morganna did not move. She only waited as her daughter stared at the mug in her hands. "Seven years," she said at last. "Seven years, and I thought after...after Brandon it would all be fine." She sniffed. Morganna carefully placed a hand on hers.

"You love him." She said simply. Amena spluttered, then nodded. "Then what has changed?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, wiping her nose. "Nothing's changed."

"Good, you need to show him that. It will take time, but he will see that." Feverishly Amena nodded, then looked back up at her mother and smiled weakly.

"I will. I will." Morganna patted her hand a few times, then stood. "Come, let's get some air." They stood and moved for the door unseen but for Ula's ever watchful eyes.

***

Sweat glistened on her skin as Amena sat bolt upright. Her heart was racing and her mind racing. She turned and stood swiftly lifting a robe to cover herself. She stepped toward the window and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. Behind her Marrec rolled over in his sleep and she closed her eyes, trying to ignore the images flashing through her mind. She forced herself to ignore them and opened her eyes. Lights danced through the glass and she could make out the torchlight of the castle gardens far below. Two figures patrolled the wall and two more stood guard at the gateway leading to the small pier. Her heart was still pounding and her body ached to move, to run, to escape the thought in her mind. She turned then and pulled on a more suitable nightgown before moving from the room. She sped toward the staircase and to the ground floor and then out into the garden. The cool air struck her like a hammer blow. She gulped the clean night air and leaned heavily on the wall, her breath calming.

"Such a beautiful night for a stroll," She turned to see Ula standing in the doorway she had just left. The old woman wore a light nightgown and her long, white hair lay over her shoulders in a tired mess. She regarded Amena with knowing eyes as the young woman caught her breath.

"What are you...I thought you would have been asleep..." she said at last.

"Oh, I was," she smiled, "but it was such a lovely night I thought it deserved to be experienced." She smiled, then stepped forward into the garden. Her face was lined with years of arguments, heartache, and loss, and yet she still smiled with a joy Amena could not fault. "And yourself?" The young woman looked at her for a moment, then smiled.

"As you say, such a beautiful night deserves to be experienced." Ula looked at her for a moment, then smiled in return.

"Let us walk," she said, gripping Amena's arm with an unseen strength. Together they walked over the stone path past the diorite shard and between the birch trees. As they reached the gate the soldiers stood straighter, bowing to them and letting them pass.

"It's a cold night ladies, perhaps it would be better to be inside." One commented.

"Ah my lad, I've been walking in this garden since before you were born. A single night of adventure will hardly be regrettable." Ula dismissed simply. The guard nodded and said nothing further. The women stepped out onto the pier and Ula sat on the stone, wheezing slightly as she looked out over the dark water.

"My brother used to love this water," she said at last. "Gildos was always getting into trouble where he shouldn't have been. I remember he once got in a rowing boat and stranded himself in the middle of the loche," She pointed into the distance. "He started crying because he thought he saw a guardian in the water. My mother had to send another boat of soldiers out to fetch him."

"What did you do?" Amena asked.

"I laughed so hard I peed myself." Amena laughed, snorting as she held a hand beneath her nose.

"I'm sorry," she giggled but Ula waved a hand.

"It was so long ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. My mother was so angry with me, but then they got Gildos back and she was looking after him so I got away with it." Amena licked her lip as she sat beside her.

"I remember, when we were still living in Glas Claddach, Britta wanted to play in the snow, but mother said she couldn't, so instead she asked me to let her out. As the taller I was the only one who could reach the door handle."

"naturally,"

"Well I was still mad at her for playing with Marrec the day before, it had been my turned to play with him as we took it in turns, so I let her out knowing mother would be furious. I guess I didn't even think that Britta would tell her I let her out. I was grounded for a week."

"And then Britta got to play with Marrec?"

"Yes, she did," Amena laughed, "It was the only time I was ever grounded and I felt like I was in prison. I begged mum to give me 'visiting hours' but she only told me to play with Kyna, who at this point couldn't go ten minutes without dirtying her nappies so I didn't want to have to put up with that!" Ula laughed. Silence fell between them as Ula placed a hand on Amena's. The young woman leaned toward her and rested her head on her shoulder.

"Family is the most precious thing we have," Ula said simply. "Cherish it, and it will cherish you." Amena frowned at the sentence, but did not comment. She sighed contentedly and closed her eyes, enjoying the sweet smell of the old woman. After a moment Ula's hand squeezed on hers and she opened her eyes. Ula said nothing, but pointed out across the water. Amena followed her finger and for a moment she saw nothing, then she saw a dark object gliding across the water. The guards saw it too and they shouted, rushing out in front of the women.

"My ladies, please get inside," said one, ushering them to rise. Ula took a moment to stand as Amena held her hand but as they reached hte gate they turned again. It was a boat, empty, but for a dark shapeless mass. The soldiers stood with weapons drawn, ready for anything. They watched in silence as the boat drifted over the water. It moved with such grace the water barely rippled beneath it. The wooden edge bumped into the pier and one of the soldier stepped closer, swinging a rope over it and drawing it closer. He stepped inside and pulled back the shapeless mass. Blankets dropped from his fingers as he stared in wonder, then reached forward and lifted a bundle into his arms. He stepped back up onto the pier and showed it to his friend before moving toward the women.

"My ladies, it is a child," he breathed. Amena gazed at the bundle in his arms. A tiny pale face with closed eyes and fat cheeks rested at the heart of the blankets. She reached out a hand and touched the child's skin; it was cold, but she could still feel the faint beating of it's tiny heart.

