The gathered leaders of the thousand clans stood around the lake in silence, a right hand resting over each of their hearts. Lord Alfrard had fallen a mere three days prior. He had gone out to complete a top-secret quest for the King of Orvivia when he was ambushed by the Fang Brotherhood. It was said he had fought valiantly, but it had not been enough, for even the mighty fall to tainted blades. All the Lords' and Ladies' hearts went out to his offspring especially since Alfrards wife had just fallen five moon cycles before him.
The new Lord of the Thousand Masks stood silently. A sombre air was about him as his sire was placed upon a small ship, a black blade clutched in his fist. He watched as his father's body blazed with flames of sapphire as it travelled down the lake of morn. Only four, now three, people knew of his true name and that was the way he would have to keep it from now on if he did not want to follow his father too swiftly. He who had chosen to go by the name of his main clan, Wrath, had begun his training at the young age of four. Being the next clan head, he had joined the ranks at a younger than average age. Showing great potential in his training as a warrior he swiftly rose in the ranks and had become the second in command of the Black Blade regiment by the age of sixteen.
A thousand masks, consisting of a thousand clans, each fielding a thousand-strong mercenary regiment. Each one represents an emotion or concept. The most powerful of the clans are Wrath, Lust, Love, Fear, Pride, Sadness, Kindness, Excitement and Greed. After one was fully accepted into the clan they had the chance to be placed into its elite regiment, although not all clan members became part of their clan's regiments. Many others became craftsmen, sentinels, or married into other clans to take their station there.
Galliard, the second son of Wrath had begun his training to join the Black Blades less than a year ago. Far older than when his elder brother had begun his training, now in his teens, he was not yet wise to the ways of war. The young lord would rather spend his days with his head buried in a book of enchantments than learn to fight. Being the youngest of the royal bloodline he was considerably sheltered much to Wrath's disapproval. Galliard was currently weeping into Wrath's side wordlessly, his shoulders shaking with every sob wrecking his smaller frame. The boy's arms wrapped around his middle, and his heart went out to his youngest kin. Despite any grievances he may have had for the boy's upbringing he was still his youngest sibling, mediocre as he was. Wrath wished he could feel the way he did but sadly years of slaying men had made him somewhat numb to the death of others. He only felt rage at the moment and it was that rage that fuelled his focus even now as he witnessed his lord father reduced to ash.
The middle child, Lady Gabriella, her beauty was often compared to that of a seraph by any who would glimpse her face. When spared her mask she was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful beings on the continent. She had her family's famous long black hair that was as soft as silk with piercing crystal blue eyes along with her olive-shaded skin, her youngest sibling often joked that she must be forced to beat men away with polearms in the courts. As the Princess of Embers, she was beloved by the commoners of her domain. Even as her political might bore down on the vassals of her Kingdom. Her beauty, however, was nothing compared to the bloodthirsty savagery that she possessed in battle. She fought with the fierceness expected of a blessed sword maiden, truly capturing her clan's essence. But much to her continued frustrations she was still no match for her elder brother when it came to the blade.
Wrath, true to his title, was the embodiment of martial fury itself. He fought with skill and passion many men could not begin to match. At a height of six foot three inches and with a well-muscled frame beneath his heavy cloak he towered over most mortal men of Xendrada. Although he was not as massive as some of the goliaths in the clans. His dark blue eyes were not the shining blue of his sisters but many considered them to suit the young lord. Despite his young age, his title as the Blade of Wrath was already being spoken in whispers from the deserts of the southern continent to the frozen northern wastes. Not one of his enemies had ever escaped his black blade and that had been before he had become the new Lord, with all the boons that position offered.
Galliard was often in awe of his two older siblings. He truly wished he could accompany them on their adventures and battles but knew he had a long way to go before even being able to stand beside them.
Lady Shira had died years ago during childbirth, they’d lost both mother and child that day. A wound that had not healed even half a decade later. She had been breathtaking, her oldest children took after her in most ways. From her sharp features to her beautiful blue eyes. The only thing they possessed from their father was his raven black hair and martial prowess. Galliard, on the other hand, was the spitting image of their late father but with their mother's kindness. With short curly black hair, black eyes, and tanned skin he looked like any Xendradian youth you may see in the southern kingdoms.
"My mother, how long has it been since I thought of her?" Wrath muttered to himself thoughtfully as his sister ushered her tear-stained charge away...
