[Center][h3][sub]Alden The Black[/sub][/h3][/Center]
[hr]
How the mighty had fallen. The once beautiful Alden Blackstar had everything in the world to live for. He was wealthy, young, attractive, strong; you name it: he had it. The world was his for the taking and the best part was that his father was in the process of taking it for him. But unfortunately for him, things changed, as they so often do when they are progressing as one wishes. While some suspected, and most of whom wholeheartedly accepted, that Alden had been injured in a hostile takeover engineered by his own kin, Alden knew the truth. He had been stricken by [I]his master[/I], punished for his misdeeds and as penance for his gluttonous embrace hedonism, never again would he feel the warmth of a maiden fluttering her eyelashes his way nor would he be severing heartstrings with his razor sharp jawline any time soon.

Just as a runner would feel a pleasure when he ought to feel agony, hoofing the soil itself into submission, he had made his own flesh subject to the font from which the world had emerged. It was that which brought him where he now stood, to the palace of the Garlands. Jocun was a man who Alden admittedly knew exceptionally little about. In years past, he had little reason to care about the politicking and whatever goings-on there were within the land, his concerns had essentially been limited to his business. But becoming a servant of that which was sacred meant safeguarding that which was more mundane.

Approaching the gates of the palace, he had several testimonials to his identity, letters of recommendation and various other papers to verify his identity should they not be able to spot him on sight. That said, he doubted that he would really need them. After all, he was no longer the boyishly handsome youth Alden Blackstar, he was the saggy-skinned remnant Alden The Black. The title, like a weighted shackle, was not something he'd endorsed but there was little he could do to divorce himself from it at this phase.

As he peeked through the gates towering iron bars, he felt a fresh presence come to stand amongst the gathering crowd. A fresh-faced, unkempt youth, looking a bit peckish, stood hooded with his face obfuscated, though not nearly so thoroughly as Alden's own. Suddenly inquisitive, Alden stepped near him with a small wave and a quiet humor about him as he closed the distance, "Is it true that our very own king is subject to his queen?"