Aral and Kheris



Location: Northeast corner of Amaryth, near the royal castle


Aral held his breath while his father’s booming voice, the first signs of strength in what felt like years, echoed to the courtyard where the people gathered below. At the sound, each face, reflecting the numerous walks of life, shifted to look upon the source, . The prince could easily spot each of them and deeply respected each one, not just for what they supported but their individual talents because without a single citizen there would be no Amaryth or Othea for that matter. Slowly his blue eyes absorbed the masses as he shifted between the proud, lesser nobles dressed in their finery to the humble butcher or farmers, cheeks stained with their trade, with equality. And of course pride. He knew that despite the various classes they belonged to, they all had eagerly gathered to gaze upon the pair. 

The prince watched, his eyes still fixed upon the crowds, when the king’s speech began. His eyes lit up on hearing the powerful words emitting from his fragile father, namely after the courtyard scene yesterday, while he tore his eyes away for a moment. Aral’s sight lingered onto his father as if seeing another man, the words and voice chosen specifically to enlighten their souls. Curiosity, he thought, if his people’s reaction was anything like his own. Aral’s eyes shifted back to the crowd, his face calm, studying each individual below the balcony and standing alert within the courtyard. 

“People of Amaryth! People of Othea! My dear, beloved subjects!” The mass fell silent as they always did when he spoke, their eyes staring up at him with excitement and awe, causing Aral to straighten up even more. His father, deep in his speech, didn’t seem to notice while he continued onwards with the same energy and authority Aral had grown accustomed to hearing in his youth. “Today is an auspicious day. I know the rumor mills have been running wild for months. They have spoken of my failing health. Of how old I have become. How I am no longer the king I once was. These rumors are true. I can feel my body failing me slowly. Only the presence of my beloved son, Aral Otharion the fifth, has kept me from giving in! However you need not fear, for even as my body fails me, my love of you the people, has never been stronger!”


It warmed them as well as Aral at first. The power inherent to the king’s voice had begun to empower them all, lighting embers of hope in each of their eyes. Even now his father still managed to surprise him when he, in his own fashion, admitted to his failing body and built his speech toward the fact the crown would fall to him soon. Aral managed to keep his face blank and expressionless, his fists held rigid but appropriately at his sides. He wouldn’t fail them by looking like some scared, grieving boy. He had not been one for many years and would not become one now or ever again.

Strength was something he was born to have after all. Inwardly Aral scolded himself. Now, even after all his practice, mental preparation, and more for this moment, he had found his middle twisted up into a million mangled knots. He hadn’t even noticed the robes of the Inquisitor hidden among the people as he held his breath, distracted in controlling his dread, even as his father’s speech reached its climax. 

“My beloved subjects... It is with heavy heart that I do this. Effective immediately, I transfer all rule of the Kingdom of Othea to my son, Aral Otharion the fifth. Henceforth and until he dies, he shall be known as king Aral Otharion, the fifth of his name, lord of Othea!” 

Aral didn’t move until his father’s last word rang and reverberated through the air. It was like a weight, an unwanted burden, had been lifted off the king when his arms raised his crown high then transferred to his son’s head. The crown felt far heavier than its weight in mere gold and gemstone. Aral suspected that it only felt that way, that the extra weight came from the fact that it was he, Aral, who had to bear the responsibilities that came with the ancient crown of Othea, That it was he who had to lead in the fight against the storms to face his beloved country. , Aral breath . 


of applause . Aral ke himself from looking at his father the same utter confusion he had felt earlier. , literally, before the speech was . His father’s reason had been simple. To brace Aral and allow him time to hid his surprise at the crown in a fashion. This was what had made the prince, now king, nervous throughout the entire ceremony. And now it was over. 

Aral wasn’t too proud to admit he didn’t understand the reasons behind his father’s choice of method. It shouldn’t have came as a surprise since most his father’s motives, schemes and unusual behavior had seemed rather strange to the prince lately. However, he refused to publicly question the king.

It was then the corner of his sight caught someone moving through the crowds, masses clapping strengthened from a dull politeness and finally progressed into a deafening roar. Instantly Aral recognized the dark blue Inquisitor's robe worn by the man, realizing his office within the Dominion of Idris, letting a silent curse follow from his breath. The man would likely want an audience and soon, Aral’s logic told him while he paused a moment to note the Inquisitor struggle with the crowds. It lightened his heart somewhat to see the man have some difficulty, secretly increasing his gratitude to his subjects as they were unknowingly giving him effective protection during this overwhelming event. Even if it was merely delaying the inevitable. Deep within his heart, Aral had slightly wondered if he even had the mental strength to deal with the man from the order he felt had been manipulating his father all these years.

