Book Zero: Prelude of Rot
This story is mainly influenced by the works of Robert E. Howard, Michael Moorcock and Bram Stoker. I do not intend for a large overarching plot through the story arcs, nor some world ending threat that needs to be defeated. It is supposed to be an adventure story with each story arc being its own adventure. With that said Books 0, 1 and 2 started off as just one adventure story but proved to be exceedingly long requiring it to be split up into the first three books.
As stated in the synopsis this is a censored re-upload from elsewhere. Looking back on it now I still like what I wrote and enjoy what's present but it needs more work that I will not be doing here. The only extra work I'm doing for this version is the needed censoring which will be a challenge itself.
A beautiful brown-haired woman walked through the ruined and dust covered halls of what was once the palace keep of one of the most powerful warlords in the history of Rylocke. Her king had reigned for over two millennia but now this once glorious kingdom was naught, but a wasteland of dust, decay and darkness inhabited by few. All that remained of this once glorious kingdom after its destruction by war and magic was the king himself, wasting away upon his throne inside a castle that had been worn down by weather and lack of care. This castle sat at the center of a ruined capital city that was long abandoned by all but the six loyal servants residing with their king.
Morrigan Ziudra was not born in this land that she called home, but her father was and his parents before him and so on for at least as long as their king had ruled. Her poisonous green eyes looked around at every aspect of this once glorious building, that she had long ago memorized in detail, as she walked through a dimly lit and abandoned part of the keep.
Stopping at a nearby window that had been blown out by the last storm, Morrigan looked out at the ever-present-suffocating dark clouds that had long ago choked any life out of this cursed land. For over eight centuries this land received so little light that one could hardly tell the difference between night and day, if they could at all. A sigh escaped from the wishful woman’s lips as she wished to have been able to see her home in all of its glory.
Continuing on her stroll through these once vividly decorated and colorful halls that are now caked in layers of dust and grime, Morrigan was reminded of the stories she had read and the paintings that were maintained of long ago before her king ruled this land. An ancestor of his, the first king, had this castle constructed out of his palace because of the ever-escalating wars of his era. What was once a safe harbor for him, his rule and his family became a target for his rivals with their armies, bandits and usurpers. The very building around her bore the scars and craftsmanship of such a project. At many times did parts of the keep and its towers seem out of place, as if they were older or an entirely different building. However, the outside only showed the cold black stone used for fortifying such places.
Beneath Morrigan’s feet as she walked were paint chips that had long ago flaked off the walls and no longer crunched beneath one’s steps. The long black dress she wore beneath her white apron seemed to float above the ground as she walked across rotting, dust-covered rugs that were once the pinnacle of luxury. But she still had work to do for the day and could not continue walking through abandoned dreams of a now forgotten kingdom.
With her returning to work, Morrigan makes her way into the maintained parts of the keep. These areas were maintained because they were still in daily use by her and the other five servants still remaining. And Morrigan was very careful to not track anything from the abandoned halls into these, lest she be scolded by the one remaining maid. So, while the rugs and walls showed wear from time, they did not have the same issues as the rest of the keep.
It was not long before Morrigan came across the maid, Talia Arthila-Shari, cleaning the walls in this particular hallway. Talia was a beautiful woman nearing thirty by appearance, with unique dark pink eyes that shocks and mesmerizes most who see them. Her long raven black hair was tied up and back preventing it from ever interfering with her work. Contrary to how most would view such a woman, Talia was very much a hard worker but would not clean further than what was is daily use. In her view she had more pressing concerns that to do work that was too much for a single maid.
Greeting her as she passed by, Morrigan was forced to stop when the slightly taller woman turns to her and says “I’ll need your help later Morrigan. I need to clean around the paintings outside the throne room. It’s been a few weeks since the last time.” With a nod of her head Morrigan agrees before continuing on through the keep to her own work after some polite parting words.
Having known Talia for long enough now, Morrigan did not ask about the sword leaning against the wall nearby. It was obviously Talia’s by how well it was made and like many of the remaining servants, her life from before she returned home was hard to leave behind.
Further into the maintained portions of the keep, Morrigan can hear someone cursing loudly up ahead “Damnable birds!” With a smile now on her face she walks closer to the opening that once held a door not too long ago. Just outside this doorway stands the gardener and man in charge of maintaining the keep, August Criston. This exceptionally tall man was carrying a heavy wooden door to a nearby workbench that was obviously set up there for this project.