"Lets get inside," Ula said simply, taking the child. "Guard, fetch more blankets and bring wood for a fire." As the guard hurried away Ula and Amena moved through the garden.

"A child? What does this mean?" Amena asked. Ula looked at her for a moment, then smiled.

"It means that you have a family to cherish."

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Ainmire Sera-Blodh of House Flenadrison, second of his name, King in the South, Ruler of Carrickshire, and slayer of false Kings.
"The Crippled King"
"Flanders"


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PostPosted: August 26th, 2016, 7:26 pm 
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Beautiful writing, well worth the read.

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Runner Up of the Glas Claddach Boat Building Competition
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PostPosted: August 27th, 2016, 12:23 am 
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Duke

Joined: May 30th, 2015, 5:52 pm
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Location: Stirling, Scotland
Much, much more to come, but thank you.

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Ainmire Sera-Blodh of House Flenadrison, second of his name, King in the South, Ruler of Carrickshire, and slayer of false Kings.
"The Crippled King"
"Flanders"


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PostPosted: August 28th, 2016, 1:50 am 
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an interesting development

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PostPosted: August 29th, 2016, 1:56 am 
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Joined: May 31st, 2015, 3:32 am
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I always love reading your lore, such a good writing style. I am always drawn into it :)

I am curious to see what comes next?!

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PostPosted: September 5th, 2016, 9:32 pm 
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Duke

Joined: May 30th, 2015, 5:52 pm
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Location: Stirling, Scotland
Year 515 of the Emperor, Phoenix 01|03, Second year

Wooden beams creaked and the roof tiles clinked as the unforgiving wind howled over the castle. Rain pelted the windows with such force Amena feared they might give in. The solid cold stone walls did not falter as the night pressed on. Across the water, a bright white light flashed and a few seconds later the steady boom of thunder washed through the castle, like a titan strolling through his garden. The child beneath Amena's hand shivered and she clasped his clammy hand tighter.

Ainmire was five summers old, and in the last week a sickness had taken him, and a fever that would not break. She regarded him, pain in her eyes as she took in the gaunt skin, the pale flesh and the dark circles beneath his eyes. Dark dreams haunted his mind and his eyeballs darted beneath their lids. As she held onto him the doctor stood from across the bed.

"I am sorry, my lady, but this ailment is beyond me."

"You said that already," Amena breathed. "IF you have nothing more to say then away with you; I have no need for a doctor who cannot do his job!" The man bowed, then departed. As the door closed, a man pushed it open and Marrec strode into the door.

"Why is he leaving?" he asked.

"He cannot help." Amena sobbed, "No one can."

"It has only been a week, the fever may break!"

"It's killing him, can you not see that?" Marrec looked down at the boy and his heart ached. He was young, so young, and small for his age. No child deserved this suffering.

"We'll find a way," Marrec said but Amena pushed him away. He tried again, this time clasping her wrists. She struggled but his strength was unforgiving. He was careful not to harm her, but he did not let her reject him either. He placed his arms around her and repeated the phrase. "We'll find a way." She gripped his arm, now with desperation rather than a wish to be alone, and they stood together for a long moment.

"I've heard news of a doctor in Strathaber, he is supposed to be an expert at foreign illness. I was preparing to leave to fetch him." Amena looked up at him and he kissed her forehead. "I'll be back shortly." She nodded and she pulled her close for a moment longer, then released her and swept from the room. As the door closed Amena felt a fresh wave of emotion overcome her and she collapsed into the chair beside her son.

She did not know how she would ever manage without Marrec close by. Morganna was still in Tremaine, though she was so busy currently with the new wave of commerce that had come to Perth as a result of the new trade agreements that cut through many of the great ports of the Empire. Amena had been preparing reserves for the Imperial Isle before Ainmire had taken ill. With his sickness she too had become a recluse, refusing to leave her son's side. All the while her thoughts lay with the ancient one, her great aunt Ula.

Ula had passed away in her sleep two years previous. She had been with her when she had found Ainmire floating on a boat in the loch. It had been easy to convince Marrec to keep the child, though they kept the details of his birth a secret from the general public. Ula had helped tremendously, but many considered her efforts as too much for her aged body. No one so her death coming, not even Ula herself. Amena squared her shoulders as she regarded her son.

Her son. She would not let a cold, cruel disease rob her of this spark of light in her life. She would never surrender him, not to any Gods, known or unknown. He was hers, and she would fight for him no matter the cost.

***

Ainmire's fever did not break. The boy no longer shivered, and his heart beat was so faint Amena found it difficult to find a pulse on his body. She resorted to listening to his breathing, though it did not calm her. The slow, dry cracking sounded like a death rattle. When Marrec finally returned the doctor wasted not time in beginning his assessment. He was good, taking measurement none of the other doctors had done. Finally, after weighing the boy, he took a needle and drew a small vial of blood from his arm.

"What is it? Can you help him?" Amena asked.

"It's too soon to tell, I'm going to need a room to study his condition.Give me three hours and I'll have something for you." Marrec guided him to the adjacent room where the doctor locked himself in. After an hour Morganna brought him food and drink, but the doctor said little. Amena did not leave the boy's side.

The night dragged on and, though the storm had passed, the silence was deafening. The only sound was her own beating heart and terrible, rasping breath of the dying boy. Marrec left periodically to check on the doctor. Three hours came and went and still he did not emerge.

