The hooded figure strode confidently through the streets of Ravaryn, their cloak billowing behind them. The city was a cesspool, a twisted reflection of what a kingdom could become under the rule of fear and tyranny. Filthy children darted past, begging for scraps. The figure sneered, stepping around a ragged old man who had collapsed on the cobblestones.
Pathetic, they thought with disdain. If only they knew the power I hold.
Ravaryn's streets teemed with despair, the air thick with desperation. To the hooded figure, this suffering was nothing more than background noise. It was their arrogance, their unshakable belief in the power promised to them, that propelled them forward without a second thought for the destitute souls around them.
Ahead, Dreadspire Keep loomed like a beast poised to strike. Its spiked towers clawed at the sky, and a faint, otherworldly hum emanated from its walls. The hooded figure felt a shiver-not of fear, but of exhilaration.
At the gates of Dreadspire, soldiers clad in menacing black armor stood guard. Their visors revealed only darkness. The hooded figure held out a silver medallion etched with glowing runes.
"Open the gates," they commanded, their voice
dripping with self-importance. The guards said nothing, but the massive iron doors groaned open. The hooded figure smirked.
Even these drones know their place.
Inside, the corridors of Dreadspire were cold and vast, illuminated by flickering blue flames. The hooded figure's boots echoed against the stone as they approached the throne room. Their steps were steady, but anticipation gnawed at the edges of their confidence.
The throne room was a cavernous expanse, designed to intimidate. Tapestries of conquest and dark rituals lined the walls, and at its heart sat King Karhu. His golden eyes gleamed like twin flames in the shadows, his presence a suffocating weight.
Beside the king stood a figure in jet-black armor, towering and still. The helmet resembled a snarling beast, its jagged edges a stark warning to all who dared to oppose.
The hooded figure dropped to one knee, bowing deeply. "My king," they began smoothly, "I bring news."
Karhu leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp enough to pierce steel. "Speak."
The hooded figure straightened just enough to
meet his gaze, their voice steady. "Count Fairmont is dead, as you commanded. However..." They hesitated, savoring the moment. "Alexandria Fairmont survived." Karhu's golden eyes narrowed, and the air grew
heavy with his displeasure. "Survived?"
The hooded figure inclined their head. "Yes, my king. We offered her death to the altar, as you instructed. Every step of the ritual was performed flawlessly. And yet, she escaped."
The king rose, his movements slow and
deliberate, his rage palpable. "You failed," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
The hooded figure swallowed, their arrogance faltering. "My king, I-"
"You assured me she would not live," Karhu interrupted, his tone deadly. "And yet here you
are, with excuses instead of results!"
The hooded figure flinched. "Count Fairmont is gone, my king, and Alexandria's survival is
temporary. She cannot escape us for long. I will see to it personally."
Karhu's lips curled into a snarl. "You presume to reassure me?" His fist slammed onto the armrest, the sound echoing through the vast chamber. "You were given a task, and you failed!"
He turned to the black-armored soldier. "Go with this fool and finish what they started. Kill Alexandria Fairmont. Leave no trace of her or her house. I don't need another inconvenience in my way."
The soldier inclined their head. Their voice was
guttural growl, like rocks grinding together. "As you command."
The hooded figure exhaled shakily as they left the throne room, the black-armored soldier trailing close behind. Their confidence began to return, bolstered by the knowledge that success
would bring them unimaginable power.
Their destination was The Black Flask, a notorious tavern filled with assassins, mercenaries, and those willing to do anything for coin. The hooded figure sneered at the filthy streets as they walked, their disdain for the downtrodden evident.
Inside the tavern, chaos reigned. Cutthroats and bounty hunters filled the room, their laughter and arguments a cacophony. The hooded figure strode inside, ignoring the stench and noise,
while the black armored soldier loomed behind them.
The soldier slammed a pouch of gold onto the
nearest table, spilling its contents. The room went silent as coins glittered under the dim light.
"Two hundred and fifty gold pieces," the soldier announced, their voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Each... For anyone who helps us finish our work."
"What's the job?" someone called out, leaning
forward eagerly. The hooded figure smirked, their arrogance fully restored. "The death of Alexandria Fairmont," they said, their voice ringing with authority. "And the ruin of her house."
The soldier scanned the room, their beast-like
Helmet casting menacing shadows. "If you have the skill-and the stomach for it-step forward. We leave at dawn."
Excitement rippled through the crowd,
mercenaries jostling to pledge their services.
The hooded figure allowed themselves a satisfied smile as the noise grew. This is just the beginning, they thought, reveling in the chaos
they were about to unleash.
YOU ARE READING
Bound by blood & Ink
Narrativa Storica+18 Trigger warning. When college student Alexandra "Alex" Fairmont discovers an ancient, leather-bound book hidden in the depths of her school library, she's drawn into the unfinished tale of a noble young countess's life. Haunted by vivid dreams o...
