New Fanfic! And it’s not FF8 related, either! Not even FF at all!
Hah! Enjoy…
WHAT ODD BEHAVIOR FOR SUCH A BRAVE WARRIOR!
The sun shone bright in a cloudless sky over the citadel and castle of Stormhaven, the great imperial capital of Tarkus. Yet the deep sense of foreboding that inexorably chiseled away at the soul of every resident, noble and peasant alike, the ever-present fret and worry over an imminent horror too terrifying to even give public voice to, seemed to cast a long, dark, engulfing shadow over the populace.
The signs were all there; The endless lightning storm in the southern sky. The disturbing omens – cats chasing dogs, a red moon, horses losing all discipline and bolting from their stables at night – reported by wild-eyed peasants fleeing to Stormhaven, again from the south. From the hinterlands of the secluded Castle Shadowgate.
The name of the edifice alone was enough to chill the humors of learned men about court. Castle Shadowgate was the black pock-mark on the face of the empire. Nestled in a barren valley surrounded on three sides by the impassible crags of the Darken mountains and by imposing cliffs on the fourth, no feudal lord dared lay claim to Shadowgate as part of his fiefdom. Trade highways went around and took a wide berth, but it wasn’t merely because the mountains stood in the way. Legends of witchcraft, ghastly alchemic experiments, dark wizardry, and demon worship down through the centuries swirled around that place, a ring around it as daunting as the rock formations.
For all the legend and myth and story, there was one incontrovertible fact: One of the lost circle of twelve had returned, and turned renegade. Talimar, or as he was now known, The Warlock Lord, had found a way through the mountains and into Castle Shadowgate. And that was very bad news indeed.
As word spread, many people fled the countryside and clamored for sanctuary at the city walls of Stormhaven. Many others remained, not out of a sense of courage, but of resigned futility. Where could one run to escape the evils of Shadowgate as unleashed and commanded by the wicked Warlock Lord? Stormhaven wouldn’t survive, either, and neither would the people.
Emperor Otto the Questionable fretted and paced through a week of virtually sleepless nights. His proud mane of blond hair seemed to wither and gray and grow pallid before the very eyes of the courtiers.
“Lakmir!” he implored of the aged royal counselor and high wizard of the court, “What of the Prophecy of the Line of Kings?”
“What of it?” Lakmir replied hopelessly.
“You know, The Prophecy of The Line Of Kings!” the Emperor reminded Lakmir desperately. “In the past our land was ruled by a line of great warrior-kings who ruled and protected the land from enemies both mortal and supernatural. Of Gerogne, the great warrior-wizard who sealed away the Evil and Mighty Behemoth in the chasms over which Castle Shadowgate now stands! Surely, if we can only find the last remaining heir of that enchanted royal line, we can be delivered into salvation from whatever plot The Warlock Lord is hatching!”
“Perhaps he could,” Lakmir replied. “It’s a shame you stripped that line of all titles, lands, and power when you were making your big and oh so important imperial power grab, forced yourself upon the now-erstwhile queen of that family, and butchered all the male members of that holy issue. Because we sure could use one of them now.”
“Look, Lakmir,” The Emperor responded desperately, “This is no time to place blame! We’ve got to find the last remaining heir!”
“But there isn’t one, Your Majesty,” Lakmir sadly replied.
“Of course there is, Lakmir!” The Emperor implored.
“No there isn’t, your majesty, you severed the male line.”
“But not the female line,” The Emperor countered, a sudden smirk of confidence creeping onto his face. “Remember?”
“Ah yes,” Lakmir remembered. It had been eighteen years ago, the Emperor had sent his pregnant wife, the female head of the Line Of Ancient Warrior Kings, into seclusion and hiding, to prevent her assassination by his rivals in the great power grab from which the empire had been borne. His son, the child she carried, was the last of the line of great warrior kings.
Maybe they could find him.
What the hell, Lakmir thought, it was worth a try.
“Very well, your majesty,” Lakmir replied. “I shall find your son, and prepare him for his destiny. But alas, only you know the details of where mother and son are hiding and their assumed identity. Only you know where to look for them.”
“Yes, that’s true,” the emperor recalled.
“So, we ride at once, your majesty?”
The Emperor stammered and stuttered and mumbled, suddenly nervous. “Uh, actually, I, uh, think I had better stay here. And ah, you know, guard the castle.”
“Uh-huh,” Lakmir nodded skeptically.
“You know, be a rock of resolve, inspire the people, be a true leader,” the emperor said.
“Right,” Lakmir sighed. “So where do I look?”
“They’re living in a wooden cottage on the edge of the Makenmire Forest, posing as the family of a hearty Woodsman. The Woodsman is in fact one of my finest knights, in guise as a commoner.”
“Very well,” Lakmir said, “I’m on my way.”