Power and Pride
#1 of Power and Pride
A/N: You know the deal, no one under eighteen. Also, this story will contain all sorts of "interests," but the main idea is writing something more of a character arc with some plot than a one-shot, but don't worry, this shouldn't be dry--nope, it's going to be packed with naughty stuff (none of that in this opening bit, though, as it's barely a page long) and action! Hope you enjoy, and if you have any comments, criticisms, or requests go ahead and post away or drop me a line.
Chapter I: Starry Starry Red
1.
The castle rested on its thousand year mortars, haunched in the night--a reminder of the dogs from a million years back who roamed the land on fours, a thousand stories gone and now just a laugh. Smeared above its brittle, rain-worn head, stars thrummed in and out, a hundred heartbeats bigger than any person on the dirt and mud ball they glared over.
The air of the area around the castle and its city shock under their white eyes. Not on the surface. Not in "reality," sure, but where it mattered. The innermost sections and outermost layers.
In the hearts of people and in the very wind that battered the aged stones. Therefore, in all.
In all, the stars beat in and out. In all, the world moved. Inched along.
******
Somewhere in this star-burning night, a crack of thunder, lightning. Maybe not near the castle, not anywhere near, but still there, out there in the world. Drama has that way of introducing itself, though most consider it a part of stories for kits and the old master's plays.
Under the sky where the hearts of stars throbbed and the lightning (somewhere) hissed into being, and in the city that lazily sprawled about the castle, a festival started. The people ignored their feelings, their hearts, and took to the streets as they always did come this day.
Aovast 14th, the Night of the Wounded Stars.
Ceremony and festival to the gods of sky and world. Worship in action, the people crowding the streets to wear masks, throw parties, and dancing in spirals. Food and drink flowed in the streets and in mouths. Ground up herbs, crushed pills, and solutions scraped from the bottom of distilleries passed hands for gold and services--a touch here, a roll in the hay there.
Life flowed in the city. Blooming across the night.
2.
It began in blood, under starlight, as only the tales of master poets or the heaviest wages of history could.
It began in darkness, atop the wind-knifed High Crest of the castle.
It began with a single word to ignite an action, to spark a deed, to light a series of actions, to burn a nation--and beyond.
It began:
"Evening," called a voice, a steady tone set to betray nothing more than the gender of its owner, male.
King Elheim stirred his gaze from the view spread out beneath his perch at the castle's tallest tower--below, the city laid about him, spread in a rough square shape that extended from every side of the castle; in the streets, blobs of light swayed, lanterns on poles carried through the streets with thin paper covering their heads so that the illumination gave off reds and blues and greens in a hundred shades; the sound of a thousand hundred voices blending together in note and tone, yet not close enough to truly hear, sang in the black of night--to regard the speaker. Expecting a fresh-faced guard not lessoned on civility to a royal, a servant with the same problem, or one of his advisors climbing up to discuss a private matter with him, he found himself a bit surprised. His eyes, lupine, sparkling like pools welled from the sea, refocused on his visitor.
A male fox, eyes a hazel specked with gold that stood out from the rest of him due to their hue and the sickly moon playing with them, his body seemingly average, same as his height.
"Oh, resious, I have not laid eyes upon you lately," the king said, a smile curving his muzzle. Hostile or friendly? Difficult to tell, thanks to the king's known mood issues and a personality more like a game of coin flipping than an average person. Unless one had the horizon-sight, or the mind of a gaeod or daemon to slice apart his thoughts, one never his mind before he exclaimed its intentions. "What are you doing here? I assumed you would join the nobles in the banquet hall. They'll probably need you soon, eh?"
The visitor--the king's resious, to employ King Elheim's own old Dialectic word for him--turned his head a bit to the dying moon, a smile cutting along his muzzle that had at times chilled the blood of enemies, eased the minds of allies, and melted the hearts of too many females than he ever cared to keep track of. His voice ever a straight line transferred to sound, he spoke, "No, king, I suppose they can do without this one for a few minutes." He took a few steps towards the king. "Elheim, I came here not to disturb you, but because I hold in my heart words that you must learn the sounds of." Another step, closer.
The stars watched the two.
"What words? What sounds?" Elheim's brow creased, his face morphed into a scowl. "What sort of riddle are you telling me, and why? You can save such trivial shit for between courts, or in the light of my chamber. I want privacy, resious, even from you--and I need it now."
"You will seize it, o' king." The visitor stepped in front of him, raising a brow and a smile on his face. "But first, I must tell you something I've been putting aside for too, too long. Perhaps years."
The king said, "What could be so important that--"
--the visitor yanked him forward by the lapels, striding back at the same time. He seemed to find it easy, despite his average build and the king's bulk from years of campaign. The visitor's face evened out in these moments. And he spoke to the king, "I want you to know"--he slammed the king's back into the edge of the turret, pressing forward so that his head leaned back over it into empty air--"as you suffer"--the visitor continued to push, his movements with an ease yet enough to lift the two hundred pound king off his feet and back, his body from the stomach above in the chill of the night air ow--"that it was I who betrayed you." The visitor gave a final push to the king, and let go.
******
The king had no chance to scream. No moment of wanting to seize life. He knew only the cold teeth of this Aovast night, the screams (joy) of the people across the city as they danced and leaped and strolled about, and the stars that swam about him to rush away. He knew only the impact as he scraped along the edge--a harsh crack, his arm whipped behind him, joint ground to dust--fell away from it, and glimpsed the image of the Ruby Mouth fountain below him.
******
Above, the visitor placed his hands on the turret, leaning forward, face stuck back in his straight expression, and stared at the doing of his dream.
The king met the head of the statue, it boring into his back, and his body surrendered to the force of impact. He collapsed over it, folded by the head that struck his center. For all of this, no blood stained the dew-covered grass; some did manage to pour into the crystal water below, though, changing it to a transparent scarlet. The king gasped, his breath wind in a cracked jar. He writhed, trying to force his mouth open, trying to push his arms up from where they led spread out at his sides in cruciform manner. He held on for thirty-five seconds.
The last scene he glimpsed was the moon, a blinded eye and its children, looking down into him. And between him and those cold hundreds, the shape of his betrayer, stepping back from the turret, already forgetting the king he had pushed off the tower.
Then, Elheim knew only death.
3.
Life flowed in the city until sometime after one. No one could pinpoint the exact minute, as by this now most in the city lay in their beds, in the streets, or entangled with another fur or flesh. But they all would remember what they heard sometime between two and three in the morning of Aovast 15th, 1687, Year of the Harvest.
Boot stomps on cobblestone. Non-anthro horse irons clapping along the streets. Torches, pinpricks of light in the sea of shadow past their vision. Shouts. Knocks on important doors. Words exchanged. Whispers, shouts.
By morning, everyone heard the cries brought by the night-time: "The king is dead! The king is dead! Long live the king!"