Prologue: Mistakes
The sorcerer was rudely shaken awake. His dream about the wonders of the local noble ladies stopped. He groggily opened his eyes to see a king’s servant standing above him. Hand clutching a bloody rag to his cheek. The servant pail from blood loss. This shocked the sorcerer awake immediately, were the combatants at the gate? Was the king assassinated? Was he to be assassinated? Why was there a bloodied servant in the middle of the night there to get him?
The sorcerer sprang to his feet, nightclothes and beard ruffled and unkempt.
“What! What is the matter! Are the enemies here!” The sorcerer shouted a raspy voice fresh from sleep.
“Calm, sir Benedictions, the king is in a rage, and asked for you.” The calm servant assuage the frightened sorcerer. “The King awaits in THE Dungeon.”
The sorcerer, calmed from his fright, immediately felt his stomach fall. His entire life, the entirety of his family, going as far back as the Kings ancestors, job was to prepare, and operate the ritual. A ritual that has only been done one time in the millennia that the Kingdom has been around. The sorcerer despondently dressed in his ceremonial robes.
It took time to get all of his vestments on himself, by himself. Needing to remember the correct layers, where all of the little trinkets go, finding all the hidden buttons and ties. His fingers shook, making every precise action take much longer then it should have. At least an hour later, to him just felt like a precious few minutes he was properly attired. Ready to fulfill the most sacred duty he will ever partake. He made his way down from his apartment to The Dungeon.
The Dungeon, was a place that his father had always taught him to treat with reverence. Even more so than the tabernacle on the alter at the church. His father always impressed upon the sorcerer just how magnificent this ritual room was. His father died, just as all of his predecessors do, young and from the wasting daemons.
He stood before the door, a think heavy beast that required enormous strength to open, even when the hidden hinges were well oiled. The door was already opened, he stopped and looked into the ritual chamber.
His king stood rooted to the spot, not moving. The kings dyed red robes hanging from his gaunt shoulders dragging on the floor, the servant that was tasked to ensure it did not drag nowhere to be found. The walls of the chamber climbing many spans tall. The room was so spacious just whispers could be heard seconds after they were uttered, as if the spirits of his ancestors were mocking him and everybody that made their way into the room. The plaster on the walls, once pristine with elaborate paintings of the exploits of the First King of Legend, were now ruins. Flaking and falling, it gave this revered room a dilapidated and haunted look. The consequences of its activation apparent. Once glorious splendor to only fall to ruin.
The ritual components themselves covered in dust and plaster flakes. Thick and white, needing to be cleaned before the ritual is to be enacted. One thing that always made the sorcerer pause was the absence of any insect or spider. The ubiquitous cobweb that was decorated all over the castle was nowhere to be seen. The ritual boxes were varied in size some towering almost to the top of the vaulted ceiling, some smaller than the span of his hand. Some boxes were weird shapes, looking like the alphabet only in box form. All of the boxes were connected to each other with thick metal ropes, his father taught him the proper method of connecting them and ensuring that each rope was secure in each slot. Glass domes appeared sporadically on every box, his father telling of the magnificent fae lights that would appear when the ritual would commence.
The sorcerer stood next to the king, “It will take time to prepare, my Lord.” The sorcerer said quietly, reverently.
“Make it happen as soon as possible, Benedictus, this is the only option I have. I need this to work.”
“Yes, my Lord. I shall ready the ritual at once and retrieve you as soon as it is possible to do so.”
The King stood, staring at the central dais where the ritual would magic a man into existence. Magics beyond that any pope or profit could comprehend would be used. A man of such ability would come and help him lead his kingdom to heights level if not eclipsing those of his ancestors. At least that is what the sorcerer hoped would happen.
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Days later the ritual was ready. The sorcerer commanding a legion of maids to dust every nook and cranny. In all honestly it only took a handful of hours to complete that task. The actual bottleneck of the entire process was ensuring that each rope was properly aligned, properly attached, and hung in a specific way. The only person alive that could do such a task was himself. His sun a boy of 3 winters was much too young to be taught the intricacies of such a ritual.
As the king stepped into the hallowed ground, he had his large entourage. His generals, his loyal nobles, his un-loyal nobles, the decorated honor guard, servants, minstrels, bards. The entire retinue followed into the room. The cavernous space dominated as it was by the ritual was not able to hold all of the hanger-on’s of the king. As it were only the King, the sorcerer, the General, and the Head of the Royalists were able to be in the space. Everyone else waited beyond the door.
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“Sorcerer Benedictus, start the ceremony.” The stern command of the King boomed and echoed around the space.
The Sorcerer started to pray, as the ceremony dictated, “Oh powerful lord on high, look away from this perversion of faith. Look not to this heathen as he casts his eternal soul into the hellfire. My Lord, the Magnificent, as you turn your head lend your hand to pluck an avatar of wisdom, a body of metal and brink him here. Bring him here for the salvation of his condemned man, bring him here so this Kingdom can survive and further bring glory to your name. Oh, my Lord, help, I beg of thy o grant a boon, a boon to ensure that this hedonistic ritual will complete. All praise to you my Lord.” With the prayer uttered, the sorcerer brought his hand to the glass panel, with his other hand he grabbed the right hand of the King, divested him of the numerous rings and brought the hand to rest next to his on the glass.
