The convicted lone knight was sent to the dark prison dungeon of Castle Garrick, where light depart towards its divine flight and the darkness reigns its misfortune.
Exceeding from the leave of executioners escorted by sentiment under the restlessness, he proceed to convey his feelings. The tremble of his heartbeat dooming his ears, breathing loud and cold like of a winters blow, feeling weak from the knees. Leaving out of his leaning, he roamed his hands throughout the edges of the wet floor hoping to find something that he can ignite to, nothing. All he can see was the dark trifling matter across the deepest and most loathsome dungeon, while his hands were leashed on a chain attached on the hook within the thickest unseen wall.
Salagor: No importance...after taking of the blinds from my eyes...they are the one whose blind, No importance. I can see nothing. The Fools freed my eyes... but I am still imprisoned, the Garrick's men are full of idiots.
The once Elite Makaela is talking to himself, talking to the faces of his own kin. There rumbles his thoughts of getting out of the pit hole he used to work into, turning his duties below onto his feasible bewildering death. Towering above his heated mouth, his nose sense something putrid nearby. His immobile left arm was going numb and the early quiver of pain left his undying agony.
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Going through the series of hysteria and cursing on his own, swaying his right arm in every space that he can reach. The freed legs were being swept around on the messed floor, but still nothing. Every action he do will face the light or the darkness, it can be a blessing or a malediction, it can heal or take a turn for the worst, but either of them never thrust out better of his soul.
Salagor: Disgusting! The place stinks like how this world is been ran. Ignorant people giving me foul...something!
The unguarded man within the darkness was gagging out of his mouth as he finally touched something of a scaly skin with his feet, the rancid smell he identified was same as a rotting fish. The skin was sticky in an instance, he did not care to smell it to figure out what that actually was, whereas the tip of his finger barely even touched the thing.
Salagor: Shit! What in the hell was that? It was...like a sticky scum.
He put his fingers away swiftly from the scales as fast as he could, hopeless to go further onto what he has touched. It awaken his fear of living across from a dragon's den. Salagor then suddenly kicked it away with full force from his limited range, a stand of an iron he felt on his bare feet. After he struck the mystique entity engulfed by the darkness, there he heard a solid iron plummeted down onto the floor, and something of a rock rolled away even further...until the rough sphere came to a still where it seems to be halted by a nearest enclosure.
The man still cannot tell its discern existence.
An evening dew similar to a footsteps alarmed him that something is coming through the filled, starless oubliette. He tried to rise up from his weakened settle just to know when to awaken his remaining toughness of his soul before someone of his own seal attack him. The time has taught a man who wanted to be an elite warrior to control its own emotions to gain the desired valor, allowing him to burst open and unleash his vengeance through crucial moment of his life.
Salagor: LET ME OUT OF HERE FOOLS! OR COME...COME AND TRY TO KILL ME!
A twinkled roar which never shed truth came out of his deathly throbbing mouth. Ringing the chains side by side like he dances through the shadows of day, trying to break the tarnished irons by pulling it from his numb wrist. A leg behind another, moving the heavens and the world on his own feet.
Salagor: I am Innocent! We just wanted to help...the realm! I and the Grand Master of the Castle Helms! Please let me out or...if you all want to kill me, I will kill you all first!
He thought the waters were the rain upon the ceiling, but it was his tears deprived of any sensation. A prey on Salagor's mind being in a deep distress; anger, vengeance, suffering, betrayal, sadness, and hopelessness showered down his heart as he stomp his feet onto the ground.
Whilst his make his own thunder upon the darkest cloud of the prison dungeon, a distant harmony he suddenly listened, there was knights like him singing. The troops of the clan marching headway onto the castle fortress' bailey made the fires of anger pacify. The melody wishing he never raised his voice, it calmed his anger, not until he heard the songs of the boots marching above the cold underground cell and the words they mutter along the sea breeze.
Here he comes, Oh here he comes. The butterfly which aid has sent.
Those betrays has come to help. The old who lives at shattered helms.
Oh Warrior Girl, Do not cry. The other man will surely die.
Oh Warrior Man who shouts till death, for long you will never cry.
