Though the brave shouldn't shrink from danger, only a fool would be unresponsive to sharp teeth that shouldn't even belong to a human being. The prince realized something was up- the practice of sharpening teeth was lost when the Casseions fell. It was a strange and horrid thing to do in the opinion of most nobles and general populace alike. Cyrus, however, thought it would be kind of cool. How would they clean their teeth?
He raised a hand to his head and slipped off his silk hat, making him look a bit older and much more practical. The tattoo, or the 'Tree of Hours' was the symbol of the Casseion clan. Though they couldn't be sure, the kingdom's historians believed the tree to represent the passage of time and the futility of cheating the fates. It was a sign used in dark alchemy.
His grip on his cap loosened and it fell to the sand as he heard what Rulan said. "No... you... can't be serious...." He seemed dazed, too dazed to process anger. Now that his cap was off, it was easier to see the fiery, tiny, stat-shaped jewel the prince wore on his right ear as an earring.
After a few moments, he regained his composure. Why didn't he realize the feather was trouble? It was tucked safely in his robes, and he made sure it was secure. "Rulan... why? What have you done...?" How could he go back to the palace with a sharp fanged Casseion??
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Mumbling incoherently in his slumber, the helpless human giggled silently. He was so out of it he probably would have agreed to putting on a dress and singing a song about candied apples. Well, he would probably do that if he was paying attention, but that was beside the point. He wouldn't be getting up for a while.
Skylark followed suit hastily, wanting to apologize. But his eyes focused on his Daddy, and his mouth dropped open in fear and despair. He put his hands in his hair and fell to the floor. His eyes were filled with tears as he tried not to look at Father.
"I killed Daddy!!!" He wailed.
Skylark followed suit hastily, wanting to apologize. But his eyes focused on his Daddy, and his mouth dropped open in fear and despair. He put his hands in his hair and fell to the floor. His eyes were filled with tears as he tried not to look at Father.
"I killed Daddy!!!" He wailed.
What are your rules on NPCs? If you want or feel the need to, control some of the ones I made to move the story along.
I love them! xDD
Ooh, plot twist!! xD
Did Bel eat a Kimp fruit? xDD
Frey's eyes lost their cruel, heartless glare and instead shifted to one of blankness as he was grabbed once again. Asbel really wanted to hold him, keep him helpless. This brought a smirk to Frey's face. So the immortal bird was scared, was he? The prince didn't miss the fleeting look of panic that crossed his nemesis' features. The prince chuckled softly, knowing that look very well. It was one his servants- particularly Anders- gave him right before Frey terrorized the poor man. The expression reminded him of a chicken that was about to be beheaded. Or maybe a criminal who was about to be kissed by the guillotine. And yet, when Asbel spoke once again, his tone was cool and calm. The prince's lips curled in a scowl for a few moments before he responded.
"Excuse me? Who do you think you're talking to, PET? You're nothing but the sorcerer's little cash cow and pet. Are you not seventeen years of age? Why, then do you play the part of a wise man when in fact you have never seen outside the palace?" Frey grunted to support his point, then placed his smooth palms atop Asbel's hands, and tried to gently pry them off. He then flashed a grin. "But... it's so much fun harassing the servants. It's not like I have any personal ones, anyways. Have you ever seen a grown man scream and jump out a window?" He giggled. 'I haven't. It'd be fun to try and make Anders do it, though."
Frey sighed. "Listen, Ash-Bell." Purposely mispronouncing the phoenix's name, he continued. Why was he still talking to him? Why bother? There was little point in talking to something that had been raised to love the devious sorcerer. "You are nothing but a pet. A well-behaved, magic-producing, human-like pet. Isn't it amazing? You don't have to think- Bachus does it for you. Unfortunately for the rest of us, we're not pampered. Even though I'm a prince, the damn servants have better rooms than I do. Nothing wrong with it, of course." Realizing he had slipped up and accidentally shown his more mellow side, Frey corrected himself. "Nothing but everything, that is!" In a quick force, he pushed the phoenix back roughly.
"Be a diplomat? Are you kidding me?" He laughed heartily. "Does it look like I give half a damn about my kingdom?" He said it so surely, but there was genuine worry in his eyes. Being a diplomat... Wouldn't be such a bad thing, actually. But he had to deal with the tasks at hand. "Does it? Because if it did, then I need to correct it." Then, not being able to stand it any longer, added, "And turn the lights back on, you bastard!"