A compartment opened up blow class, two needles sprung forth, piercing the wrists of both king and sorcerer. And as suddenly as it appeared the needle retracted to its hole. Seconds passed, the sorcerer wary that his life would be for naught, sweat pored from his body, unseen because his numerous vestments hiding his shame.
When a fae light flickered on the glass, the sorcerer knew that his life was not in vain. The light flickered, as if possessed by demons from beyond time. Then a voice, the voice of a demon itself commanded, “state the requirements,” spoken in an ancient language that’s meanings were lost to time.
The Sorcerer in repeating the first line of the ritual said, “password, xc385thst+/q_! ,” the gibberish stated were accepted by the demons, as many more glass panels glowed with fire from hell itself, all of the glass domes illuminated with spirits of the dead. Bright lights in all colors, white, green, red, even purple lights, with even more that there were no names to describe glowed.
An apparition appeared at eye level with the King. Ancient script flashed before his eyes. The sorcerer stood knowing what was to happen next, but unable to move his body due to the demons. Definitely from the demons not the fright at seeing hell itself appear in his home.
Once the apparition stopped flashing and settled on a single image it was again time for the sorcerer to continue his part of this ritual. “Oh, great and powerful demons I beseech thy, grant unto me a man most powerful and wise to lead us through this time. He must be wise beyond his years, he must be able to fight for days on end, he must have all the intellect of the greatest libraries, and he must be able to lead a kingdom from ruin to attain heights never before seen!” the sorcerer took a breath, this next part was entirely in the ancient language of the demons, “execute command priority 1, specifications, prime male host, extended life span, eidetic memory, Locate persons from all time with such specification: adept with command, strategic, able to restore lost glory, adept at politics, with knowledge of history” in a daze he completed the final part of the ritual. Now all he needed to do was to wait for a hero to appear on the dais.
There was a small drip of blood coming from the hole that the ritual gave to him. The drip counted the time, as hours passed, lunch had come and gone as the fae lights danced and changed enrapturing all who saw them. As hunger pains clawed at the bellies of all those in the chamber the lights stopped flashing, they all changed to a red pulsing light a whistle chimed hurting the ears of all who witnessed. The heavy door started to close by itself almost smashing a duke who nimbly danced back into the arms of his comrades on the outside of the chamber. Now locked in the chamber the King and his abbreviated entourage stood transfixed as lightening from hell sparked and crackled over every ritual box, every rope humming and glowing from the heat of hell that it was channeling. The dial once thought to be only a platform instead were concentric rings nestled inside one another. Now they all spun with such speed swinging around as if to create a sphere of metal and death fire and light pulsed inside the sphere. All of the fae lights on the boxes switched from a blood red to such a vibrant green it would put spring leaves to shame. The rings swung faster, the wind stirring up dust that the maids could never reach, the lightening jumping from one box to another now all arched to the rings. The screams of hell louder than even a fully armed and manned cavalry charge screaming to everyone. The Nobles ears started to bleed from the noise, the General’s hands were pressed to his head in vain. The King and Sorcerer stood knees shaking blood dribbling from both their wrists and nose.
A shape was starting to form in the sphere. A man holding his knees to his chest. First bone was constructed, then the offal and other guts were formed. Muscle was created blood poring from the form being immediately evaporated as it was being created. Last a skin was stretched coming from the belly, wrapping over all of the muscles. Black hair was formed coating his head and his body also covered hair black as night. The lightening was not coming in a continuous stream, small bursts of light came as the heavy rings slowed their madness finally coming to a rest. The fae lights once a blinding light slowly darkened as the spirits of the dammed stopped helping. In the center of the dais stood a man.
The man was tall. Standing more than 2 span he would be the tallest man in court if not the country. His muscles were a bulging perfection perfectly shaped as if an incubus created a man to tempt all being, be they man or woman. His even pail complexion seemed to glow even in the dark. The candles snuffed out by the wind from the rings, started to magically spark back to life. The demon’s eyes opened, his eyes white with black pupils. He stood there, face questioning, almost asking why he was summoned to this plain of existence.
“Oh, Glorious Hero! We have summoned thy to help this once great kingdom to rise again from the ashes it has now fallen to! Oh, wise Demon chosen by the Lord I beseech you to help reclaim what has been lost!” The king boomed once again; these were his first words since he commanded the start of the ritual.
Then the demon spoke, his voice was that of falling rubble, but he was quiet, as if unsure of how loud to command these mortals. “Where am I. Why did you take me! Where is my Family! I swear to all that is holy if you hurt them, I WILL DESTROY ALL THAT YOU CHERISH!”