If you have the pow'r to choose, you should've had to eat your wrongs.
Row and Row then bow thy low, we are now your foe.
Never lost in sight, never lost in mind. The voice of an admiral beyond the island which they tend to partake, READY YOUR BOWS! A nightmare it may seems to be rustling like his black chains, it begins to haunt him again, it keeps crawling back from the depth of dark light behind the wall of horror which there casts the rivals growing shadow.
Are you? Oh Are you? Coming to the snow. To see the glimpse of the faces low.
Rider sleeps on the dirt of dreams, no mercy would've greatly screams.
If we met again, Oh Butterfly, Onto the dirty walls where you can never hide.
The ages of your sins, it'll wither since, the day they painted yore, colors of the wings.
Colors of the wings, Oh Colors of the wings.
Salagor: Butterfly...It was for me, and only me. No, they are wrong in singing the last songs. I am not going to die, I already know!
The melted wrath has molded again when he heard his familiar moniker onto the cursed songs; The Butterfly.
A name was been mouthed since the day he was anointed by the Lord Commander Orison of the Castle Garrick. He never kneel at the end of his tether but his heart shrunk, but thinking...and thinking...this could be a sign of a fate he never predicted. He heard multiple men gossiping and laughing but from his ears it was muffled, he cannot figure out what was the talks for, or It's better not to know, said him whispering.
After the hymn, there never was a sign of a shriek of satisfaction or a confine applaud.
The iron boots were trampling heavy whilst he knew a soft soil was one to step into, further flattening their heels before the moonless gate of the enhanced prison dungeon. The march halted on the occasion of its cogent sound, then there he heard a sudden load of banging coming from the other side of the dungeon gates. He chose to seal his words as the multiple heavy fists comes roaring beyond the cryptic arched door. His teeth were tight together in between his closed mouth, wondering that one mistake can potentially seal his fate.
The tiny fragmented keys were crashing against each other, the louder it gets, the greater the ground of hopes comes high below the depth's of unholy. The gapless gates were opened and the rough path has finally casted a light. The mirrored image however kept the two dark figured men be undisclosed as they approach his resting locus.
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Otter: Sir Makaela! Did you enjoy our surprise? A special evening dinner that you have right there.
A rough, low voice shifts through the crisps of unseen snow. The lair of their boots like of a cat spew out of the mimic night, carrying the remaining light in his hands from the metal casted torch.
It shone beyond the fire, it was not a poison orb he touched earlier, but the head of the one who threw the stone from his trial. The crawling little maggots and its rancid blood sipping out still, the tides of fright gushed as they threw them into the yawning pit of the jailbirds.
Melkar: Hey! Do not throw up. Heh, you are ruining the songs, don't you think that we cannot hear you from up there?
The gush of intimidation despite his somnolence has swarmed throughout his swollen face. Weak in the heart and away from leaning, the soul as the deep-voiced Melkar roared his scourge, but Makaela's moral sentience remains strong as ever.
Salagor: I don't care about the songs anymore Melkar, I care about myself now. How dare you put this disgusting thing in front of me.
He remembered the fresh blood spills onto the floor as it rolls. His disgust take turn for the worst as he saw the slimy rough thing, where he coughs and gags, revealed to be the one the guardsmen killed. It rolls, the boot turned it on the other side then it shows its empty eyehole and shattered teeth.
Salagor: The laws we have was awful, a terrible...terrible judgement by the Lord...we follow and protect the most. Is there something that I shouted that was wrong? There's nothing...but a bunch of damned foolish listeners.
The feat of the broad knight's left hands were inevitable as it fly without delay, bashing him to the cheeks and leaving him nothing but with a worsen languor. The butterfly knight's wings haven taken aback from the pit of blood that drip from his mouth, he felt the mercy upon those dirty hands the unhurried action to take the sword from its sheath. He spat a spirit of blood in front of them, near the heels of the iron boot sabaton. The sound of his voice, dragging the wits despite the rough songs of winter comes along and taking the life away from it.
Salagor: Ahh, the smell of rum on my cheeks. Did the Admiral give pointers to drink during service? I never heard of that before.
