The horses whinnied as the men moved along through the frigid environment led by a man who would not yield to such conditions.
Sesus Amrit was not one of the children of the dragons. He was a loyal member of his house, even though he was arrogant to the point where one might think he thought himself better then even the Dragon Blooded.
One of the scouts returned slowing his mount as he approached the dynast. �Your Lordship, there is a village up ahead. It is small, but maybe we can rest there.� Amrit narrowed his eyes at the scout. �Rest? You need rest already? We have traveled for only half a day and already you require rest?� Amrit�s voice was outright intimidating and derisive. The scout quickly lowered his eyes. He swallowed and in a quivering voice said: �your Lordship, my concern was for the horses. I�� There was a short burst of scornful laughter from the dynast�s throat. �Truly scout, you should not reflect on these beasts your own low failing.� Amrit spurred his steed onward. The men looked with pity at the scout, they all wanted rest, but the Sesus tyrant drove them onward.
The men cast painful longing glances at the town they passed by. The dynast would not let them rest. Last night they hardly slept, the last week were nothing but cold and ice and by the looks of it more weeks would be cold and ice without respite as well.
Finally, after another frigid night in tents, the dynast mercifully decided that they could rest in the next town.
The tavern was warm and comfortable. The men waited outside while the dynast went inside to acquire the rooms for the night.
The bartender was a chubby, balding man who narrowed his eyes at the dynast in his tavern. Night was falling and darkness seeped over the eastern horizon.
The bartender looked at the darkening sky. �The tavern�s closing. You�d best be on your way, stranger.� Amrit was angered but he remained calm �I need rooms for me and my men. I can reward you well for I am of noble blood.� The chubby man shook his head �I stay open for no man in these dark times. Things come with the night that no sane man would welcome.� Amrit opened his mouth to utter a venomous reply, but the bartender looked at him threateningly and he could hear several unsavory figures in the bar moving. He knew his men where tired, this was a battle he could not risk at this time. Without a word Amrit strode out of the tavern.
Amrit felt his back being slammed against the wall of the tavern. Then his blade was drawn from the sheath and searing agony filled his stomach as the blade was run through it, and then it was withdrawn and stuck in him again. Then, there was darkness.
First there were the flashes of his childhood, the family manse, the rose garden, and the games he had played. Then there was the Spiral Academy. Then the endless passing of seasons as the roses in the garden withered only to bloom again. Then finally Amrit�s eyes fluttered open. He was pinned to the wooden wall of the tavern; night had fallen for it was dark now. �Vae Victus� Amrit muttered �suffering to the conquered.� Ironic now that he was the one suffering. It was not anything as pedestrian as physical pain. Rather the cruel jab of impotent anger: the hunger for revenge.
From the umbrage of a building to his right stepped a figure. The figure was a little taller the Amrit and shrouded in impenetrable gloom. In vain Amrit yanked at the sword to free it from his chest to raise against the one who approached. But the blade remained in place despite Amrit�s best efforts.
The moon pierced the thick cover of inky black clouds and the area in front of the tavern was illuminated. The silver rays of Luna touched the figure that stood a short distance from Amrit. It wore a black cloak that hid his body. Its face was pale like ivory and his eyes were an eerie white hue that seemed to glow in the light of the moon. Beneath the cloak Amrit glimpsed something crimson and something bone white but it was too dark to make out what it was.
The figure locked its gleaming eyes with Amrit�s and spoke: �You wonder where you are, don�t you? Are you on the Far Shores? Or have you plunged into the nightmare of Malfeas?� Sesus Amrit sneered: �I don�t care if I�m in heaven or hell. All I want is to kill my assassins.� The pale face smiled and spoke: �Sometimes you get what you ask for. But nothing is for free, not even vengeance. There will come a time when I will call upon you to be mine. Will you obey that call?� The nearly deceased dynast jumped at the offer and nodded �I will.� �Very well then. You shall have the blood you hunger for.�
The sword came free with a final pull. Amrit felt stronger and light. The golden light spilled out through the tavern windows and the chatter from inside made clear it wasn�t closed.
The door swung open and slammed against the wall with a loud bang that made the crowd in the tavern go quiet. An old man croaked �this is false, they killed you, we where to bury you next dawn.� A woman added: �I told you we shouldn�t have left him outside. Evil spirits roam the night that posses dead bodies, they rise from the grave to drink the blood of the living.�
Indeed Amrit did indeed hunger for blood, but it was not the hot dryness of the throat. It was the fiery fury of retribution.
Whispers spread throughout the tavern as the peasants beheld Amrit with dread. The dynast stepped forward and sliced the belly of the nearest peasant open with his blade. Blood and viscera exploded outward. Screams erupted from around Amrit. The tavern started trembling as in an earthquake. Darkness seeped in through cracks in the walls. Amrit did not notice. He sheathed his blade. He wanted to feel them die. With his own bare hands he wanted to snuff out the life within his enemies. He wanted it to be personal.
The wood that was touched by the darkness, which invaded the tavern, turned black and grew wicked thorns sharp like spikes. Where crimson blood was spilled on the wood it was absorbed greedily by the darkness.
When all was done the mess room had changed. Once it was a meeting place of the living. Now it had a new purpose: the torture and execution of human beings for the sadistic pleasure of its engineer. Blood was splattered on every surface, coating the spikes that jutted from the walls and filming the stone floor. The dread and agony of the recent victims still echoed through the lethal walls. A symphony if terror and agony filled the air. Then, from admits the cacophony of screaming souls came the perverse laughter of the Deathknight himself.