The sound of footsteps was loud in the early morning when he finally pushed open the door. He stood for a moment, closing the door gently, before he walked toward them and sat opposite them both. Marrec placed a hand over Amena's and they waited.

"He's not your son...is he?" He asked at last. The silence lengthened.

"How dare you," Marrec breathed. "He is our son, no matter what anyone says!"

"His blood is not yours," The doctor shook his head.

"What do you mean not ours?" Marrec asked. "What does his blood matter? He is our son!"

"Oh it matters," the doctor breathed. "It matters a lot more than any pride you both may have over your only child."

"How dare you? Get out!" Marrec shouted, pointing at the door, physically shaking.

"No!" Amena called. Marrec looked to her. "He's right, he's not ours. You know that." Marrec looked at her and pain shot through him. He sat silently as she looked back to the doctor.

"Can you save him?"

"I do not know." He shook his head slowly. "The infection is attacking his blood, he needs more, immediately."

"That's fine, he can have ours." Marrec said simply.

"You're not his type." The doctor breathed.

"Then we'll find someone else. We'll find his parents! They must be a match."

"He would die before you found them." the doctor sighed, "Besides, I highly doubt they would help."

"Why? What do you know of his parents?" Marrec asked. "Tell us what we need and we'll get it! There must be someone in this city with his blood!"

"That's highly unlikely," The doctor said again.

"The city is full of people! Someone must..."

"Ainmire is not human." The doctor breathed. Marrec fell silent, unmoving. He could not think, he could not comprehend. Within Amena's mind, a gentle thought caressed her mind, like a feather falling on a cart hanging off the edge of a cliff. The though fell into her mind as a drop of blood in an ocean.

"Your son...he is Pyrencian."

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Ainmire Sera-Blodh of House Flenadrison, second of his name, King in the South, Ruler of Carrickshire, and slayer of false Kings.
"The Crippled King"
"Flanders"


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PostPosted: September 7th, 2016, 11:17 pm 
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Duke

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Location: Stirling, Scotland
Year 515 of the Emperor, Phoenix 01|03, Second year

The King's Gambit was a hub of activity. Located near the North-Western gate, it was well known as the shadiest tavern in Tremaine. It was small, with only three half-broken tables mended together with stray planks of wood and only seven bar stools which were still recognizable as such. It served the dark underworld of Perth and was well known as the place to go if you wanted something done badly enough to step outside of the law. It was filled with tobacco smoke and the ravings of a few drunken parties while the rest of its inhabitants sat quietly, minding their own business.

The hooded figure entered and wasted no time in moving to the bar. He ordered a pint but drank sparingly. Drevan watched him as a crow observes a wounded animal, waiting for it to drop. After letting the figure stew anxiously for an hour Drevan finally pushed his way to the bar and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Would you be Murtagh?" He asked in a low voice. The hooded figure jumped, looking up at him with startled eyes, then nodded. "Drevan, I got your message. You got the money?" The figure cast about anxiously, then lifted his cloak to reveal a hefty pouch from his waist. Drevan's eye twinkled. "Very nice, I'll take you to the stash." The man stood and reached for the hooded figure's pint, downing it swiftly before moving from the tavern. With staggering movements the figure followed. Once they were clear of the bar Drevan led the man down wall street and then to base of the guard tower that watched the northern wall. Beneath the lamplight of the guards Drevan produced a thick black clothe and offered it to the man.

"Tie this over your eyes; I can't risk you seeing where we're going." The hooded figure eyes the bandage, then tied it over his hood. Drevan waited until it was secured then waved his hand in front of him, before taking his arm and leading up through the thin alleyways, twisting around and turning corners until the hooded figure has lost his way. Then he finally pushed open a wooden door and led him into a warmly lit room. He pushed him past a table and guided him to a ladder, which he climbed down with some difficulty. Finally he took off the bandage and the hooded figure blinked in the dimly lit room.

It had a low ceiling which dripped with condensation. Around him were piled numerous barrels and chests, many of which were open to reveal expensive clothes, foods, materials, one chest was filled with shards of lapis lazuli, and he saw a barrel labelled 'cactus juice.' None of it concerned him however as Drevan led him to a table where a small chest was laid. He opened it and the man looked in to see five glass jars filled with a deep red liquid. The sight made his gorge rise.

"Pyrencian?" The hooded figure asked.

"Down to the last drop," Drevan promised. The figure reached for it. "Careful, you know what they say about taking this stuff for yourself!" He smiled devilishly. The hooded figure ignored him and lifted a jar. The liquid sloshed around and left a dark red stain upon the glass. It was clear with no visible distortions or blemishes. He replaced the vial, then reached for the pouch at his waist. He set it on the table and Drevan slit it open with a knife. gold coins spilled onto the table and his eyes glinted, then he closed the chest and offered it to the man.

"Pleasure doing business with you," he grinned. Marrec grunted, then replaced the bandage over his eyes and waited to be led out.

***

"Where did you get it?" Amena asked as Marrec rushed into the room, the chest under his arm, a jar already in his hand.

"Don't ask," he said simply, handing the jar to Doctor Warwick. The doctor took the jar and emptied into a sack which he attached to a thin tube and inserted into the young boys arm with a needle. The tube filled with red liquid and the boy did not stir. For an agonizing moment nothing happened, then the boy groaned and his arm flexed. the doctor reached for his arm and felt for a pulse.

