Total silence shrouded the alabaster courtyard blackened by the shadows of the people all around me. The Black Monarch stood still on the center, between his feet the spiraling engraving of limestone or marble strikingly different from the glassy dimness. His arms stretched out as he stood before the pedestal grown forth the platform yet seemed to be hewn from a distinctively nether stone fitting for the strange grimoire covered by the hardened matter of the night itself.
He broke the silence when his voice sharply cut through the silence, possessing soothing, deep tones that were pleasant to my ears and felt a certain, yet elusive kinship profounder than our regal blood we both possess – or at least I do. I have no doubts about the intent of father and uncle being in this city without exposing their identities to the people, I know that whoever this Black Monarch is – was – opposing the Empire in the early days of the First Age.
Yet even now I feel myself drawn to him like with Sigi, even as I know that we would be enemies if this personage was alive today. Maybe it came to be thanks to the grimoire resting on the pedestal, or that he appears to be a benevolent ruler who is may enlisted the aid of nightmares out of desperation. Or could be something else devoid of all these theories popping into my mind.
Could also be father who is drawn to this enigmatic, distant kin of ours as I noticed the faint chill creeping up my spine and felt the caress of my silken sheets veiling my sleeping body for a short moment. I am not sure of that if I have to be honest with myself. The feeling is too overpowering to be his and not mine, I think.
The answer had to wait for now. Unexpectedly he went silent then I noticed movement in the corners of my eyes. From the front rows various folks stepped forth and marched in silence until they neared the platform where they knelt in to the sand, their hands on their knees, their faces turned down gazing at the corrugated snow white sand lacking warmth.
Nearest to the three nightmarish guards were an ivory djinn with black and majestic goat horns, dressed in silver and black of lavish garments revealing parts of his body kneeling on the left while opposite a merkin whose face was bore prominent human-like features like a bulky nose and not so bulging eyes though his epidermis was covered in finely glinting golden and amber scales while between his fingers, translucent webs filled the space.
Nearer to the people and me kneeled a dashing aurhen with fair golden smooth complexion, with arcuate framed eyes framed by a glossy mauve tint that slightly extended towards his temples hidden under layered waves of long dark hair while his arms coiled by bracelets of silver engraved with onyx crystalline decorations. Facing him, a young orkh girl in the same stage of age as me, though she had much cruder lineaments with her skull clearly bulging from beneath his sallow emerald epidermis.
And at the center facing the Black Monarch himself kneeled a dusky woman of glistening ebony complexion in the revealing silver and black armor of the guards and a headpiece of a silvery diadem from which a dark veil merged with her wavy hair sprouted, exposing her finely hewn visage featuring a chiseled, dainty nose, plump lightened lips and almond framed eyes closed down until her name had been called by the soothing deep voice.
Her calm, almost listless expression shifted into one filled with pride and joy at being recognized by her sworn liege whom she faced quite proudly. Truly he must had quite the sway over these people. Right before the pedestal, she stopped and once more got down onto her knees, this time taking off the headpiece and placing her narrow forehead onto the elevated platform’s cold and dark surface while the spiraling symbol no doubt cut into her legs, though she endured it silently.
The Black Monarch praised her dedication for the protection of the city called Khadrath and its people, then flipped open the book right at its middle and the empty holes of his mask stared at the dark pages where glyphs and runes swirled in their strange dance.
In a haunting suddenness the coldness grew to the point I felt my body shivering under the warm embrace of the sheets. The sky blackened and as I instinctively turned around, led by a familiar fear I watched with bulging eyes as the Illius parted into three jewels in the infinite sky which itself blackened and for a short moment saw shapes moving in or behind it.
Then as my gaze wandered back to the elevated pedestal, I noticed shadows spreading, lengthened over the white sand, snuffing purity out from it while flocking towards the two. I felt the emptiness pour forth the Black Monarch as he grappled onto the book while I felt gazes upon myself, though no matter how much I searched I could not find the one as the people now looked down at their feet while repeating the same gibberish words in a silent cacophony.
“OGTHROD AI'F GEB'L-EE'H, YAUGH-ZHOKLOTH 'NGAH'NG AI'Y ZHRO” Their chant slowly molded into one singular voice and at the same time, the dusky guard rose up into the air with limbs stretched out and facing the crowd. Unseen hands pulled open from both sides her ebony epidermis, bright reddish muscles and white skull like some piece of garment, and quickly expanded down to her nether regions.
Though instead of gore, a much older horror crawled forth from the abyssal crevice of the once woman, a being whose upper body followed the standing contour of an expanding maw beset with a pale teal pearl at the upper curve larger than my fist or head, bedded amongst the legions of fleshy spikes, varying at both length and width while eight long and crooked limbs balanced the large body of dry, corpse-like flesh.
Father’s disgust washed over me just as the chanting halted and shifted into impetuous cheering at what I assume to be a rite of ascension born of the strange maghia of the black grimoire. I should feel as disgusted, but as the beast emanated a howl of tremulous and raspy resonance while its four arms curled divergently, I felt the same if not more. The power of that book may one day make me the greatest Elhyrissiar of this plane, that I was sure of as the projected world faded into the empty vistas of Oneiron.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
**
Isocrates’s sigh echoed between the dimly lit library of the main barracks. His eyes wandered on the hard covered tomes and grimoires which spines were ornated with golden letters, some familiar some with refined contours beyond his comprehension.