One wrong step and Amaryth could end up crushed under the Order of Idris’ heel. 



Anger seep into his fist but manage to prevent it from spreading to anywhere else on his person, the height of the balcony in further ling it. His attention was refocused when his father had started to make his leave, prompting Aral to move his gaze from the figure and with dignified steps gracefully followed the old king back into the adjacent room. 

Once inside and out of sight, Aral’s serious expression softened into a youthful smile. His face turned to his uncle’s image when it came into view and, out of pure practiced habit, Aral had started to greet his uncle as a Knight of Othea would’ve. Just when his hand started to move did he realize his flaw and flawlessly corrected it. Only the keenest eyes could’ve seen the error and part of him had hoped his uncle would’ve missed such a mistake, mainly because if it had been anyone else then things would’ve far more awkward. He was no longer a knight now. Acting like when his whole nation rest their safety and well-being on his slender shoulders. 

 “Greetings Uncle Kheris.”

Kheris sat through the entire ordeal, while he was pleased that his brother was willingly giving up his title and was glad he didn’t have to go through the campaigning against his nephew when he didn’t really want to become King he still wasn’t one for all the pomp and ceremony. Least of all where he knew several of the nobles would openly scorn Hroldaf for skipping the due process and choosing the new king himself. Kheris of course had to save face but privately he was naturally pleased. He had enough to worry about with trying to keep Othea safe from the shadows, even as he was also trying to make it better for everyone.

His job would become so much more complicated if he people everywhere openly questioned his every move. Far better if they ran the country’s day by day affairs while he made it a better place from and through the shadows. It had become complicated enough when Hroldaf had convinced a relic user to be captured, to later be saved him Kheris’ underground and moved to the sanctuary to find out the truth behind rumour and as such had learned about the Gellors Shadows. The mind of Hroldaf was a complicated and disturbing place, but it was closed. Unlike Arals which was open and who seemed willing to look outwards from the Kingdom of Othea. He was possibly the key to uniting Azukhar, and finally bringing an end to the wars before they even begun.

Moving his petrified hand on front of his stomach, he bowed himself over it. Not as much as many of the nobles would have merely a small tip of his upper body. “Greetings Aral, or should I say my liege?”

Aral felt the tug of smile pull at his mouth corner, his eyes focused upon his uncle and followed the motion of his bow in respect. Seeing his elder now slightly slouch to a lower position made the fluttering knot within his stomach tighten and coil, turning deeper within his middle until it felt like it would burst out through his flesh. The embarrassing sensation washed over him when he realize he had almost done the same himself. A gesture which would’ve done little, save for showing how unready he was for this. Calming his nerves, Arla gave a small, noble nod to signal Kheris to resume his earlier position. Though he displayed it flawlessly, he felt the power of it far less than he once imagined as a child. 

When his elder and well respected relative rose, Aral cautiously yet firmly walked forward to cover the distance between the two. Convenient and in a artful fashion, the newly king stood at Kheris’ right side and at the respected distance fitting for their difference. Though he admitted he was more comfortable than before, he couldn’t risk with loose tongue. something he inwardly dislike, simple it seemed even those most in his eyes 

Such a lonely life his father appeared to have lead. Aral let the thought linger, time passing in a silent moment then returned his attention to his Uncle. His next words were befitting a royal, though they were blunt and honest in the fashion most his lesser subjects admired. “Entitled and birthright, perhaps, but I feel I still must earn it fully.” 

“Wise, and given time you shall. With guidance from those you keep around you, and at the same time from those you keep at arms length. However, so long as you retain your own identity, then you shall make a great King.” He cast a finger at the crown. “While you wear that, and you have a burden remember that it is not yours alone to carry it and more importantly remember you are not just the King, you are King Aral.” Kheris turned as he expanded his senses, as another one entered the small room. Most of the nobles had all seen their cue to leave and had done so already, and whoever had just entered had ignored all the social protocols for entering the room that had the king within.

Aral had been absorbing the words when the sound, a door opening and boots trailing in, caught his attention. The currently crowned king’s eyes narrowed while a slight hatred flared into his eyes. It passed as quickly as it arrived, fading to leave no trace, when he noted his Uncle’s reaction. 

Turning to face the newcomer Kheris decided that he would indeed scorn him, the Inquisitor for the Order of Idris. They were becoming far too bold. He turned and spoke before Aral had a chance to speak, effectively lowering the Inquisitor as if not worthy to speak to the King. He held up his right hand, lowering the inquisitor even more by using his damaged hand. “You should know better on our ways than to simply walk into a room with the King in it.” Unable to perform the turning motion with his hand, without using his relic, he bumped it slightly in the direction of the door. “Do it again, and do it properly this time.” 