"Is it working?" Amena asked.

"It's too soon to tell," Doctor Warwick answered truthfully. "I'll watch him for now and change the blood when it is needed."

"I'll stay here." Amena said as well.

"No," Marrec said, his voice strong, "You need rest. Go to bed, I'll wait with him." Amena looked at him and he placed an arm around her. She let him pull her close and kiss her forehead before she nodded. before she left she took one last look at the boy, then turned and closed the door gently behind her. Outside Morganna was waiting for her. She took her daughter's arm and helped her to her bed where they both lay, Amena wrapped in her mother's arms until she fell asleep with exhaustion.

When Amena woke there was panic in her heart. She sat up and Morganna jerked awake.

"What's wrong?" Morganna asked but Amena was already on her feet.

"I need to get back to Ainmire," she said swiftly, grabbing a blouse and running from the room.

"Amena! Amena!" Morganna called after her but it was too late. Amena ran through the corridors and burst into Ainmire's room. As the sight hit her she let out a scream.

Doctor Warwick was applying a bandage to Ainmire's arm, the tube no longer in his skin, while Marrec pinned the boy to the bed. Ainmire was frothing at the mouth, his body convulsing. His skin rippled as blood pumped furiously through him, so fast it threatened to burst his veins. The bandage over his arm was already slick with blood as the doctor tried to stop the bleeding. A strong arm gripped Amena and pulled her away from the scene into a chair opposite. She fought to get to her son's side but the person restraining her was too strong. Marrec was shouting orders to people she could not see and the doctor's skin was glistening with sweat. Ainmire's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he threw himself into a sitting position, vomit pouring from his mouth.

"Sedate her!" Warwick yelled, not taking his eyes off the boy. Amena struggled for a moment, then something pricked her forearm and her vision went dark.

When she awoke she was groggy, her mind blurred and her thoughts slow. It took her a moment to realize she was still sitting in the chair. As she tried to stand Marrec moved swiftly from Ainmire's side to hers, pulling her back into the seat.

"It's alright, It's okay,"

"Ainmire..." she breathed.

"He's okay...he's doing a lot better." Marrec soothed her. "You were hysterical so we had to sedate you. I'm sorry. Ainmire is fine, he's still alive." A throat cleared from across the room and Marrec's eyes lowered. A sickening feeling filled Amena's stomach.

"What? What is it?" She looked past Marrec to see Doctor Warwick sitting beside Ainmire, his clothes ragged and his face still drenched in sweat. It was clear he had not left the room all night. "What is it? What?" She asked, panic rising.

"Pyrencians are...tricky to treat," Warwick began. "The boy needed blood, and the blood has helped...but he had an unexpected reaction to it. I suspect the blood was not the correct type."

"type? What is he talking about? It was Pyrencian, wasn't it?" She asked, looking to Marrec.

"Yes, it was Pyrencian," he nodded, "But Pyrencian's aren't all the same. Their blood is..." he trailed off, uncertain how to proceed.

"I'm not certain of the details," Warwick continued, "But Pyrencian blood is different for each family. One bloodline can only survive with blood of that line, if the wrong blood is used the results can be...disastrous." Silence fell for a moment.

"What's happened to Ainmire?" Amena asked. Warwick looked across the room at her, his eyes steady as Marrec slumped, defeated, falling back on his heels.

"Your son...the reaction was too much for his body...it has damaged his legs."

"Damaged?" Amena asked, rising to her feet. She approached the bed but Warwick only raised a hand.

"The scarring is intense, it is not something that can be unseen." She ignored him and drew back the sheets.

Her heart broke. His legs were bare, but his skin was wrinkled as if he were an old man. His knees stuck out at odd angles and his feet were contorted into claws. The bones looked as if they had broken in several places and been reset, badly."

"I'm afraid it is permanent, this kind of damage could never be corrected." Warwick continued. "He will never walk without aid."

"But you can help him," Amena said immediately. "You can make it better. You can make it easier for him." Warwick sighed heavily.

"The bones can be reset yes, the damage took effect so quickly it was difficult to repair it all at once; besides I was too busy focused on keeping her heart from exploding to worry about his legs. We can straighten them, make them workable, but it will weaken his legs even further. He will need supports to stand and he may never walk. His feet...I'm not yet certain if we can correct them, but the damage is also within his tissue. The muscles have been...warped. I do not know of any medicine which could help him."

Amena tore her eyes from the wounded legs and let the sheets fall. She turned to Marrec, who had risen to his feet again, and they stumbled toward each other.

"Our son..." she breathed. "He's...he's a cripple." She sobbed. Marrec looked at her for a moment, then shook his head, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"No...he is our son." He said confidently. His words made it true and she found strength in them. Regardless of his disability, or whatever hardships he faced, he would always be their son, and she knew she would always love him.

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Ainmire Sera-Blodh of House Flenadrison, second of his name, King in the South, Ruler of Carrickshire, and slayer of false Kings.
"The Crippled King"
"Flanders"


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PostPosted: September 9th, 2016, 5:38 pm 
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King

Joined: May 30th, 2015, 10:17 am
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Location: Stirling - Scotland
Poor child.

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PostPosted: September 24th, 2016, 2:40 pm 
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Duke

Joined: May 30th, 2015, 5:52 pm
Posts: 522
Location: Stirling, Scotland
Year 518 of the Emperor, Tide 01|03, Fifth year

Amena stood, her back straight and her hair loose and flowing down her back, the dark curls the only sign of her grief. Her face was plain and empty as she gripped Marrec's arm. He touched her hand gently and together they stepped out into the corridor. Flanked by six guards, they made their way silently through the corridors of the castle. Finally they reached the open doors of the throne room and they walked into the packed chamber.

