The Raven: Prince of Iron and Blood.

Dvidešimt Penki

Rya lay on his sickbed, the smell of blood and iron lingering in the air, the remnants of a wound that throbbed with each heartbeat. He could hear the distant cries of the city echoing through the stone walls of the castle—a cacophony of despair that drove him to the edge of madness. Finally, in the dead of night, he gathered the strength to rise. He pushed aside the damp cloth on his forehead and sat up, wincing at the pain that shot through his left arm. He slipped on a cloak, its dark fabric concealing the porcelain mask he had tucked under it. The mask was a ghostly white, with a slash of a mouth that mocked laughter and eyes made of black diamonds that seemed to consume the light.

Rya slipped out of his chamber, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpets. He crept through the dimly lit corridors, his heart racing with each step. The guards were less vigilant at this hour, lost in their dreams or drink. As he approached the side gate he had entered through, a foul odour assaulted his senses —the Dung Gate, a path reserved for the castle's least desirable exits. The stench of the sewage grew stronger as he approached, but the cloak shielded him from the noxious fumes. He paused, listening for any signs of the castle guards before finally pushing the heavy door open, letting it groan in protest.

The back streets of Faryn lay before him, a stark contrast to the opulence he had left behind. The cobblestones were slick with rain and grime, and the buildings loomed like ghosts in the moonlight. He stepped into the back alleys, the shadows swallowing him whole. The air was thick with the scent of decay and the distant sound of laughter that bore an eerie resemblance to the cawing of the ravens that had become the harbingers of his fate. His heart pounded in his chest, but he pressed on.

Navigating the labyrinth of broken walls and shattered homes, he was met with the remnants of the eastern section of the city torn apart. Houses lay in ruins, their walls sliced open like flesh, revealing the horrors of the recent past. Bloat and decay littered the streets; the city had become a graveyard for the living. It was of haunts of filth, sewage as deep as the knee– dark corners, which lighting could brighten. A guttural fear clutched at his heart. He had seen death in the castle, but this was a slaughterhouse—a testament to the cruelty the Ravens had wrought.

The few of Faryn who had managed to evade the bloody-thirsty Ravens had found sanctuary in the northern parts of the city. And those who had not fled were ghosts among the ruins, their faces drawn and haunted. Those who clung to the hope of the Queen's salvation only found themselves trapped in a cycle of violence as robbers and murderers claimed what little remained. They murdered the wealthy, greedy for gold and power. Their leaders reigned over this section. They staged trials and set up the hangings of those who remained. Soon, it was wise to keep quiet and listen.

(MAP OF THE EASTERN SECTION OF THE KINGDOM OF FARYN.)

Sloshing through the muck, he maneuvered his way deeper into the core of this grotesque underbelly inhabited by the desperate few—people ruled by fear, their lives twisted into something grotesque and basic. He could see remnants of a vibrant life that once flourished here, now reduced to ruin. Ravaged homes echoed the sound of distant wails. This part of the city had become quickly known both for its crushing poverty and open den of criminality. It held the most notorious haunt of law-breakers in the kingdom.