PROLOGUE 3
"My hands are the ones that make your world big, so much so that it seems to be unfathomably empty."
—Icarus Suhbarag
A letter to my little brother.
A letter you will never read.
"To my dearest brother,
It has been a while since we last spoke, has it not? I reminisce on these evenings fondly. I would sit in my room, writing to you these messages. I would think, that I was grateful for these. I could finally use this ink and feather to write casually to my kind blood, instead of filling out documents pertaining to military and science and such…
It was a shame we were inadvertently split from each other, this family simply has such rules, the young train and live with the young, and the eldest train and live with the eldest. A foolish system, as I personally find your finesse and prowess above some of my very peers.
The magistrates are fools and idiots. They stick to old tribalist ideas of the old Llewellyn. His obsessive writings on how to create the strongest sorcerer, on how to raise the greatest legion of beasts who can feast on their enemies and brethren without hesitation. My biggest regret is not being able to make you abhor this tradition.
I simply hadn't seen it coming. Nobody actually had the guts to partake in cannibalism, and even the preceptors hadn't included it in the required capabilities.
But you… You were the only one to actually gorge yourself on all flesh. Inhuman, human… Opponent, and ally…
No matter, they respected you for this. But they visored you for this too. They focused on you. Tortured you…
So, I was grateful to hear of your desire to abandon this hell.
Speaking of, no, in case you had any doubt in my word, I have not told anyone about your plans for during your exile, and I hope your plans go smoothly. I will withhold my squadron from joining the hunt, and will attempt to stall preparations for as far as my capabilities allow me.
I hope that you may escape successfully, and lead a fulfilling life elsewhere. Find yourself a wife, marry her. Change your name, take hers, and live quietly and peacefully.
However, knowing you, I know you're one ambitious boy. Mere words and even actions won't hold you back. You stand for what you think is right, even though it may seem stubborn. I greatly commend that. Its why I taught and told you everything I could.
I recall these memories easily. It brings me the utmost joy remembering how your expressions of interest and passion when I told you of what the new world was like. After all, you were born in the old world, and quickly, the world turned on its legs. But I believe you hold the power to face it head-on.
Truth be told, if anyone can navigate and understand the new world, it would most certainly be you of all people. When I told you of the dancing, shattered skies, and how the strange charlatans tried their best to fix everything, I read not confusion in your eyes, but only wonder and understanding.
When I educated you of the traitor's lightning, you had surprised me by telling me the sanguinists and drachns made use of it. You read my books of alchemy! Though admittedly, I don't think you'll be the very crafty type. But you were able to understand the writings splendidly. You understood the paradoxical nature of traitor's lightning, prime blood, as well as the tesseract.
You swiftly learned the tria prima I just listed, you understood structures of the soul, shapes, humorism, the general alchemy, biology, really, you could've been a che-alchemist. Maybe even an epialchemist.
But I understand your motives and goals. I won't hold you back, nor will I whine to you about what could have been. It is not right of me.
For the rest, most of us do miss you. Father isn't taking it very well, he's being relentlessly questioned and interrogated by the magistrates. I haven't told him yet that I am in on it, of course. Despite him wanting only the best for you, I think it's best I don't tell him I helped his youngest son condemn himself to exile and eternal hunt.
So, do not forget, Silas,
Live for yourself
Seek and fulfill your desires
And never stray from the righteous path.
Farewell, my little brother.
From your older brother, Godwyn."
And so, Godwyn sealed the letter in an envelope, opened his thin, stained glass window, before raising an ebony finger onto the seal, an overwhelming amount of core essence, the beautiful energy upon which the world spun, grew across the envelope, calling upon small, luminous, silly spirits to take it apart into nothing after he threw it out, alongside the letter.
Sending it forevermore into pure oblivion, to perhaps one day be read back to man or beast, by the curious spirits.
He watched it happen before his eyes, ensuring all traces of the ambient essence left behind by the spirits and his own essence was gone.
Then, he simply closed the window, sat back at his desk, and waited for news regarding his brother.
It has been a few days.
Nothing has been so much as seen from him.
They know that, the three months leading up to his exile, he burnt a grand library, he spent time working as a vagabond traveling across cities, towns and landscapes. They believed he was simply busy acquiring information or knowledge, it's what he told them.
It is unfortunate he's garnered a sort of infamy, or famousness. People who came in contact with him directly describe him as being kind and benevolent, youthful and beautiful. Wherever he went, he made friends, interacted with all kinds of people, and commissioned artisans for their unique works.
And those who claim to have seen him when he was unaware of being seen, or have heard tales that were only recently made up, describe him as a heart devouring beast-eater. A usurper.
These tales have yet to spread, however. Whether or not these stories will be held back or fully reduced by the Wulfgar family is yet to be decided…
Some time had passed. A few days, maybe a week or two. Horses pulling carts behind them, filled with carcasses of men and beasts. Godwyn was called for inspection.
You see, the Wulfgar family had ties with a certain Calugarul Crayovescti. A famously… Strange, ruler. He ruled over Morvathia, alternatively known as Old God Sanguinius' Grave.
Before man had began their hunt on the Old Gods, after having become more powerful as a collective, the Old Gods used to rule over mankind, having a tight grasp on them, feeding them lies and stories of what would happen to them without the presence of the Old Gods. How the Blightborne threat would grow out of hand, and mankind would be swallowed whole by the gaping maws of the beasts born of sorrowful, negative core essence…
Lies, down to the last cries of the Old Gods. The method for this slaughter had long been forgotten. Supposedly, they either found ancient tools to bring forth the killing, but it doesn't seem to quite make sense…
Anyhow, Sanguinius was the Old God of blood and life. Right before his death, the few humans who still clung onto their faith into him were blessed, as he cursed mankind. The believers were gifted with a cruel, newfound power. Sanguinism.
They would become sick with a special disease. A virus that would integrate itself into the human body and become one with it, it would make them stronger, at a cost. A weakness to sunlight and silver, and an eternal hunger for blood. Sanguinists, they were called. Their blood became special. It allowed them to heal wounds, regrow limbs, manipulate their blood in fantastic ways…
But they would never see the sun again without turning to ash, and they'd never touch silver, in fear of being incapable of healing.
Calugarul Crayovescti, is a one of a kind, Vyrdolack. A peerless sanguinist who was believed to be able to perform miraculous acts with his gift. He truly believed he was the son, or descendant, at least, of Sanguinius himself…
For that reason, he demanded all possibly sanguinist corpses be brought back to him, so that he and his researchers may help him find ways to ascend to Godhood… In exchange, the Wulfgar family would receive splendid sanguinist soldiers.
Godwyn was asked to inspect the corpses prior to their transport to Morvathia. He put on a coat, a fancy top hat, and took a cane to poke and push the corpses with. Not too rotten, not too damaged. Very well.
The first few corpses were fine. The few after were far too ripped up. Wounds on their bodies, beautiful patterns carved into their flesh as though by an artist with a blade. Delicate but deep enough to completely scramble up any usefulness for Calugarul's research.
"Do we know the mongrel behind these arts and crafts here?"
Negative. However, he already had a rough idea of who it might've been. These fine and deep carvings could be done by a splendid rapier. He knew of a rapier wielding younger brother who would have no issue carving up some Wulfgar soldiers, regardless of whether they're sanguinists or not…
A grin crept upon Godwyn's face.
For once, he'll sleep at night certain that he won't wake up the next day to the sight of his favoured, younger kin; murdered.
END OF PROLOGUE 3
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