As they appeared a hushed silence fell. All eyes turned to them and Amena's breath caught. Every time before now when she had entered she had not been first. He mother had had been in front, as Duchess of Carrickshire. Now, it was only her and Marrec.

She was not ready for this.

Marrec pulled her forward and her sense of duty steadied her feet as she stepped between the long line of people, nobles and businessmen all of them. Above them, on the balconies above stood the less wealthy, looking down with wonder from between quartz pillars. She ignored them all.

They reached the throne and separated, Marrec taking the throne on the right, Amena on the left. Between them stood the vast quartz throne saved only for the King himself. As they seated the priest from the local chapel of Creeperism stepped forward.

"Marrec, son of Korneli, of House Flenadrison, rise!" Marrec stood. "Will you devote yourself utterly to the people pf Carrickshire, and to the service of the Kingdom of Perth?"

"I will."

"Amena, daughter of Morganna, of House Carnoustie, rise!" The priest commanded. At her mother name Amena's heart fluttered. How dare he speak her name, how dare any of them feel privile
ge enough to use her name. None were worthy, not any more. Sense gripped her and she looked up to see the priest was still waiting. Marrec glanced at her and she shakily rose to her feet. Her gaze fluttered over the crowd until it fell upon the small boy, sitting in the chair built with wheels, his face smiling and happy. Amena took a steadying breath and stepped forward.

"Will you devote yourself utterly to the people of Carrickshire, and to the service of the Kingdom of Perth?" The priest asked. Amena nodded. The priest leaned forward.

"I need you to say it," he whispered. She nodded again.

"Of course," she said quietly, then more loudly, "I will."

"Then by the powers of the Church of this Kingdom and of it's King, I pronounce you Duke and Duchess of Carrickshire." The hall erupted in applause and Marrec and Amena gave a stiff bow, then stepped back and sat in their respective thrones. Amena let out a long sigh and cast about for a familiar face. There, in the crowd, she thougth she saw...no, it was only a nobleman's wife. Morganna was not there. She knew this; her mother was entombed in the Cairn of House Felandrison deep beneath the city, alongside her grandparents and great grandparents. She was not coming back. Amena was Duchess now.

_________________
Ainmire Sera-Blodh of House Flenadrison, second of his name, King in the South, Ruler of Carrickshire, and slayer of false Kings.
"The Crippled King"
"Flanders"


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PostPosted: October 31st, 2016, 5:49 pm 
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Duke

Joined: May 30th, 2015, 5:52 pm
Posts: 522
Location: Stirling, Scotland
Year 525 of the Emperor, Tide 01|04, sixth year

The sun shone across the city and a gentle breeze strolled through the streets. Outside a cafe, several people sat and ate, enjoying the sun, while other browsed the many goods for sale in the shops of the lower city. On the walls, soldiers stood lazily, drinking often from their water skins to cope in the hot, midday sun. Though their numbers had been reduced given the prolonged state of peace, they were forbidden from standing guard without full uniform in case they were required to act. In several places along the walls the citizens of Tremaine had erected small pavilions where the guards could stand under to avoid the direct heat of the sun. The summer heat had taken the entire city by surprise, but it was a welcome change to the usual frigid cool of the Perthian climate.

In this heat, Amena walked alongside several nobles debating the crisis of the heat and it's effects on Loche Aberdeene. The water levels had dropped and it was impossible for ships to get close enough to the docks anymore. Larger goods that required the use of the crane could no longer we reached and it was causing labour costs to rise as more men were required to move the loads by rowing boat, and these men had to be replaced frequently with even more labour workers to prevent heat exhaustion. She had asked Seann Murison, head of the Murison house, to help as he was responsible for one of the largest mining operations in Tremaine. The miners were often working in hot environments surrounded by dangerous magma, as such she had hoped he would have some pointers to help the dock workers stay cool.

"The main issue is getting to the ships," Lord Haeburn objected, "We can keep the men as cold as ice if we want, but if we cannot reach the ships from the land then we cannot move the larger goods. We have stacks of timber that must be shipped north to Strathaber but it cannot get there any way but by road, and the cost of moving by land is too high!"

"If I may," came a small voice from behind them. They turned to see Ainmire, Amena's son, standing quietly behind them. Many had not even noticed the boy until now. Amena smiled at him and he swallowed. "I think I know how we can move the timber over the water," Lord Haeburn scoffed.

"This is not a conversation for boys to be involved with." He dismissed, but Amena raised her hand.

"Until recently you would have said the same about a woman, yet you came to me for help in this matter, not my husband." She said simply, "And Besides, he is fifteen, Ainmire is no boy anymore." Ainmire flushed, but ignored them and continued.

"At the moment we are using rowing boats for the smaller goods, but even this is difficult as the sides of the trading vessels are too high and it is difficult to lift the good on and off the rowing boats. I toyed with the idea of using rafts to carry the logs but we would have the same issue; it is impossible to lift then onto the ships without major adjustments which we do not have time for."

"What do you suggest?" Lord Murison asked patiently.