Interested in what has him cursing as he was, Morrigan stands just outside the doorway asking, “August what did the birds do to you this time?” After setting the door down, the poor man throws his hands up in defeat lamenting “Damned things pecked some holes in the door and now I got to repair the damned thing.”
The birds in question were raised by August, who kept their wings clipped to prevent them from flying off. They were fed with some grain he purposely grew for them using his magic and intended to be used by the chefs for food. But occasionally they caused him a large enough headache that made him want to slaughter them all.
She could only chuckle at his misfortune before telling him “Everyone tried to tell you to build them a pen so that they wouldn’t have to wander about like this.” Rubbing the back of his rag covered head, August counters “Yeah and if I did that, I’d have less materials to maintain everything else with. There’s not exactly a lot of usable materials around here to maintain everything, unless I was to scavenge the ruins.”
Both of them fell silent at this argument. No one here wanted to touch the ruins to fix anything causing them problems. To them it was like robbing a grave or sacking a religious site. They just could not bring themselves to endure those feelings by scavenging this ruined city they called home.
The only person in the city bearing skin that was colored as if it was touched by the sun daily smiled at her, breaking the silence between them first “Did you speak to Talia yet? She needed your help for something.” With a nod of her head, Morrigan answers “Yes I did, though I suspect she wants me to handle cleaning the paintings myself. She always makes me clean them for her.”
Now doing her best impression of Talia, Morrigan continues “I’ll damage them if I handle them, so you do it. I’m new to being a maid so I don’t know how to clean them.” Rolling her eyes she returns to her normal voice while to continue to complain “You’d think someone older than me would be able to handle basic cleaning when it’s her job.”
August could not help but laugh as he tells her “Don’t let her hear you do that. She’d try to kill you if she heard how good you are at mimicking her voice.” Even in the dark August’s eyes caught the lamp light glinting off something suddenly appearing in Morrigan’s hand as she tells him with her head cocked to the side “I don’t know what you mean. She’d never succeed in trying to make such an attempt.”
Quickly backing away from this conversation August says “If you say so little sister. I won’t doubt you.” Straightening herself up Morrigan sternly tells him “I believe I’ve asked you not to call me your sister.” His light absorbing brown eyes shine now as he asks with a smile “Why not, I’ve known you since you were little?” He was motioning with his hands showing her just how little she was when they first met as he continues “Besides you’ve always acted like my sister so it’s only right that I treat you like one.”
With a roll of her eyes Morrigan reminds him “That was before you went on your journey to find yourself when I was a child. If I remember correctly, didn’t you get conscripted by the local lord in the first town you came to?” Leaning against his workbench August says to her “Low blow sister. That wasn’t my fault. It was either agree or be executed and I rather like living. Besides it wasn’t that long.” Her hands now on her hips Morrigan questions him “A decade isn’t a long time?”
Defeated August sighs and waves her off saying “Alright little sister you got me. You win but don’t think I have forgotten about your adorable little girl crush. I wonder how you’d react if I started reminiscing on how you behaved as my oh so adorable little sister?” He could feel daggers piercing his back as she stared into his eyes and as he grabs his hammer August tells her “I won’t go down easily Morrigan.”
The pressure disappears in an instant as she sighs before capitulating “Fine big brother August. I’ll let you have your fun I guess.” With a joyful clap of his hands, August sets the hammer down before remembering “Oh yeah, the old men wanted to talk to you as well. Apparently, it’s about time we fed our lord again.” Quietly the final part of his thoughts came mumbling through his cracked lips “If only he’d come back to us, we could actually become something again.” Which was a sentiment they all seemed to share.
Not wanting to deal with August anymore at the moment, Morrigan walked off thanking him before saying “I’ll be sure to see them.” What he had said there at the end had not gone unheard by Morrigan, who agreed with it but not for their sakes. She had more selfish reasons to want their lord to come back. But she didn’t need to be told it was time to feed their lord, she already knew. Morrigan could keep track of it nearly to the hour they fed him during the previous month. Feeding their lord was something most forgot about but not her. She paid extremely close attention to this.
Deep in her thoughts Morrigan can barely make it further down the halls before hearing more cursing “Damn birds get out of her before I cook you for supper.” A new distraction was appreciated as she chuckled to herself while continuing her walk towards the kitchen where she’d find the two old men.
The kitchen inside the keep was the only place in the castle where food was still prepared for everyone. There were two more kitchens inside the castle but those had long ago been stripped of anything useful rendering them unusable. Even now most of the kitchen went unused since they were only feeding six people.
