The Raven: Prince of Iron and Blood.

Numeris Dvylika

The clang of steel against steel echoed through the battlefield, a grim tune played out by the dancers of war. The sun, a fiery disk in the sky, cast long shadows over the soldiers as they pushed and pulled, a tide of desperation and valour. Amongst them, my banner fluttered, a stark crimson against the grayscale chaos, a beacon of hope and fear. My steed, Elara, a creature of nobility and might, snorted and reared, sensing the tumult around it.

A sudden jolt. Elara stumbled, its leg giving way to nothing. My world spun as I was thrown from the saddle, the wind knocked from my lungs as I hit the ground. Through the sound of battle, I could hear the grating laugh of the enemy. The Monster, a creature of legend and terror, towered over me. Its armour, a mix of gleaming black feathers and polished steel, whispered of death as it approached.

My vision swam with stars as I tried to push myself up, my ribs screaming in protest. The Monster loomed closer, the shadow of its wings blotting out the sun. It reached down, one hand as big as a dinner plate, and grabbed my head, squeezing. I could feel the warmth of my blood trickle down my cheek. The pain was so intense that it overshadowed the din of the battle.

With a brutal twist, the Raven ripped my helmet off, exposing my eyes to the merciless sky. My breaths came in ragged gasps, my chest tight with fear and pain. I knew what was coming next. The Raven's grip tightened, and with a sickening crunch, the world went dark. It reached into the void, and when it pulled out, it held my eyeball in its hand, a grotesque trophy. The Raven's victory cry was the last thing he heard before unconsciousness claimed him.

"SOUND THE RETREAT! SOUND THE RETREAT! THE KING IS WOUNDED! THE KING IS WOUNDED!!"

Aliss rose up and down on the tide of the sea. It plunged her under its black waters, rolling about in foam. She choked the salt, drowning under its weight. It was a fight, thrashing for air, to see the sky, then the intense agony as it dragged her under again.

Tired. Exhausted. Sleep. Sleep.

No. She would not resign to drown. She rose through the waters, and with all the Herculean strength she had in her bones, broke through the white foam-

She awoke, gasping, body jerking like a fish in a fisherman's net. White fingers clenched around not the expected coolness of water, but the warm embrace of satin and crushed petals.

"How did I get here?" she croaked, because yelling was hard when your throat was as dry as the Sahara.

Above her, a tapestry blazed in hues of blood red, gold, and leather so rich it was like someone had vomited up a pack of Claddagh necklaces. The air was thick with gray smoke and the scent of burning pine trees, frankincense, and sandalwood.

Suddenly, a voice started spouting off some scripture or other: "In this moment of sorrow the Lord is in our midst and comforts us with his word: Blessed are the sorrowful; they shall be consoled. In the name of the Father, and of the Son..."

The man had just finished saying "Son" when Aliss decided to react. He seized whatever nearby object he could find, which, unfortunately, was a poor soul's hair – because who doesn't love a good game of "pull his hair out"? and growled at the priest: "Tell the Priest to bite his tongue... or I'll make him sing soprano for eternity."

The healer's reward for slaving over what he could of Her Majesty's shattered form... Alas, his reward was a fistful of hair yanked straight from his scalp.

The priest's slack mouth shut like a trapdoor closing on a snake's head, and he flapped his hands over the Holy Book, brushing the Queen's words away from a book so sacred like it was an annoying insect.

And just when things couldn't get any worse, the room began to fill with more people than a tavern at midnight. Ah, just when life decided to flip its middle finger at her...