He saw Melkar's hands drew the sword half on its leather sheath, but as soon as the central edge be revealed from its conceal, the other Elite Knight of his kind; Otter Vedal, ceased the sword's brute release. The sword was drawn and the oath has torn, the sitting Makaela muttered in near mute as he gets swallowed by the rays of their torch fire.
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Otter: Stop Melkar, there is no need to kill him for now. Akeleyde needs to hear more, as well as his so called Grandfather, and our former comrade...Prince Agaal, the brother of the king who will send the orders to end his trial today. So careful Salagor, you will not talk like that ever again as you meet him.
He chuckled in surprise of his coming close friend, the eyelids were near to put up the shutters as their funny feeling told has gladden his ears. The sword was drawn and the oath has torn.
Salagor: That is funny coming from you Otter, you never know what is up with us. We, are close close friends, our bond can never break even he was far away from me.
From his stand beside the blood thirst of Melkar, he began to bend his knee before him. Salagor was stunned for it was a gesture only for High lords of the realm, he do not remember using it to a Warrior nor the sort of a Commander. Expected him to rise, but Melkar follows the unknown orders to kneel in front of him too. Confused and thought that the indication of glory has shifted in its steady lawful core, and now being used to anyone who are punished or not of a lord.
Otter: I pray for you my friend, he was not the same as you know him before. Then, he was under your stead when you both pull on the shore, he got a greater title than you now.
Salagor: I pray for you too dear Otter Vedal. I am still better than you. After the trial has been done and I won? You will get something, and I'll hear you wish you never speak to me like this.
His low stance breathes a cold breath, without the wits of wielding a slash of words to kill his mouth. Otter gets even closer up to him and said the words he will never forget.
Otter: The last became first, and the first of many for you wish to be, you never even achieved. I will steal your wishes, and your life wishes will turn into ashes.
There in the void which shows the face of darkness by a hair's breadth, a cold pale hands of a woman reaches out and forcefully pulled him out of the veil. It made Salagor's blood run cold before even the fierce of replying to Otter is be made. He screamed at the top of his voice and echoed within the walls of the prison. The sense of shriek has pulled him out of the broken chains, wraiths followed him like fragments of his shattered soul.
Almeyne Zarath: Come here you! The Prince is now calling you in the Trial Hall, get up!
The wrench at his wrists was even tighter than the rounded iron. Her grip was unyielding whilst it is now moving at such speed, never gave a time to step on his feet to walk and dragged him like a lifeless corpse.
Salagor: Hey, What the! STOP! I have my two feet to stand! CAN YOU NOT HEAR ME!?
The curses burnt once again and even mixed with a dread of violence.
Salagor is being dragged with Otter on his left wrists gripping him tight and Almeyne on the other, tugging and clutching his wrists tighter. He was shoving his hands to either side for them to struggle, thus they are struggling now. Not showing the feeling, the flows of veneration are in absence. From the grounds of vile winter crisps, onto the stairs he was dragged, to the wet dirt and quagmire of moss across the edges he was heaved.
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When all was said and done, the fresh sea breeze blew and finally, the glory of the sinking sun shimmered whilst being undeterred when drawing itself back from the dusk of black. He can not scream by the agony; people are watching, servants of the stables stood with the stack of goods, recruits of the Garrick were halted when they see him being creeped along the dirty marbles. People gossiping and seeing them follow the trail of the carve of the dirt his body left as he expected it to be for an unusual act, a violent act for an innocent person, he thought.
An elite fighter being dragged, as if a breathing body of a restless valor with a lifeless soul.
His arrival will sure be the pay for clapping. The applause gets stronger but plenty every time he gets near to the loneliest chaos he remembered. Kneeling down beyond the dais of two admiral lords he knew he raise one's visor, taken off, hoping the day comes Salagor has proven himself innocent in the false demise.
Otter: Prince Agaal! We brought you the wanted convict from the dungeons. He said he was a dear companion of yours.
Prince Agaal: Make him stand guards, I don't wanna see my beloved friend like that in front of many people.