As Amrit left the tavern, now turned abattoir, he wrote on the door with blood: Manus Celer Dei.
As he stood outside the new Deathknight looked up at the sky. Swarms of bats where congregating in the skies as black clouds roared with thunder.
These peasants where but the catalyst of his murder. The actual killers where somewhere else. It would not be hard to find them. Amrit could see their campfires from where he stood.
Amrit stood between two tents spying on the gathering. A feral whisper escaped his lips �Now that I have found you my slayers, I will send you back whence I came.� Unfortunately one of the men heard the whisper and turned to see who was whispering in the shadows. His eyes widened and his face was drained of blood. �What trickery is this?� He screamed. Another turned to see �there he is!� �I thought we killed you bastard!� Another man yelled. �We put you down once we can do it again.� A battle ensued. With blade and fist he fought the traitors and slew them. There is no greater release then that from vengeance sated.
* * *
In my rapture I almost forgot the fealty I had sworn to my mysterious benefactor. It was not long before an emissary of this strange lord arrived. She rode in a troika that was white as the snow it traversed. She introduced herself as the Marquise Alahnya. As we traveled to Gothmere, where my lord dwelled, she told me about this strange land. Apparently my lord who called himself the Savant Resplendent in Bone and Blood had conquered this kingdom. From that day onward he ruled the land as and advisor to the king. The king himself had fallen silent. While officially the king still reigned, it was the Savant who pulled the strings of the puppet king.
The Savant already had two other servants like me. First of all there was his necromancer, a scholar like the Savant and currently his most favored servant, and there was his general a commander of repute and his less favored servant.
As we came closer and closer to the grim realm of which the lady spoke her intentions towards me became less veiled. Obviously she became attracted to me and her weak spirit wished to indulge her weak flesh with my intimacies. While I did not grand her wish I made clear that such a relationship would be possible at a later time. While disappointed at the moment she was looking forward to such a time.
We arrived in Gothmere. The sight was overwhelming in its morbid grandeur, it had all the beauty of a withered rose: its state of perpetual decay only enhanced its beauty.
I was allowed an audience with the puppet king, which was short. It was nothing more then a ritualistic formality. After the petty performance I was taken to my true lord, the Savant himself who resided in a dark cathedral filled with sinister shadows and strange otherworldly light. In the center of that dark place I found my lord. The sight was not as impressive as the first time yet the power that radiated from him could barely be contained in his humanoid form.
�Amrit you have arrived at last.� I stepped forward my will bolstering me to defy the fear I felt from such a being as he. �Indeed I have Savant Resplendent in Bone and Blood. What is it you wish of me?� There was a friendly laugh from the Savant, though to this day I wonder if such a creature could truly have any benevolence. �What I whish of you Amrit is your service. You already agreed to be mine.� �Indeed so my lord, but by being yours I am still not your mindless slave.� �Oh no Amrit, not mindless and not slave. You will be much more then that.� �I grand that you have given me this life Savant, but why should I serve you specifically?� �It is not me you have to serve Amrit, not in that way. It is the cause you will need to serve.� �The cause? What mission is that?� The Savant�s voice warped to a sepulchral moan as he began a boring account how the world was once ruled by the Primordials and how the Solar host had slain them and cast them from creation. It was these murdered entities that had created the underworld and granted the Savant and his ilk their power. It was also their power that had imbued me, but my power lacked refinement. Where I to serve the dead Primordials, called the Malfeans, I would be granted tutelage in my powers and could gain rewards such as troops, wealth and artifacts. How could I resist such temptation? �Very well Savant, I will serve the cause of brining down creation in return for what you offer me. But know that I am not your personal slave. I follow you as you are the voice of the Neverborn, but for no other reason.� �It will do, it may come to pass that you will grant me more loyalty then that. But for the time being it will do.�
My training began, some parts where hard to master while others came easily, some where boring while other teachings had my keen interest. For about three years these teachings, which struck me as alien yet oddly familiar, lasted.
Then this creature that called himself a Deathlord led my down into the labyrinth. If it could be said a part of creation had gone insane, this would be it. Tunnels bend and twisted, corridors made of flesh and bone, hallways where gravity held no sway and rooms and halls that where too surreal to describe lay on our route that led ever downwards.
At last we came to the tomb of the Malfean the Savant served. Where the Savant radiated power his form could barely contain the tomb of the dead god radiated a force that could have obliterated me in to utter nothingness with less then a word.
Yet it did not. It demanded my name and my destiny. My destiny was cast into the mouth of the void, forever devoured. My name was stripped from me and would replaced by a title in time.
�I know you Amrit, you are worthy.� The dead god spoke in a voice of which the sound my ears barely could contain, with words that nearly destroyed my mind. �For you my life eater, my knight of death, the roses will never bloom, forever they will be withered. Cruel fate stopped at the point of their greatest beauty. Do you understand?� I felt my name fleeing me as he spoke it. I understood, indeed I understood. �Good. Savant Resplendent in Bone and Blood, give this one a suiting title and educate him further.�
I did not gain my title immediately after the judgement of the dead god. First I had to spend six boring days chanting in an ugly cage called the Monstrance of Celestial Portion. This was to attune my essence to that of the Savant�s. When this ordeal was over I finally was given my title. The title that was given to me was The Macabre Aristocrat of Withered Roses. And this was not only who I was, but also what I was.