Stevan, High Inquisitor of Idris, was inwardly furious at the elderly brother of the king. The man actually dared to think that he, Stevan Vlahovic, was a mere lowly courtier! He let none of it show on his face of course, but quickly realized, with the belligerent look of the annoyingly incorruptible royal guards that he had no choice but to obey. He intended to find some way to make them all pay one day, but not today.

He turned about, walked out of the room, then turned abruptly around, Knocking on the doorframe, waiting to be acknowledged. As he stood there, he checked that his robes were straight, that his beard was relatively straight. The least he could do when delayed like that was make sure he looked his part. He think and look forward to the day when this nation too was utterly subjected to him and his order, as he knew they one day would be, willingly or not.

Aral watched the man exit then return. It made his skin bristle with disgust and loathing at how easily their traditions were sided, merely in favor of the Order’s arrogance. The very arrogance of their faith. Acts like this was part of the reason he wondered what the evokers had done to provoke these people and their religion. What reason was powerful enough to ultimately end in a relentless war on all relics and their users? A question, Aral thought, with bitterness deep in his mind, he would never know the answer to.

Such thoughts didn’t help him here when the the Inquisitor bid by the official rulings, his hand tapped the wooden door and waited for entrance. Aral sighed then gave his Uncle a swift glance and it was one speaking volumes about his thoughts. The main one was the fact he didn’t want to face the man who represented something he had grown up hating and rather send him running back to the Dominion of Idris immediately. His eyes closed to brace himself for the reality. 

It wasn’t that simple and even with the good of his own country in mind, Aral knew he couldn’t validate a reason for such an event to occur. Not without worse coming to make his people to suffer for his unwise choices. He opened his eyes, trying to keep them steady and calm, before he spoke. 

“Enter.” The even tone in the single word was the hardest part while Aral eyed the entrance.

Stevan fumed when he wasn’t granted immediate entry upon following the antiquated customs of this place. When at long last the king granted it, he stomped in, utterly ignoring the newly crowned king, heading straight for the old king. “What is the meaning of this?!?” he almost shouted out. 

Aral’s jawline made the smallest twitch, a small tick his Uncle knew well enough from his childhood, when his eyes darted to follow the Inquisitor. His mind momentarily seared the swine’s likeness to his memory and words formulated onto his tongue. Each one chosen carefully though they didn’t spare the sharpness when used in his address. The prince’s main goal was aimed at attacking the individual as oppose to the Dominion of Idris, using the man’s unwise reaction to burden and shoulder his anger at both the present and past. 

“So, this is Idris’s true representation? They teach their priests, symbols of their order, disrespect and arrogance to fully ignore the rightful traditions set by the royals of old? Disrespectful.” Aral managed to say before taking a single step toward the Inquisitor and making the violator aware of his presence. To disrespect him was not just wrongs against the nobles, but all the people of Othea, something he wouldn’t tolerate.

By the time he realized his blunder, it was already too late. He knew he should’ve paid at least a semblance of attention to the new king. The old king had at odd times broken with the reins his handlers held, but never in this fashion. It made Stevan think back to the reports from the days when the queen still lived. Not an easy time for the Order.

He let his thoughts churn rapidly to think out a solution to this mess. The easiest would have been to humbly apologize, but the very thought of being humble towards a heathen king disgusted him, much like the thought of relics being used did. He’d do virtually anything to avoid being forced to do such. In his heart, he started laying plans for what to do about House Otharion. It was getting far out of hand, straying from the carefully paved path he and his predecessors had laid out. If only there had been another son of Hrodlaf. Then that one could have been raised to the throne after he arranged for it to be… vacated. But of course the cursed Queen Leena III Otharia had been physically too weak to produce more than that single living son.

His predecessors hadn’t known for sure, but they had suspected that the reason for her frailty was related to how closely that branch of the royal house had married for several generations. It was unfortunate that that line hadn’t produced any simpletons. A simpleton king, was after all an easily controlled king.

But before he could do anything like that, he would have to extricate himself from this blunder. He resorted to lying. “I am sorry, Liege. I was not aware of your coronation, having arrived late at the ceremony. The people had already begun to cheer, so I could not hear the words of your father.”

Some small, resentful part of Aral had hoped the man would add much more to his current crime. Escalate it farther until he would have little choice and the great pleasure of escorting an representative to the Dominion of Idris right out of his front courtyard gate. Alas, it didn’t happen. Now he was left with an unexpected apology and no excuse to rid himself of the unwanted company. 

Could he turn this around to his favor now? He desperately hoped so as his bright blue eyes studied the Inquisitor, from his stringy thin figure to his harsh image, while every bit of him screamed caution within his head. This man looked like one of his language teachers, the one who rapped his knuckles over and over when his oral examine fell below excellence. That memory did nothing to endear the ignorant man before him. 