"We would require some form of structure to allow us to move large loads easily without the use of a crane. It so happens that the shipwright Mathiesons is staying at the King's Gambit currently. It was their ingenuity which designed the two draw bridges at Glas Claddach. It might be worth speaking with them to find a structure which could solve this dilemma." The men looked at each other.

"Yes, I shall look into it," Lord Haeburn said again, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. "Excuse us," he bowed to Lady Amena and then hurried from them back down the hill.

"If you shall excuse me, I also must tend my office," Lord Murison bowed and Amena nodded as he walked away.

"Excellent work," She smiled at Ainmire, who looked down bashfully. She was so proud of him; he was fifteen summers old and he had matured more than any boy his age. His hair was shoulder length and tied back in a ribbon, impeccably neat and simple, but it suited him perfectly. He walked toward her, leaning heavily on the crutches he carried at all times. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright, mother," he dismissed her simply, straightening up. He was bow legged, even with the leg supports straightening his bones, and she knew what scars still covered his skin, but he never let it show when he walked. He had learned early to hide the pain of his legs. She touched his chin and smiled.

"What did I ever to do deserve you?" She asked. He smiled.

"You did everything." He said simply. Together they walked on up the street toward the fort at the heart of the city, enjoying the hot summer sun. As they passed the school house she looked up to see several teenage girls peering over the banisters at them. They were giggling and, when they saw her looked, ducked away, their laughter clear through the air. She ignored them and continued up the steps, careful to keep her pace slow for Ainmire. He paused for a moment then nodded up the street.

"Can we have a drink at the Dragon's Eyerie?" He asked, "I need to sit down," Amena turned and smiled.

"Of course we can."

"Good, go on ahead, I'll catch up."

"You're sure,"

"Yes," She looked at him worriedly, then turned. It was useless to argue with him, she knew this by now; he was more stubborn than either she or Marrec. Even Morganna had struggled to win an argument with him when he was a boy. Thinking of her mother brought a dull pang of sorrow and she continued up the street slowly. As she reached the top of the hill she turned back to see Ainmire almost at the corner of the school house. She turned and continued walking. She was almost at the water fountain when she heart a cry and several people call for help. She turned and swiftly hurried back tot eh steps. He heart jerked.

Ainmire had collapsed on the hot stone steps, his arms crushed beneath him as he had struggled to prevent his fall. Three boys stood about him and five girls were calling for help as well. She ran to his side, pushing the boys back as she rolled Ainmire onto his side. There was some blood at his lips and his eyelids fluttered open, then he retched. She stepped back before turning to the boys.

"Fetch me water, now!" One of them ran to the nearby house and bashed his fist on the door. Amena placed a hand on his forehead and felt the sweaty heat of fever.

"Mother," he struggled but she shushed him, "Mother...I think I'll pass on that drink now," She forced a weak smile as the boy came back with a mug of water. She offered it to him and he sipped before she smeared some on his forehead. Just then three soldiers ran from the fort.

"M'lady! How can we help?"

"Lift him and bring him to the castle. Now!" She said simply. The soldiers knelt at once as she stepped aside and carefully lifted Ainmire, one supporting his head. They carried him carefully to the fort where another guard brought a stretcher for them to use. Amena led them back to the castle, her steps brisk and her heart pounding. She couldn't go through this again. Not another sickness.

***

Doctor Warwick closed the door quietly and Amena stepped closer to hear him speak. He sighed heavily, wiping his forehead before he began.

"I've connected him up to the blood we have in reserve; I think it was a good idea to siphon it while he was ill, we now have plenty so nothing to worry about there, but he needs medical attention."

"But you're his doctor," Amena said fervently. "Can't you help him?" He shook his head slowly.

"I am not trained in Pyrencian maladies, I've researched what I can for him, but without attending their medical colleges I am limited in what I can do. I think it is time you told the Pyrencian government of his existence."

"No, they'll take him away,"

"They cannot," Doctor Warwick shook his head. "He has lived in Tremaine for fifteen years, he is a Perthian citizen, and a grown man. No one can tell him where he can or cannot live; the Pyrencian government holds no authority to remove him now. But this is the seventh time in his life that he has fallen sick with this same symptoms. The blood we give him is only a temporary fix; he needs an expert in this field." Amena looked away and placed a hand on the wall, steadying herself. Marrec placed a hand on her shoulder then.

"He needs to know," he said simply. She closed her eyes and a single tear rolled down her face.

"You still have not told him?" Doctor Warwick asked. "I told you he has to know, why do you still keep this from him?"

"Because he's my son!" Amena cried out. "I won't lose him." Doctor Warwick hardened his face and gripped her arms with talon-like fingers. He forced her eyes to lock with his.

"If you don't tell him...if he doesn't get the attention he needs, you will lose him."

***

The world spun and in his gut he could feel the roiling turmoil within him. Pain seared through every fibre of his being and his legs burned with fire that had long haunted his dreams. Ever since he had been a child he had dreamt of this pain, the fire that consumed his legs now threatened to overwhelm him entirely.

Before his eyes he saw the bright crimson flame which burned his childhood to ash. At it's heart, stood a single figure, darker than night, stare at him with all the intensity of fate itself. Fresh pain washed through his body, but in his mind the figure obscured all, even the flames. A presence touched his mind and he felt the awesome power reach through him, the darkness filling his soul as an empty chalice. The fire receded and the figure loomed over him. Fate consumed him and a single word reverberated through his mind, shaking the very foundation of his understanding.