"Excuse me? Who do you think you're talking to, PET? You're nothing but the sorcerer's little cash cow and pet. Are you not seventeen years of age? Why, then do you play the part of a wise man when in fact you have never seen outside the palace?" Frey grunted to support his point, then placed his smooth palms atop Asbel's hands, and tried to gently pry them off. He then flashed a grin. "But... it's so much fun harassing the servants. It's not like I have any personal ones, anyways. Have you ever seen a grown man scream and jump out a window?" He giggled. 'I haven't. It'd be fun to try and make Anders do it, though."
Frey sighed. "Listen, Ash-Bell." Purposely mispronouncing the phoenix's name, he continued. Why was he still talking to him? Why bother? There was little point in talking to something that had been raised to love the devious sorcerer. "You are nothing but a pet. A well-behaved, magic-producing, human-like pet. Isn't it amazing? You don't have to think- Bachus does it for you. Unfortunately for the rest of us, we're not pampered. Even though I'm a prince, the damn servants have better rooms than I do. Nothing wrong with it, of course." Realizing he had slipped up and accidentally shown his more mellow side, Frey corrected himself. "Nothing but everything, that is!" In a quick force, he pushed the phoenix back roughly.
"Be a diplomat? Are you kidding me?" He laughed heartily. "Does it look like I give half a damn about my kingdom?" He said it so surely, but there was genuine worry in his eyes. Being a diplomat... Wouldn't be such a bad thing, actually. But he had to deal with the tasks at hand. "Does it? Because if it did, then I need to correct it." Then, not being able to stand it any longer, added, "And turn the lights back on, you bastard!"
I must once again apologize for the wait. >.<
No matter how many paintings or stories or songs he experienced about it, nothing truly compared to nature except the outdoors itself. It was impossible for any artist to capture the landscape of the dazzling snowy of the forest. It was improbable for a musician to string a melody that compared to the natural symphony created by the snow-larks and icicles dripping from the branches of tall, mint-scented trees. But that didn't stop a few brave souls from trying. The kingdom of Sarcodes was vast, and touched only a few other lands. To the southern boarder was the great enchanted wall, that separated Sarcodes from the Elven kingdom. To the west, far from the coast, were the Curdled isles, where an old civilization once lived.
Sarcodes wasn't an especially barbaric or advanced civilization, but they had much access to the magic known as alchemy, in which they used rather frequently. The snowy, dry, forested land was home to millions, and they were all under the rule of a joint royalty of three families. These three were the descendants of the many powers that previously ruled the land. The three had total power, and there were countless nobles who assisted in ruling the individual districts. It was all very neat and orderly, but it wasn't always that way. In fact, in the past, there was a major war, in which the Elven kingdom had been devastated.
Because of that, they built a wall to keep everyone else out.
It had been centuries since the war- but there was still bad blood over it. Even though the royal family believed themselves to be 'civilized', they had a very grisly tradition. In order for a child to display their maturity and be eligible for the crown, they had to slay a dragon who lived in the snowy outskirts of Sarcodes. However, in more recent times, dragons had become scarce. As such, it would be extremely hard to find one.
But prince Polaris wouldn't say the task was impossible, even if it was true. He was as strong-headed as he was talented, and as a human, that was a pretty bad quality to have. He took a deep breath of thin mountain air. As tradition went, he was by himself. There was no point in having a proof of courage with someone else's help. He was a young man of average height and dark hair, that almost seemed a grey color that fell in a semi-neat style.
Polaris, the king's second son. He was likely the most immature of his brothers, and probably the most gullible. But he hid it behind a handsome, regal appearance and a crude sense of humor only his servants know of. He had been trekking for about a month, and had no luck. Polaris hugged his fur coat closer to his body, drawing in its warmth. It was cold. Not nearly a subzero climate, but still freezing. The prince took another deep breath and waited, shifting his position lying down on the snowy ground. He... sensed something...