Tall and almost similar to a great prominence, a forgotten violet mountain beyond the South is within the glimpse of the halls shadows. The smell he got the sniff of was a flower of Freesia, the first to be noticed by nose after stepping into the mountain castle which the gates open and closes by itself. The howl he leans on, hearing loud and deep inside the cavernous room of the grand wizard it echoed.
The Gods be determined brave butterfly, and those glowing eyes, told his ancestral being beside her viewing grand daughter Akeleyde and the Prince he knew was the former wonted fisherman of the Castle.
Salagor casted his mind back to where they are as close, from wearing a torn brown garment common to a fisherman, he now has a collared black cloak of Venalia's pride and a clean tunic of dark red inside it. Never he has seen him in the form of a glamour. The site of his title twisted his emotion, a hesitant pure shining smile of a colorful being to the sudden prospering 'achievements' of the standing raven. Questioning the nobleman's intent to his case, in his head still and not muttering, treating it like a seed planted to destroy the crops of peace.
Prince Agaal: I do not need anymore introduction, for as all you know me as King Raven's brother. A preceding man of the fishes and small fleets, there is something I want you to do for me Salagor.
All black, dirty, and weary, he stood and gave a gest of courage to veil his fear and weakness. Prince Agaal told Grand Morken to follow his stand, forward his eyes and cladding their backs towards the trial house gates. Taking a brief step back from his rear and bending his feet, the knee slowly drifted on the dusted floor whilst he thought it would be the finest feed for his hunger of honor.
His Trial has began.
The newly crowned prince low and cunning, he was a different man now, he thought, while Makaela still faces the blood stained floor as he knelt in front of him.
Prince Agaal: Thanks to Lord Admiral Reyon Orrison and your closest blood Radir Makel, I can fix their cases for them, and surely be for you as well. Now, it's your turn to speak girl. Your sister Almeyne and your Grandfather can tell me more. I heard you need help because my friend here...was blamed for a wrongdoing.
His voice was raising at a regular pace, pride strong and leaping from his glorious grim crown of bronze behind the sitting primordial Admirals. In the center of his eyes was the man he used to know; Agaal of House Venalia, but now a freshly ordained Prince of Kingdom Reviathan. He was pretending to care at the dread of time, claiming the gift of fame shining ever brighter while the number of comrades in arms beside the few watchers who are steadily dwindled, like taking dive deep into the pack of enormous fleets.
Akeleyde, wearing a low neckline white dress with a hint of black in the sleeves, a red myrtle circling her head. An opposing clothe to her sister whose Almeyne was armored with solid metal from neck to toe.
She was forced to follow beside the Prince, Salagor noticed her eyes evidently staring into a desolation while her sister guides her at the last edge of the dark podium. Fist closed and the thumbs are hidden in sight, breathing in a swift, dripping with nerviness as he know he delivered his vivid friends into her stomach. Fighting for what is right and tossing the coin for the truth is never enough, through as much as the strongest men are titled to fight with them, but the swords became solid blunt.
Lady Akeleyde: He sent a message and told it was from my grandfather. Saying that he wanted to, change the castle because it was worst than ever, I know Grand Morken would never say that.
He caught sight of the Grand Master Morken near the stead of Prince Agaal. The clothes were same as he last saw him inside the shattered imperial dazzle. A Dark blue robes covering him like the skies in company with the thunders, striking. He was rendered defenseless as his magical staff was led to Mace's bloody hands, one of the Guardsmen of the Ancient Castle, staining it.
Despite his old age, he announced his point with his rough voice.
Grand Morken: I admit...I did put the message for Salagor. But please...do not punish the boy because of my doings.
Lord Radir: He passed the test of Shattered but we never the message that we get to receive. And we never expect you Grand Morken, to be with us. But why do you want us to change the castle for the sake of your likings?
Behind the Prince which holds the trial, Lord Admiral Radir Makel sitting on the high chairs, made up his voice to question the Grand Wizard which exact what awaits the people whose all eyes were on him. The first time they believed the elder magus from the songs and myths of the purple shadow realm was not a myth after all.