***

Amena stood as Doctor Warwick entered the room, the doors flanked by two guards. Behind him followed a tall woman, with lilac robes and hair caught in a tight bun upon her head. She walked with perfect posture and emitted an air that could not be denied. Even as Duchess, Amena felt the compulsion to bow before this woman. Dr Warwick bowed to Amena and gestured to the woman.

"My lady, this is Dr Ioran Sezron-Blodgett. She is a Pyrencian physician highly regarded in her field." The woman inclined her head and Amena repeated the gesture.

"Doctor," she acknowledged. "Tell me, what is you specialist field?"

"Blood born diseases." She said simply. Her voice was cool and unwavering. Though she smiled the gesture seem detached and devoid of feeling. "If it is alright with yourself, I should like to see the patient now." Amena nodded and led them through the interconnecting door which led to Ainmire's room. Dr Sezron-Blodgett immediately walked to Ainmire's side and placed a hand upon his head, then inspected the blood being drip-fed into his arm.

"This is Pyrencian blood," she stated simply. "Who are the child's parents?"

"We are," Marrec said, placing a hand on Amena's shoulder. The doctor looked at them quizzically.

"But you are human; this child is not."

"He is our son," Amena said, her voice cracking. The doctor stared at her for a long moment until Amena was forced to look away. "He came to us one night on a boat. There was no name, no mother, just a boy wrapped in clothe," Amena reached for the blanket which rested upon her son's bed. It was worn, but she could still make out the alien stitches. "I tried to find out where the blanket came from, but I could not tell. When we found out he was Pyrencian I assumed I would never find his parents unless I went myself to Pyrencia." She handed the blanket to her and Dr Sezron-Blodgett inspected it.

"This was woven in the Calarin region...you are correct, we would need to investigate further to discover his parent's lineage. But if his mother abandoned him here, it would be clear she would not wish to be found." She returned the blanket them turned to Ainmire again. "When you discovered his heritage, why did you not inform the Pyrencian government?"

"We were concerned they would take him," Marrec said simply. "We only found out when he was five summers old, by then...he was..."

"Your son. Yes, I'm aware," she said ruefully, "Although it should be said, the child would have been in no danger. Reporting this to the authorities would have been the most sensible option. How old is he?"

"Fifteen summers," Marrec added.

"Fifteen? A Pyrencian would be well into adulthood at such an age..." She inspected the blood again, then pulled back his eyelids and peered into his eyes. "It would appear the disease has delayed his growth..." Dr Sezron-Blodgett inspected him closely, taking measurements of his pulse, breathing, then she inspected his skin and when she uncovered his legs her eyes widened and she stepped back, making a sign with her hand. "How?" She asked finally.

"When he was five...he suffered a reaction to the blood we gave him." Dr Warwick explained.

"You gave him the wrong blood?" She asked, then her fingers traced the terrible scarring upon his limbs. "How much?"

"We had used a pint before the reaction began,"

"A pint?" The doctor screamed, turning to him. "You gave him a pint of unmatched blood?" She turned back to Ainmire, "This boy is lucky to be alive. She replaced the blankets, then nodded to the blood dripping into his arm. "Where did you get that?"

"From him, we keep some in storage," Amena said quickly.

"I assume at the correct temperature?" She looked to Dr Warwick, who nodded fervently as he fingered his hat. "And what about when he was five? This unmatched blood you got him? Where did you get that?" Dr Warwick looked sheepishly to Amena and Marrec, who remained silent. "Well?"

"I got it," Marrec began, but Amena objected. "She must know." He straightened his back and looked Dr Sezron-Blodgett in the eye. "I got the blood, from a trader in the market."

"Pyrencian blood is not available on any legal markets, as I'm sure you are well aware," The doctor replied.

"I thought that it was legal," Marrec tried, but she silenced him with a hand.

"Liar! You got that blood from the black market, didn't you?" The room fell silent but for the steady moans from the boy. Finally the doctor turned back to the boy and reached for a vial in her bag. She took a few dropped in a syringe and injected it directly into his vein. Then she placed both the syringe and the vial next to the bed and pointed at Dr Warwick. "This is blood of a plant found only in Pyrencia. It will help the boy fight this infection. Give him three drops twice a day, once in morn and once in the evening. No more, and see to it it is kept safe, this drug is powerful and would do terrible things to a human." She picked up her bag and moved toward Amena and Marrec. "Your boy is strong; he will be fine. I will be staying in the city for a few days in case his condition changes. I shall pray for his sickness to lift. When I return to Pyrencia, I shall be reporting this to the relevant authorities."

"But we've done nothing wrong!" Amena objected.

"You have kept this boy apart from his heritage, his own people! You have treated with black marketeers, supported the trade of illegal Pyrencian blood trafficking across international borders." She said simply, counting off on her fingers, then she pointed at Ainmire, "Not to mention poisoning this innocent boy with the wrong blood and crippling him in your ignorance." Her voice remained dangerous calm and her eyes did not move from theirs. Finally she turned and swept from the room, her violet cloak whipping through the doorway behind her.

***

His eyelids fluttered open and his iris' contracted as the light struck them. He blinked several times, staring at the stone ceiling above him. 'I know that ceiling' his thoughts felt jumbled, as if they had been scattered across the floor like a child's play thing. Slowly he pushed his hands against the mattress and lifted himself up. His chest ached and something tugged at his wrist.