Sarcodes wasn't an especially barbaric or advanced civilization, but they had much access to the magic known as alchemy, in which they used rather frequently. The snowy, dry, forested land was home to millions, and they were all under the rule of a joint royalty of three families. These three were the descendants of the many powers that previously ruled the land. The three had total power, and there were countless nobles who assisted in ruling the individual districts. It was all very neat and orderly, but it wasn't always that way. In fact, in the past, there was a major war, in which the Elven kingdom had been devastated.
Because of that, they built a wall to keep everyone else out.
It had been centuries since the war- but there was still bad blood over it. Even though the royal family believed themselves to be 'civilized', they had a very grisly tradition. In order for a child to display their maturity and be eligible for the crown, they had to slay a dragon who lived in the snowy outskirts of Sarcodes. However, in more recent times, dragons had become scarce. As such, it would be extremely hard to find one.
But prince Polaris wouldn't say the task was impossible, even if it was true. He was as strong-headed as he was talented, and as a human, that was a pretty bad quality to have. He took a deep breath of thin mountain air. As tradition went, he was by himself. There was no point in having a proof of courage with someone else's help. He was a young man of average height and dark hair, that almost seemed a grey color that fell in a semi-neat style.
Polaris, the king's second son. He was likely the most immature of his brothers, and probably the most gullible. But he hid it behind a handsome, regal appearance and a crude sense of humor only his servants know of. He had been trekking for about a month, and had no luck. Polaris hugged his fur coat closer to his body, drawing in its warmth. It was cold. Not nearly a subzero climate, but still freezing. The prince took another deep breath and waited, shifting his position lying down on the snowy ground. He... sensed something...
There was a lump in his royal throat as he watched and listened. That was something he was good at doing. There were desert beetles that made the faintest of clicks and clacks. They were very charming creatures, as some of them were known as 'scarabs' and had shells of precious metal. However, in a sense, they were useless. They were nothing but pests- and didn't rid the desert of gnats and flies. What use were they?
Admittedly, Cyrus was thinking more about the elusive scarab beetle than the winged lion feather he had twisted between two fingers. For some reason, he felt a little lightheaded and allowed his thoughts to wander off into the stars.
But something did bring him back into focus. That being mention of the Casseion clan. Golden eyes widened a bit in disbelief more than anything. That name... that cursed wretched name of a cursed wretched people. They had ruled the desert more or less a millennium ago, but the scars they had bore into the land and its residents remained. Fear, anger, and other dark feelings... That was all the cruel civilization had struck into the hearts of everyone who came into contact with them. Struggling for what to say, the prince stammered.
"Y-You're lying.." He muttered.
All knew of the infamous clan, that had stained the sands red with blood. They were near-invincible, and to defeat them, it required harnessing the very essence of the desert's spirits. The secrets to do such a thing was lost with the advancement of time, however. But Cyrus was taught the Casseions were executed. Why, then, did this man claim to be a member of such a group? Even if he wasn't telling the truth, who would lie about coming from such a dark heritage? Then again, Rulan was just a lion less than a few moments ago...
Could it be... this man... was telling the truth?
Cyrus simply looked with wide eyes at the man in front of him, searching for an answer.
Admittedly, Cyrus was thinking more about the elusive scarab beetle than the winged lion feather he had twisted between two fingers. For some reason, he felt a little lightheaded and allowed his thoughts to wander off into the stars.
But something did bring him back into focus. That being mention of the Casseion clan. Golden eyes widened a bit in disbelief more than anything. That name... that cursed wretched name of a cursed wretched people. They had ruled the desert more or less a millennium ago, but the scars they had bore into the land and its residents remained. Fear, anger, and other dark feelings... That was all the cruel civilization had struck into the hearts of everyone who came into contact with them. Struggling for what to say, the prince stammered.
"Y-You're lying.." He muttered.
All knew of the infamous clan, that had stained the sands red with blood. They were near-invincible, and to defeat them, it required harnessing the very essence of the desert's spirits. The secrets to do such a thing was lost with the advancement of time, however. But Cyrus was taught the Casseions were executed. Why, then, did this man claim to be a member of such a group? Even if he wasn't telling the truth, who would lie about coming from such a dark heritage? Then again, Rulan was just a lion less than a few moments ago...
Could it be... this man... was telling the truth?
Cyrus simply looked with wide eyes at the man in front of him, searching for an answer.
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