Lord Alfrard and Lady Shira had met by chance during the turning of the new moon. She had been thrust into the role of baroness then, forced into the position by the untimely deaths of her two elder brothers in a brazen violation of the right of the hearth by the Prince of the Renmaz Kingdom. They had failed to take into account the scouts that had been returning from their hunting excursion in the forest nearby and the word had quickly spread of their craven actions.
Both The Phoenix Knights of the Ember region and the Church of Dusk had been especially displeased with the nobleman's actions, however, it was the latter that commissioned a regiment of the legendary Masks along with the usual holy order to stomp out the nobles' heresy.
Still, when their mother died she left her newly reformed Kingdom of Embers to her former “bastard daughter” Gabriella. Though she was now legitimized, much to the consternation of many of the noble houses that inhabited the region.
The young lord pushed down the urge to snort in amusement, poor time for such things after all. Although he reckoned the Holy Order of Dusk would be far more eager to find the Fang and the bastards that had hired them.
Oh, he did not doubt that there was more to this than a simple interception of an assassination, one did not simply randomly find themselves intercepting the lord of one thousand. No, there was treachery at work here, of that he was certain. Two hundred Fang Brotherhood warriors suddenly appeared from teleportation runes, with very specific poison that would work on a member of the house of Wrath. They also had extensive knowledge of the area, which was over a dozen provinces from their last known position, to set a trap that would kill the master of the clans. Somehow Wrath was more than slightly suspicious, to say the least.
The new head of house shook his head solemnly, something very troublesome was brewing in the lands of Xendrada and now it was his duty to deal with it.
"Damn it old man, you couldn't have waited another hundred years before visiting the veil could you?" He sighed audibly, shaking his head once again.
He had a feeling that he'd be doing much of that as the ruler of the Thousand. His lord father was a man he held little love for but respected a great deal. With him gone back to the veil so soon, there would be no end to the problems he would face in the early days of his reign.
"One often does not choose when one's time in the mortal thread is over, beloved child." A warm voice answered him, if he had been more emotional he may have even claimed that his father was speaking to him from beyond the veil or some other such foolishness.
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"Lady Lust, it has been some time." The young man turned and bowed to the woman respectfully.
"It has indeed." She replied somberly, fanning herself meekly. “Sadly it is not under better conditions that we are meeting again.”
Frankly, he just hoped that he was in as good form as herself after a few thousand years. Although that's supposing that he lived the next decade to thirty years of age. He beckoned the woman over to a tree stump, the remains of one of the many felled oaks necessary to make room for such events...or so the woman before him had told him as a child.
Despite her youthful figure, she was the single oldest living lady of the thousand masks. Surely he wasn't sure how old the matron of lust was in truth. While she was not the only master who had done so she had trained him, his father and his grandfather in the arts of battle. Considering that his father had been well over four hundred when he fell, his grandfather even older, her spry form did not expose her true age in the slightest.
"I have asked you this before, but are you sure you're not using succubi arts, preying on poor men to suck out their life force?" The younger mask spoke in jest.
"Oh, gods’ no, my dear, that would make my work far too easy." Wrath could not see her face at the moment, but he knew his former master well enough to know she was beaming.
"If you insist matron..." He drawled out in an unbelieving tone.
"Don't give me lip young man, you're not too old or too important for a spanking." The mirth in her voice was evident and the young lord realized that it mirrored his own.
"Thank you, Lady Lust." The leader of the Lust clan obstructed him from bowing once again, most likely in exasperation.
"How has the transference treated you?" She questioned inducing a grunt from the lord.
"The skills of my many fathers' lives have had their turns punting my skull back and forth if that is what you mean..." He confessed, somewhat dryly.
He had known that having the skills of his ancestors transferred into his mind through his soul link would be unpleasant. However, the fact that he had finally been able to rest was refreshing. Especially after three days of what seemed like his progenitors playing “Who can dropkick the mind and soul of the youngster the hardest?”.
The memory transfer all scions went through upon the death of their ruler had left him in a foul mood indeed. He wondered idly if his father felt a similar way when his grandfather had passed and the thought made him want to cackle.
He also had to accept the condolences of the other nine hundred and ninety-nine Lords and Ladies of the Masks in between intense migraines. Considering the age of many of them he wondered if they did so intentionally at times. When he died he was sure to have his turn with the next unlucky spawn of Wrath that came after him. That thought made his head hurt all the more, another issue to deal with. A sigh escaped his lips causing the Lady of Lust to tilt her head at him.
"Thinking about the fact that I'll have to partner a good twenty years before what would be considered natural or reasonable." He explained, wishing he could rub at his exhausted eyes even as he knew to remove his mask to do so, or using magic to phase his fingers through his mask, would be improper to the extreme considering his new position and their current location besides.