He turned to see a crimson cable running from beneath white bandages on his wrist to a red bag hanging from a nail in the wall. He leaned back and his bare skins touched the cool stone wall. Swallowing he reached for the glass of water on the table beside his bed and made to drink from it. The liquid was cool and clear and he gulped the glass eagerly, quenching his newly-discovered thirst. He set the glass down and turned then to see a woman sitting in the chair beside him. He knew this woman...she loved him. He reached out a hand to touch hers, but as he got close she jumped. Her own talon-like fingers grasped his wrist and pulled. He let out a yelp and the woman pulled back the blanket to reveal her face. It was twisted, with flesh that crawled as if alive and eyes sunk deep in their sockets, dark pin pricks for pupils in a sea of red hatred.

"Mother!" He cried, but the woman cackled.

"You are no son of mine!" She bared her fangs and leapt for him.

Ainmire sat bolt upright, panting heavily. The sheet fell from his bare chest and the cold air stung his sweat-drenched body. He shivered, but pushed the blankets away and stood. His legs shook, but he ignored them, struggling to the window ledge and leaning heavily against the stone to look out across the open water. He pushed the window open and frigid air washed over him. Good, he though, let it. He did not feel warm anymore. His heart lay heavy and his mind felt twisted, as if his entire world had been turned upside down.

But it had been. It had been two weeks since he had woken and his mother had told him the truth of his heritage. Two weeks since the woman, Sezron-Blodgett, had left for Pyrencia to inform them of his presence...two weeks since people had started to avoid him, staring from a distance and muttering to themselves. He hated it.

A fist struck the stone before him and he jumped, not realizing it was his own. His anger boiled within him as he fought to release the fist before him. Slowly, his fingers obeyed him and the hand unclenched, but it did not relax. His entire body was like a coiled spring and exhaustion plagued him. Food turned to ash in his mouth, and he could not sleep, for whenever he did, he was haunted by the night mares that refused to let his mind rest. Amena was not his mother, not really, and yet she had been the one who had loved him, and cared for him, and clothed and fed him.

'But she lied to me.' The thought would have made him vomit if there had been anything in his stomach. Again his hand clenched and the anger filled him again, fueled by the single word which pulsated through him ever since the figure had spoken it in his mind all that time ago.

He turned from the window and faced the mirror. He was not Perthian, he was not even human! He was a Pyrencian, and his own mother had abandoned him. He had lived his life in exile, existing in a lie fed by those that were not his kin. And now, now that the lie was known, it made him an exile from both worlds.

A fist shattered through the mirror and pain erupted in his hand. Ainmire swore as he pulled his fist free of the ruined glass. Blood trailed across the floor and he grabbed a handkerchief from his bedside table and wrapped it around his hand, tying it tight. He sat on the edge of his bed, shivering as the cold air stung the sweat on his skin. He shook, not with cold, but with anger. His eyes focused on the shard of glass by his feet. His reflection looked crazed, not human, but not quite Pyrencian either.

Then what am I?

The word reverberated in his mind once more, and he felt calm wash through him. He stopped shaking and stood slowly. He closed the window, then reached for the supports for his legs and strapped them on, then pulled over them his leggings, his shirt, boots, and coat, before reached for his walking stick. He held it for a moment, his mind working. Finally he nodded and stepped out of his room.

He knew what he must do, but he had to be careful about it. First, he needed supplies. With careful steps he crept through the still corridors of the castle, making his way to the garrison beneath the castle entrance. He did not need to enter the barracks, only the armory, where he found a bow and quiver and stole a pack as well. Then, as he was already in that area of the castle, he moved to the kitchens. It did not take long for him to find the reserves of dried meat, bread, and preserves. He quickly filled the pack with food, then hurried back out to the main castle. Dawn was fast approaching, he did not have much time.

He found his way to the inner courtyard and stood beneath the watch tower. Above him he could hear the guards patrolling, yawning loudly as the end of their shift drew nearer. With their relief would come more guards who would patrol the courtyard. He had to move before they arrived. Keeping to the wall, he moved silently around the edge of the courtyard until he finally reached the quarter master's stores. He stepped inside and quickly surveyed the room. it was full of large boxes and barrels, but there was no one around.

He hobbled around the desk and touched the stone brick near the base of the wall. The brick moved away and a rumbling shook the floor. He straightened and moved hurriedly toward the opening in the wall. As he stepped outside, the first rays of dawn broke over the horizon. Swiftly, he descended the steps and found the small, damp cave behind the waterfall, the rowing boat already there, oars and rope at the ready. He threw in his pack, bow, and quiver, before carefully climbing in. He untied the rope and pushed off with his oars, carefully navigating the narrow space and around the edge of the waterfall which disguised the secret entrance. Once he was past the andesite pillars he continued to row quickly, following the shoreline. As he reached the edge of the rocks, he turned back to look once more at the castle he had called hi home.

Doubt filled him, and a sorrow he had not expected, yet, even as he considered turning and rowing back to the castle, the word again ran through his mind, the word he had heard uttered by the figure in his mind, the word he had only heard one other time, when Dr Sezron-Blodgett has spoken it.

"You have Pyrencian blood in you," She had said, indicating the bag of blood still pumping into his arm. "I have inspected your blood, it is of the bloodline of Sera,"

"Sera." Ainmire breathed, then he squared his shoulders, turned from his childhood, and pressed on into the open waters.

_________________
Ainmire Sera-Blodh of House Flenadrison, second of his name, King in the South, Ruler of Carrickshire, and slayer of false Kings.
"The Crippled King"
"Flanders"


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