For the past few days after the encounter and realizing how little protection he had against the taint of otherworldly beings, he enlisted to be the valet of the librarian. Though he knew compared to the Orders’ library, the legions’ lacked in grimoires teaching ways on how to build fortitude against taints of the nether realms’ denizens.
As he inspected and catalogued the books on one of the taller shelves, he picked down a few and scammed his eyes through the texts blurred and whirled on the pages, a few around diagrams aiding the visualization process of casting spells, forcing ones’ will upon the world.
Holding one written by a Djinn veneficiar he heard quite a lot about during his studied in the commoners’ academy, Isocrates followed the instructions and tried to create a mild gust of wind around his body to help him levitate down from the ladder. His velvety uniform rustled as he carefully exerted his will, then he flung down to the floor, kicking over a chair near the middle table and he groaned sibilantly with the book on his head.
“Maybe another time.” Isocrates whispered to himself as he straightened his rustled garments of a deep shade of red then placed the ladder back while thanking the Deossos for his spell not hurling the other tomes and grimoires out from their place.
After placing the book back to its place and finishing the rest of his tasks including finishing the catalogue tablet and placing it onto the desk in front of the entrance, he stepped out and became aware of the sounds of battles muffled by the thick walls of the library. He stood still, frozen in place while clutching the handle of the door whilst legionariir of multifarious kin and rank rushed past him while yelling left and right.
Isocrates noticed the occasional portentous glows of maghieth energies lightning up the winding street and square before the primary edifice of the district home to the highest ranked members of the First Legion. Deep down he knew who exactly were behind the attack and as he managed to overcome his fear and free the handle from the grasp of his hand, he began to recount the handed out procedure of the servuothii.
In the case they were not called upon by the higher ranks for aid in the armory or supplying them with mana, servuothii had the task of heading for the infirmary where they acted as additional mana batteries for the healers and warders or because they were located in the capital, tasked with heading into the hidden tunnels connecting to the sewer system from where they had to head into the city and call for additional aid.
After deciding to head to call for aid – specifically to the aid of the Draennith Praetoriir – he halted in his steps as he heard the howl of a Wyvern of the Heavenly House and its rider took off from the tower and evading the incoming spells of a dimmer, fiendish shade of purple and golden. Now his first thought was to head for the infirmary, but this feeling faded the moment the building shook as if a tremor assaulted the artificial plateau and noticed the smoke rising from the adjacent wing while flames seemed to consume even the marble rubble spreading onto the main square.
“Follow us boy!” An elderly tribuniar with a stubbly face called out to him and feeling a bit assured at the decorated golden armor he was wearing nodded and followed after ready to prove his worth.
**
Outside the square was swiftly pervaded by the malodorous blend of death and sulfur. The square alabaster pavement stretched leaden with streaming blood of many shades, bits and pieces of shattered armor, littered with the corpses of the legionariir and cultists whose haunting visage stared vacantly with tortured grimaces.
The scraping of metal against metal rang through the streets, and became clearer to Isocrates as he watched the horrifically enticing figures clashing in the dance of battle against the various legionariir with some grouping up on the daemurnus who bore the beautified faces of their former comrades, striking with the faux intent of playing children.
Not long after the sudden transformation of hundreds of their comrades into the servant class of Tartharossia, cloaked and armored figures stepped forth brandishing mythril daggers, swords, axes and shields and throw them against the confused soldiers whom many fell amidst the chaos of the sudden attack.
Though this confusion lasted no more than a few moments and the members of the First Legion began to live up to their renown, with many a cultist appearing out of nowhere were dragged down into the nether realm by either cleaved through their chest or neck, charred by the middle class spells imbued with the true facet of flame, frozen then shattered into a thousand bloody and hoary pieces and so on.
Using the raucousness spreading like wildfire, the shadows and smoke rising between the angular structures, Shigeaith slowly slipped across the erected wall though he stopped occasionally and stuck while erasing his presence when the fight extended to the outer threshold of the district. Though when he noticed the a few lone cultist stumbled before him, he quickly unsheathed the dagger he took from the armory and struck with great haste and power into their throats.
Slowly he reached the square where he noticed Isocrates amongst a group led by the aged tribuniar with the peculiar helmet sporting a deep purple flail of reptilian mohawk embedded into metal frame protruding from the form-fitting helmet slit open at the front while towards the forehead area it branches east and west, the bottom edge slightly curving outwards.
His first instinct was to call out to his new friend, though realizing it would be foolish even as the legionariir in the square occupied the few daemurnus and cultists whose numbers now slowly began to dwindle thanks to the quick orders of the tribuniar.
Seeing an opportunity the moment the enemies’ numbers reached only a few, Shigeaith leapt out from the shadows and forced every muscle in his leg to dash towards the group, and relief began to set in, though it disappeared when he noticed Isocrates yelling his name while a sense of dread followed as Hunra’s monstrous hand of flayed, marbly purple skin broke through his chest and squashed his no longer beating heart before hurling him across the burning wreckage of the western wing.