What was the servants’ dining room was connected to the kitchen and was one of the few places that saw everyday use. All six of them gathered there to eat at least three times a day but on some days, they gathered more in a celebration of some kind or because their work for the day was finished, and they wanted to relax.
When Morrigan walks into the kitchen she finds the two old men hard at work as ever, sitting around drinking waiting for it to be closer to time to eat. “You wanted to see me,” was all she asked as she walked over to them.
The eldest man here and the second chef, Carol Grandari, spoke through the thick grey moustache covering his lips “Yes come in child, find yourself a seat and talk to us old men for a while.” Wanting to say something but holding herself back, Morrigan walks over to one of the many empty seats in the kitchen next to the old men.
Carol is leaned up against the table behind him as he takes a drink from his glass. His bald head seems to reflect the light from the fires and lamps as what’s left of his well-trimmed grey hair seems to shine in the very same light. The younger of the two old men, Nikolas Ramsis, sat across from Carol, drink in one hand and a wooden utensil spinning in-between his fingers on the other.
Nikolas’s golden eyes shined like coins in the light as he asked, “Since it’s about that time again, how do you think we should feed our lord?” Morrigan can feel Carol’s deep blue eyes piercing her skin from the corner of his eyes as she answers “We should just go with the usual. Keeps any one person from suffering from blood loss and shows all of our commitment to our lord.”
Silently agreeing to this the two old men just nod their heads, having figured that would be her answer. It had been done that way for as long as they could remember but they knew it wasn’t always so. The only difference between when they were younger and now was that Morrigan acted as the seneschal. After all she had been raised for the position and to serve as their lord’s personal servant ever since she returned with her father.
Keeping the moment from becoming somber Carol asks “You want to sit and have a drink with us old men, Morrigan? I’m sure your father wouldn’t mind you having a little fun with us.” Standing from her seat, Morrigan fixes her clothes as she answers “No thank you Grandpa Carol. I don’t like to drink this early in the day. Besides, your idea of fun is reminiscing over your time as a mercenary or how you met your wife. And I’m pretty sure I’ve nearly heard all of them hundreds of times by now.”
“Come on be a dear and listen to them again. You used to love my tales of traveling around as a wandering knight in shining armor.” Carol playfully groaned out these words as Morrigan can’t help but smile before turning to face him saying “Not right now Grandpa Carol. Maybe after dinner once all our work has been finished.” The old man can’t help but smile as he tells her that he will hold her to it.
But before she can leave Carol sets his drink down and holds out his arms out saying, “How about a hug for this old man before you return to work?” Happily, she kneels down next to the old man and gives him the requested hug. As she does this, Carol kisses the top of her head as he messes with her hair just like he had always done since she was a little girl. He clearly enjoyed being a grandparent and took time for her no matter what was going on.
When Carol finally let her go of Morrigan, she looked over to Nikolas asking, “Do you want one too Grandpa Nick?” A gentle smile appeared on his face as his eyes sparkled and he sets his drink down asking, “Would you be so kind to me?” “Yes, I will,” was all Morrigan said as she slid over to him. Nikolas didn’t mess with her like Carol did, but he made sure to hug her tight as he kissed her on the cheek.
Finally able to return to her own work Morrigan smiled at her two adoptive grandpas and let the old men continue on as they always did. As far as she was concerned these two old men were her grandpas and they were family. As often as they looked out for her and helped raise her, Morrigan was certain to show them gratitude and love for all they did despite them only sharing two things, their homeland and their lord.
Not long after leaving the kitchen Morrigan reaches the doors leading to the throne room. There she stops and before even reaching for them, goes over her clothes making sure everything is perfect. Satisfied with her clothes, Morrigan checks her hair and makes sure that it is perfect as well. Only then does she take a deep breath as her hands reach for the door and proceeds to open them to walk in.
Inside these doors was a great hall fit for a proper king. The wood and plaster walls were covered in well maintained murals that stretched from floor to ceiling and old banners, both centuries old that looked as if they had been made within the last two decades. The dark stone floors had obviously seen better days and parts appeared to have been tiled over at one point but were currently decorated with various rugs of varying sizes that were of such a quality that was long ago forgotten to most.
Throughout the hall was placed tables and chairs of varying quality from throughout the centuries. The servants would hold events here for special occasions in an attempt to not leave their lord out of their celebrations. Whether these celebrations were holidays or personal celebrations did not matter to them, they simply wished to include him as well.
