[centre][b]Octavius[/centre][/b]

The Marrow entourage stood by a pillar in the audience chamber. Their entrance had been quiet and without disturbance. King Osmodeus had greeted Shamgar Paragon with an open-armed gesture, which appeared to be appreciated. Captain Octavius studied the Dawnbringer with interest. He exuded a sage charisma that came with age and experience. If it weren’t for his robe and sceptre, the captain would have classified Shamgar as a lord.

From their uninterrupted position, Octavius observed the many lords, officials and soldiers congregated in the hall. They varied greatly in dress and features, from the modest leather tunic of the Cragmore head to the finery of many of the western houses, the red skin of the Khitani to the pallor of the Sea Born. And that wasn’t even mentioning the Kreshvi. Captain Octavius recognised a few of those gathered from meetings he’d accompanied King Osmodeus to but none from beyond Alabast’s socioeconomic sphere. He had the sudden realisation he was but a small grain of sand in the desert of Elyden.

“All welcome His Perfection Alistair of House Suttbray, King of Everfield and Wilharne.” Octavius turned his head.

[i]'His Perfection’? Does he fashion himself a god?[/i] The captain watched as the announcer stepped aside for his king of such high esteem. He had a face Octavius mistrusted, a smile and a twinkle in his eye that spoke of deception and mischief. [i]This one plays the game of thrones[/i].

Octavius’ eyes swivelled to his king to see how he reacted. Osmodeus looked ahead, looking at no one.

[centre][b]Onyx[/centre][/b]

The creature was the most grotesque thing Onyx had ever seen in his seventeen turns. It was skin and bones, its spine jutting from its back like a crocodile’s teeth. Its skin clung to its ribs and its arms and legs looked like to snap off. Yet this was not the most horrible feature. Where there should have been hands there were hooves and from its elongated skull protruded small horns. Its eyes were large and doelike, portraying a melancholia the likes of which Onyx had never seen. It seemed to be whimpering like a sick dog.

His uncle approached cautiously, a curved dagger in his hand. The abomination’s whimpering grew louder.

“Wait! It’s… it’s saying something,” Prince Onyx exclaimed. He crept in closer to hear better.

“Kill… kill… me…” Ostifer obliged, drawing his knife across its feeble neck.

[centre]* * * * *[/centre]
The journey back was much longer than it had been there. The wind was silent. All to fill the minds of the three Alabasti were rocks, dust and their thoughts. After what seemed like a century, the city of Lith dawned on the horizon as the sun began to fall.

Lith was more fortress than city. A great stone wall encircled its perimeter studded with crenels and merlons and barbicans by the gates that watched the wastes night and day. Inside, buildings were regimented in a linear grid pattern with the looming walls an ever-present reminder that the citizens were isolated and in potential danger.

As the three drew nearer and the gates began to rise, Prince Onyx pulled up alongside his uncle. Kar’tul remained behind, a ghostly whiteness to his face and eyes devoid of feeling.

“Uncle, what was that back there?” he asked in hushed tones. The question had been weighing on his mind and he feared voicing it.

Prince Ostifer maintained a stoic visage and sighed. “That creature was a mongrel’s plaything.” He turned to his nephew, a darkness in his stare. “This is what they do to us. This is the reason why we have this,” he waved his hand to gesticulate the city walls. “It is the reason, Onyx, why you and I are here.”

Prince Onyx sat numbly in his saddle. The weight of the world crashed down on him. That [i]thing[/i] could soon be him.