Master Morken: No...No...You're wrong, that is wrong. I just want to warn you about something...even more threatening than the rivals
Started from the high voice pitched and ended its flow to rough, but loud and low which triggering fear to the people who listened to the elder wizard. Proving his mistake to the people who watch him close and real, glorified by the sense of silent applaud whose other myths has hope to be over and above for what the limits of seeing.
Master Morken: There is something lurking underneath the waters, even though there is a bigger boat afloat it that bothers. Going into the boundaries, we are living in the splinters of rocks, the tiny and huge ones were scattered around like the world has been broken into pieces.
They have been hit by a bolt from the blue, the grand master where they used to hear from his voice was rough and unsteady, little growls and coughing. Not struck and has gone deep as for from an apparition, shifting the humps to ceaselessly smooth tone of a grand masters voice.
Master Morken: I am here in the garden of the allies of mine, I am hidden in the dirt then revealed a flower never withered. Most of you have seen me from the storybooks, and now, I reveal myself to all and for the grace of Prince Aagal of the House nested by Ravens. All it is to say is please the Admirals for new beginnings, this is for the realm, if we need to guard the Archipelago for such territories, and so our beloved Castle.
Prince Agaal: So you now admit you have given the scroll to the Lord Admirals? And used my friend as your messenger?
Master Morken: Yes...my lord.
Prince Agaal: Alright we will get that done later, we will move on to the next words. What about Akeleyde's allegations to Lord Makaela, all reasonings are valid love, or else we will dismiss Salagor's trial.
Love, he heard. His eyes open wide and linking his hands hard to the other. The winds are getting tense inside the legal proceedings, like his heart wondering if he will ever know their both affairs. It is all up to what she is about to say. All watchers at councils turned their eyes to the stand of Akeleyde, but her mouth was not moving a single nerve. She is looking around like a lost girl, her throat moved swilling down her own spittle.
Prince Agaal: Talk, We do not have much time left.
Akeleyde: I...Uhm...It is just my concern about my grandfather. That is all, your grace.
A breath of relief, released from the end of Salagor's nose as he stood. His neck stretched, looming his chin and eyes are now in the ceiling. She did not mention the time when they are making the art under the hour of the wolves.
Lord Radir: Their defenses are sickening to hear. They are both wrong in any of the ways. Can we make of the plan now my Prince?
He nodded and clicked, burst a snap from his finger as if passing the dice for the Admiral to roll the dice, where the sides ruminate over the wizard's and the knight's fate. Lord Radir Makel stood up on his seat, grabbed from behind the seat is what appears to be a clean wooden box with a small seal of serpent head in the middle, gray stone open mouth below the gapped opening. Each side immovable by an unbolted iron fetterlocks, flicking it one by one to make a sound, ringing throughout the trial hall of the castle.
Prince Agaal: It is about time to pick another collection to the dungeon tournaments, I will make this quick since my brother left Lordaeral, he will give terms of agreement with Queen Dester Saneya.
Instead of giving a question to cram into their curiosity, rendering their minds useless to think about King Raven's reckon to visit Castle Egareth; The home of all dragons, and Queen Dester Saneya too. Agaal expound the means of order in a hurry while Lord Radir held the box towards them. The claps of boot can be heard as he answers the questions with regards to what is inside the wooden box, bunking off the voices of many.
The heavy box has been given to Salagor. His face was in complete source of nervousness.
Salagor: What is this for? What is inside it?
Prince Agaal: Thankfully, someone in the Eastern Country gave me permission for both of you to take a special task to win this trial. Immerse yourselves as you enter one of the deadliest dungeons underneath the Forbidden Island in the middle of the seas...The Catacomb Ruins of Viloria.
He shook the box with his both hands, but the thing within was not making any thump or knock, the thing inside still holds mystery. The declaration of his Prince friend got him thinking why? Why are the remaining people around me are clapping, he thought. Selling short of what he offered his head turned to him in dismay as he still smile. The satisfaction of the high lords and ladies; turning war into a game, keeping the azure of violence in time of peaceful talks, wanting the trial by combat into a political theatre, allowing them to engage in conflict to prove themselves whose innocent and the whose doomed.
The old Wizard and the Butterfly exchanged a gaze, an order for which their composure of duty and passion left their soul when they knew Their lives were on the line.