It wasn’t just man-made items decorating the hall either. The servants had maintained potted plants at various places along the walls. Above these plants were light fixtures that had been magically fixed to emit a small light that would allow the plants to grow properly.
Across from the throne was a massive set of metal and wooden doors. In the past a small child could open them, but now some more effort was needed. But the servants did their best to maintain them for the occasional guest from the east their lord received.
The stone surrounding the door revealed just how the hall was constructed as nothing decorated these parts. The stone itself was dark and dense, taking much more effort to construct with but also making it more valuable than other stone used in such construction. It could withstand nearly anything thrown at it with ease.
Despite appearances though, this great hall was little more than just a throne room by its size. But over the centuries the servants and their ancestors turned it into what it is today. All in hopes that their lord would return to them and rule them once more.
Walking through the doors Morrigan turned to her left to see her king immobile on his throne, looking as if he were nothing but a corpse long dead. But he was not. This king was very much still alive even if he looked as if he was wasting away.
Morrigan walked close enough that she could reach out and touch him before she knelt there before. There as she prostrated herself to her king, she tells him “My lord I’ve come to clean the throne room for today.” Her head remained lowered for some time but when she looked up he was as unmoving as ever.
This man, this creature before her was once the most feared being in Rylocke, if not all of Vyrna. His power was known and feared by all that breathed. The armies he led conquered and destroyed most if not all nations they came across, erasing them from existence so that the kingdoms of today slowly sprang forth their ashes centuries later.
The magics he wielded could erase entire forests and lakes with but a single use.
His physical might could rend apart the most foul or majestic of beasts no matter their size or strength.
The mention of his name alone used to bring people to their knees in efforts to save their own lives and the lives of those close to them from his wrath.
From the time he had assumed his throne and began to rule his kingdom he had soaked the land in the blood of his enemies. The blood of his people was used as mortar to build his kingdom greater than all others throughout time. But that could only last so long before it all comes crashing down to be forgotten by all but a few.
This man, this creature was still clad in the heavy, rusted black metal armor he wore when he finally returned home from his last war. His black hair was now long and heavy as his dark eyes that had once terrified many sat sunken in their sockets. The skin that women longed to touch was sickly pale and pulled taught to his bones. His beard was scraggly and uneven, something that even centuries of slow growth could fix. Those pale lips that used to order death, destruction and creation in equal measures were cracked and dried as his head that used to bear his crown hung low from his shoulders.
This man, this creature appeared to anyone else as a man defeated, sitting there ready and waiting for death but to his servants he was their king, their lord and the man they would sacrifice themselves for.
This man, this creature that used to be a warrior unprecedented in his time, a general gifted in the arts of war, a king beloved by his people and reviled by millions that stood in his way, now sat upon his throne broken and defeated.
Now this man, this creature sat here upon his throne forgotten to all but those who fear his return or those who wish it. Most kings, when lost to history, do not become a legend parents use to scare their children, let alone royalty, using it to scare theirs. A name that used to cause fear in all those who heard it, now was just a mythical legend from an age forgotten to humanity. And with each passing year this legend becomes less and less known to those who used to fear him.
But the dreams of his remaining servants held strong in their hearts. They wished for this man, this creature, their king to return to them. If he wished to lead once more then they would gladly build him an army. But if he wished to just live peacefully, they would aid him in that just as feverishly.
This man, this creature, this long forgotten king immobile upon his emerald and encrusted black stone throne is the forgotten tyrant of a lost age. A man who destroyed the age he was born into and forged a new one with his own hands only to tear it all down in a mad race for vengeance and bloodshed, leaving nothing but death and destruction in his wake. And there at the end placed himself upon his throne until the end of time.
This once mighty king of men, this once mighty king of the creatures, is the king of this land formerly known as Arlorne and ruled from this ruined castle that bears the name of his family in the center of the ruined city of Syrndaras. This king now forgotten to most but remembered by the souls of his enemies and allies alike as a man, a creature, a king, a tyrant, a devil, a monster, an angel, and a god. But above all else this man, this creature was lord and king of Morrigan Ziudra, Talia Arthila-Shari, August Criston, Carol Grandari, and Nikolas Ramsis.
This man, this creature, this king’s name was King Lucien Salvatal III and as he sat here upon his throne in the ruins of his capital of Syrndaras, he was still the Tyrant King of Arlorne.
