"One of the most primitive emotions in the heart of all creatures is fear. From the moment we open our eyes, it is forever ingrained into our minds. We are born into a world we do not understand and so many of the simple minded take this to mean that we must always fear that which we do not understand.
"It is only natural, therefore, that the nonbelievers feared Abbadon and the new world he envisioned for us all. They could not comprehend a world free from the tyranny of the crown. They feared to learn that their leaders had failed to better the world and created barriers to ensure they would never have to confront this truth. Look no further than their greatest masquerade, the Laws of Deception.
"A series of codes and legislation enforced by Truthseekers, illusionists and the Capital Inquisitors, the Laws of Deception are little more than a security blanket. A constitutional body that Dukes, Kings and even the False Emperor himself must follow, the Laws are regulations governed by forces outside of the Emperor's influence. Applied through rituals that allege to verify a leader's testimony that they have always worked towards the betterment of the Empire, rather than to amass power in their own self interests.
"Tell me, child. Do you know of any man who would wish to lead, but not rule? The Laws are a farce, enforced only when a leader has been foolish enough to act by his own hand, rather than a proxy.
"Make no mistake: the nonbelievers are aware the Laws are an illusion, but they will not tolerate anyone attempting to shatter it. They would prefer the work of amassing power be done by independent agents of the Emperor. Those who would know of how to best serve his interests while never doing so on his behalf. Agents such as the Umbral Hand..."
----
"This one was my son's first try at smithing."
The blacksmith Peter carried with him a harshly warped shoulderpiece of armor. The man carried the same ginger red hair as his son, Thomas, although these days, he seemed to keep more on his face than his head, his thick beard and mustache grown out to the base of his neck.
"Didn't 'ave a handle on how to properly shape the thing, so it came out far too flat. Should fit along one a your arms," he said to the young man standing in his shop. He then turned to pick up another piece of steel he'd swore he'd find a use for. Would be better off as scrap metal than covering his fat gut, Peter thought to himself, careful not to let his resentment show. Ruins our fun and then expects free armor at a moment's notice? Days like this I wish Abbadon 'ad fully razed the Capital.
Peter then pulled out the large armor piece, the steel taller than the man himself. The armor piece was covered in dents and burns along it, warped in an inward curve with a burned in groove in the center. A pair of leather straps sloppily attached to the sides of it. "'This one was s'pposed to be a shield. But mayor got in the client's ear and told 'im to shove off. We tried to--stop squirming boy!" Peter bellowed as he attempted to strap the armor to the young man. "We tried to change it into a logsplitter, but we just ended up ruinin' the damn thing. Should keep your front safe from most swords. Just keep eyes on your backside. As trying as that may be," he muttered the final sentence silently to himself.
As he placed the armor on the man, Peter looked to the side of his shop where the Emperor's Herald stood. She waited against the wall of the shop, with a look that could cut through solid rock. Think you're too good for all this, eh, Peter assumed. I swear, if they wouldn't 'ang me for it, I'd teach you a thing or two about a woman's place. The Herald's gaze turned to Peter and for a moment, he felt a shiver run down his spine. She 'ear me? One of those capital witches? 'eard talk they can read minds and the like. If the Herald had read his mind, she chose to ignore his thought.
"You said you had a weapon for him," she said, impatiently.
"...right, be right back." Peter walked to the back of his shop, leaving Graham and Luna to wait in the shop for a brief moment.
The two of them alone, Luna looked to Graham, seeing that he had still not recovered from the shock of the day's events. It was sundown now, the sky fading from orange to blue, the streets bare of all but a few villagers, taking down the several banners that hung around the town. There was no hint of the excitement and celebration that occupied the town square earlier this morning.
Upon hearing that it would be Graham and not Paul that was to be sent to the capital, the villagers began to disperse, some even reopening their shops against the mayor's orders, hoping to regain some of the coin they now felt they had lost this day. A few villagers, who seemed to simply desire a celebration, requested that the town continue on with the planned festivities to say goodbye to "Grant" or "Gary" or, as one villager who'd begun the festivities early called him, "the fat one". Sadly, their requests fell on deaf ears and the few remaining simply wandered off to celebrate in the comfort of their own homes.
As they continued to wait for the blacksmith, Luna's mind turned to the disaster in the making brought forth by the Council's mistake.
Graham Blackwell was to be an adventurer of some renown. In addition to having the skill necessary in aiding me on my journey, it would make for a more convincing story. I'll have to find an isolated location tonight, wait for nightfall so I may communicate with the Domina.
As they continued to wait for the blacksmith, Luna's thoughts to turned to Graham's newly revealed brother, Paul. He'd gone off to gather some supplies he felt Graham may need on his journey. It was a courteous act, although Paul also made it no secret that he was quite disappointed to hear that he had just spent the last few weeks preparing to uproot his life, only to learn that he wouldn't be heading to the capital after all. Even ignoring the blow this would likely be to his morale, there were also a number of high paying jobs Paul had turned down, on the assumption that he would not be around long enough to complete them.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
He is another problem altogether, Luna thought. Our network told us only of one Blackwell son. We presumed this to be Graham. But this other one, Paul, he appears to be a true Blackwell and hold some affection for his brother.
The sound of the blacksmith's footsteps warned Luna to finish her thought.
Which means he may have inquiries for the Capital upon learning that Graham will not return.