His former mentor simply giggled at him, hand covering her already covered lips, something she knew annoyed him greatly. "You know little one, most men wait until after they have met their brides to sigh like that." She said, nudging him with her hip.
"Most men don't have to sort through five hundred or so highly trained Blade Maidens to see which of them will birth him an heir," he pointed out tiredly. “Which shall also gain me the ire of many of those not chosen may I remind you.”
"Some men would kill to be in your position you know?" She shrugged unconcernedly at his issues.
"Technically I have killed to be in this position," Cracking his neck, he chuckled as the woman squirmed uncomfortably at the action.
"Any chance I could just marry you and be done with it?" He wondered aloud absently.
"Oh my, oh my, the young lord looking to lay hands on his poor widowed teacher." She fanned herself hotly cupping her cheek behind her mask with her other hand.
"Hmm better not, you'd probably fuck me straight to the veil, succubus." He asserted blankly, turning away to look at those gathered.
"You're no fun little lord." He could practically hear the pout in her words from behind him.
"I'd rather wait to travel the underworld until I'm at least a couple hundred years of age thank you." He shot back jokingly as he turned back towards her.
In times past he would have rested his head on her lap in a forest just like this one. Relaxing under the shade of a tree in the midday sun after his training was done...
As the day turned into dusk he would bask in Xal’s fading light. Drifting to sleep as his mentor sang to him of past deeds and great warriors. Of course, as both a blooded mask and as her ruling lord, he could no longer do such things. Truly such activities would be unseemly to any who would witness them in such a position and more than a few rumours would sprout up about such acts.
If he was to be truthful to himself, his previous comments had only been half in jest. Here he was on his twentieth day of blessing about to become the High Lord of The Thousand Masks. Forced into bonding with a woman he’d likely met that very day. Whom he would have to share the burden of rule, for centuries if not millennia. Scorning a good five hundred or so other noblewomen in the process. At least he knew the woman next to him, even if she was potentially one of the oldest women in the lands besides perhaps a few of the church's saintesses. In any case, she certainly wouldn’t be lacking in experience as a bride.
“By the thousand gods old man, you couldn't have taken a century more to die or at least sired a few more brats before you did?” He murmured to himself.
The issue of having no bond was a pressing one for a lord, doubly so for the lord of the Thousand Masks. For some millennia, the clan had ruled after overthrowing the traitor clan that would become the Fang Brotherhood. The other clans were loyal for now. However, without an heir of his own or even nieces and nephews, the right of challenge could and likely would be spoken. The other high clans, or even his cousins, wouldn’t sit idly by if he didn't take a bride in haste.
At least his great grandfather had the good sense to do away with the one father one son tradition of the Masks a millennia ago or he'd likely have been in even more trouble. Never mind the fact that if it were not for his sister he'd likely have put his brother's head through a mountain over the past three days from his ceaseless wailing.
"Mother would have known what to do." He spoke up, more to himself than to his companion on the stump looking at the blue skies.
She simply hummed, nodding, although he witnessed her not. The woman stood slowly, smoothing her clothing of imperfections. Before she slapped his back with enough force to powderise a mortal’s spine.
"Come then, brooding Lord," She stretched, drawing some looks from some nearby lords who were still watching the river, though the flames had died out while they’d been speaking. “The time has finally come for you to step into your father's boots.”
"Hmm, I would rather sit here and talk to you." He huffed at the woman but stood regardless, it wouldn't do him any good to ponder on could-haves and what-ifs now.
“Don’t worry my Lord, you are well prepared for what is to come.” She declares, staring off into the distance probably thinking about when she took her place as Lady Lust. “Though even when surrounded by all these people it is still a lonely road.”
“Even with my lovely wife by my side?” Wrath says in a mocking tone.
“Mayhaps she’ll keep you from being so grumpy all the time?” Lady Lust laughed in amusement as her former student grunted in indignation. “What a sight that would be to see!”
Wrath chuckled at the older woman’s jest, he doubted that he would find any woman that would be able to change him in such a way. Maybe if he had married for love, as his father did, but he didn’t have that luxury.
“We shall see if she is up for the challenge.” Wrath shrugged, clearly not convinced.
“With a husband like you, she’d need to be headstrong.” Lady Lust thought aloud, looking upwards in thought. “If not you’ll just end up walking all over her.”
“Not to mention the rest of my kin, my sister won’t be satisfied with any bride-to-be I fear…”