It might’ve explained Aral’s next words quite a bit. “That would explain the insult toward me. However, it doesn’t redeem your actions of disrespect to the people of Amaryth when you dared to barge into the King’s audience. Especially when you were not bid entrance. Or perhaps have you not been within Amaryth long enough to learn our customs and because of that, they slipped your mind so easily, Inquisitor Vlahovic.” 

The use of the Inquisitor’s name was a slight hint that if the once prince knew the man’s name, then likely he had plenty of time to learn the right customs. Or at least should’ve learned the ways to address the king properly.      

Stevan knew when a fight was lost. He’d had far too bad a hand of cards in this fight. He could not even bring up the insult from that Kalesian. Not without looking petty and more than likely lose more in the process. He truly and intensely hated retreating, but it is better to retreat from one battle in order to later win the war, than to push on and lose the entire war.

He struggled hard with himself to force a semblance of sincerity into his voice when he answered. “I am sorry. I will strive to do better in the future.” It wasn’t easy, but he thought he accomplished it plausibly. He did not offer even a slight curtsy or bow before turning around, leaving the room and king behind. He had to plan more carefully next time, so that future surprises could not catch him so off-guard.

Aral said nothing though he should’ve. As king, it was his right and duty to ensure no one, not even the Dominion of Idris, disrespected the crown. Mainly because it symbolized the people as much as the kingdom, a fact he was bound to live with for the rest of his rule. The young king felt a bit of breath escape his lips when the Inquisitor finally left. Like the room had been cleared of something rotten and everyone was able to inhale some fresh air for a change, clearing his head further. His thoughts were spoken out loud to the only other living person still within the room.   

“I don’t completely trust him. He’s going to make things more difficult in the future, isn’t he?” His eyes turned to Kheris and silently requested his thoughts, namely since his uncle had been silent during most the conversation. 

“Of course he is going to make things more difficult. He is an Inquisitor from the Dominion of Idris. When have they done anything but that?” He spoke for the first time since he had sent the Inquisitor out. He had had nothing to say, it was not his place. Doing such would have been undermining the Kings authority which wouldn’t exactly of helped the argument in anyway shape or form. A King had to be consistent in how he treated all others and that was why even though his help had been needed, he had not offered it.

“You have handled the situation as best you could, that is all you can ask. What is more important is that you do not let this encounter nag at you, to do so would give him the advantage in the next round. Your father has upset whatever Idris has been attempting to achieve here by suddenly announcing you heir, he has also upset a number of Nobles who while chose him over me are now questioning that decision made years ago.” He turned to face his Nephew, though didn’t look him directly in the eyes. “The numbers of evokers are growing, your father has upset the Order of Idris and Kalesia has stood silent for far too long. These are troubling times and you must keep a clear head, no matter what the world throws at you.”

Aral returned his eyes to the door and stared a bit. It was seemingly like he was trying to bore a hole into it with his sight alone, gathering his thoughts. Just like Idris, Kalesia’s influence had created interest among his peers, despite the more traditional adults’ discouragement and claiming an unsavory ulterior motive. Even more stronger when many concepts began to oppose their long standing religious ones. 

The sudden conflict with the Inquisitor reminded him about his childhood, now no longer important which caused him to stray farther into them. At least one last time. 

It was late in Aral’s childhood when his father strove to refrain him from satisfying his own curiosity about the subject. Slowly, those peers he once interacted with had started to dwindle down each day. It also lead to other topics within the subject of Kalesian being limited. One of those wary topics was relics. He failed to understand the true danger or power behind them or the evokers themselves. The whole subject only confused him more whenever he came into contact on views related with the nation divided by the Karak Claw mountains, despite how close it was to their borders, making it more a mystery then anything. 

“These evokers, whether they realize it or not, have created too many problems for Othea. Maybe it was best my father kept any details about them from me. I don’t know what I would do if one was someone I knew or worse.” The tone of Aral’s voice was unsure yet it held a slight distaste for the evoker word, seemingly to hint he wasn’t fond of it. He shook the terrible thoughts from his mind then smiled genuinely at his uncle for the first time since his crowning. 

“I believe we’ve got a tourney await our attention. Shall we?”   

“It is not a relic that makes it’s user evil, but a person that makes a relics power evil. Idris hunts them and sees them as blasphemous in terms of their belief, it has always been my opinion that such an order should not be allowed to thrive. The Military, Government and Religion should not all be as one but with Idris they more or less are.” 

He shrugged at his nephews new enthusiasm for the tournament. “If you really think such menial shows of strength and combative skills are important or interesting then I suppose we shall my liege, as after all. I am yours to command.” He gave his nephew a wink as he walked out off the door.