----
Peter returned, carrying with him a rather large weapon. An axe, made out of some odd material, red and blackened at the edges. The head of the axe was flattened on the back, with a large, sharpened blade that hung slightly on the bottom. On the side of the head were two large panels, that remained in the center of the head, unclear in their purpose. The handle of the axe was long and straight, with an egg-shaped pommel at its end, covered with two grooves that wrapped around it. All along the weapon were markings and engravings that seemed to glow somewhat in the darkness of dusk.
"Made this 'un for your brother," Peter explained. "Only weapon the mayor let me make. Paul and I figured, you bein' a woodcutter an' all, it'd probably fit ya." 'Course if the enemy ain't a stump, you're fucked, Peter thought.
Graham took the weapon in his hands, it feeling absurdly heavy in his hands. Immediately, he had to begin shifting his arms to carry the weight of the weapon. It felt nothing like carrying the traditional woodaxe he was accustomed to. The heft of it was frightening. The massive head and blade terrified him. One wrong motion and he could end up splitting his own head in two.
"That's all you have?" Luna asked, more an accusation than a query.
"All that'll fit 'im, especially on short notice," Peter replied. "Now, him officially bein' a capital citizen an' all, ain't I s'posed to get some recompense for all this?"
From the sleeve of her robe, Luna pulled out a piece of parchment and quickly tossed it to the smithy. "Fill out the form proper, send it to the capital and upon receiving it, the Emperor's estate should reimburse you in six to eight weeks."
"WEEEKS?!!" Peter shouted. "The axe alone cost me 6000 gold pieces!"
"I don't recall the empire commissioning an axe worth 6000 gold pieces from you. Why should we be expected to violate procedure to accommodate your careless spending?"
Peter glared at her, desperately fighting to keep from speaking his mind. Lest I find m'self at the end of a noose. "Fine, then. Just leave so I can close up shop."
Luna began walking out of the shop, gesturing for Graham to follow. Suppose she's done even speaking to me now, he thought. Graham followed along, awkwardly carrying the axe at his side, careful not to let the axe blade too close.
Ever since learning that he was the one she was to take to the Capital, Luna had begun to behave rather harshly towards Graham. She'd hardly spoken ten words to him since, most of which seemed to be either "go" or "wait". He couldn't understand it. Perhaps she has some resentment towards this mission she's been sent on? Or was it about this man, Ethan Morningstar? The man they say is my father?
Graham had never heard the man's name before, nor could he recall either of his parents ever mentioning such a name. Paul and Graham had always known their father to be Joseph Blackwell, a farmhand of Starbend that emigrated to Brightshade several years ago. So who could this Morningstar fellow be?
Whatever the reason, it would have to remain a mystery for now, as Graham had made several attempts to speak with her about this new quest of his, only for her to turn her back to him and walk away.
As they walked, Graham could hear the shops all closing their doors, their lights all being blown out as the sun began to fully descend beneath the horizon. The square was now drenched in shadow, Graham's eyes needing a moment to adjust. The only light source visible in the village now came from the homes up the road. The two walked silently towards them, needing to meet at Paul's home for the supplies. It was in this moment of silence that Graham thought it best to once again address the tension between them.
"So, um, miss or Luna. I'm...not sure if you want me calling you that still," he muttered.
A moment passed. "It is my name, dear," she replied, coldly.
"Alright, well Luna....," he continued as they walked. "I'm guessing the reason you're mad at me has to do with this Ethan Morningstar fellow."
She offered no response.
"Well, maybe you could let me know what it is about him that upsets you so, because I've never heard of the man. I mean, as far as I've known, my father was Joseph Blackwell. And I never heard anyone call him Ethan or the like.
"Was this Ethan a criminal of some sort? Someone who wronged you or someone you care about? Whatever it was, I'm sure you have your reasons for disliking him so. But, I'm not responsible for whatever he's done to you and..."
Graham began to hesitate, but continued on. "...and I don't think it's fair for you to let your anger out on me for it. Because..."
Graham's voice became weak as he began muttering out the end of his speech. "...well, I was rather fond of you this morning and I thought that, maybe, you..."
Graham felt heat upon his face even in the cold of the night, his cheeks flush from embarrassment. If Luna had been listening to his tirade, she showed no sign of it, simply continuing along the road. Graham allowed himself only a moment to stew in his shame before racing after her, not wishing to upset her any further.
Graham took a look at the houses along the road, houses he'd passed thousands of times before. Nothing had changed about them. Their order and structure remained the same as they had when he'd walked by them that morning. Yet, they now felt so unfamiliar to him as if he'd never been here in all his life.
"Is this the one?" Luna asked, coming to a sudden stop. She stood in front a small, square home. Where mum and dad used to live. Unlike the other homes near it, this was constructed almost entirely of wood. Some panels were crooked or broken off. A singular window faced them, one shutter hanging off and the other gone completely, a dust outline the only sign it had ever been there. From here, they could not see, but Graham knew from experience that the home's flat roof also held quite a few holes that threatened to flood the home during a harsh storm.
"This is it, yes. Our-or I suppose, Paul's home."
"Seems more like a tinderbox," replied Luna.
"Well, Paul is usually off somewhere on another job and, when he is here, tends to only stay a day or two before another job pops up. So I suppose he's let the place get a bit..." Graham stopped midsentence, not wishing allow himself the word that best described the state of his childhood home. Luna put a hand to the faded wooden front door. "Well, then, let's get on with it."
"Uh, Luna?" Graham spoke before she'd begun to open the door.
"Yes, ser?"
"It's just...about what I said before."
"Yes?"
"It's not that important. Just forget it. Or...well, about what I said, what do you think?"
"I think you talk too much."