A protege
High Archon Ogma
The Prince had been, as he had for quite some time now, having his wounds examined for the ever present threat of infection. Despite that, there was little chance of it now short of a malicious attempt by one of the attendants or doctors. Not that the primitive natives knew such a wealth of fact by simply gazing at their surroundings.
As they walked down the corridor, empty of any guards or staff due to Ogmas…. suggestion, Ogma looked straight ahead silently leading the way. All the while he peered inwards examining the aura of the prince piece by piece. Able to learn, but not Learn. Physically aligned. Capable, yet not innovative. Yes, he will work nicely. With a wave of his hand he opened a pathway in the middle of the hallway. A gust of heavy cold air rushed through, extinguishing the lights down the hall. At that Ogma pulled his cloak off, offering it to the young prince. “We haven’t much time. Now through young one.”
The prince gazed with confusion, the scene quickly turning from eerie to alien. Among the confusion a sliver of childish excitement. Childish excitement at the unknown, not yet clouded by the fear of the unknown oh so common to adults. This excitement propelled him forward, as he grasped the garment from Ogma and crossed the threshold while pulling it close around him. The excess length vanished as it resized itself for his much smaller frame.
Ogma stepped though behind him, and the pathway collapsed back into nothing only the rapidly fading after image indicating where they had come from. On the other side, the guards rushed back into the corridor, the subtle influence of Ogma dissipating as he stepped through. They stared the the scene for several moments, baffled at the sudden vanishment of their prince. “Get the King.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The mountain slope was bombarded by a flurry of snow, limiting sight to only a few feet. Yet, Ogma pressed on with an air of nonchalance while exposed to the elements without his cloak. He drew upon a snowdrift which bulged from the majority and waved his hand. The snow rushed away, revealing a well worn stone bench carved upon the mountain. Having been motioned to sit, the prince sat and felt an immediate warmth through the stone despite the elements.
“Do you know why men are kings? Why other men rise up and revolt to take their place? Why you are the next in line to your throne?” He spoke after a great pause, finally looking directly at the princeling.
“Well….well the 5 G-ds look down upon our people… they bless our people. They bless my family as the rightful rulers of our kingdom. You’re… you’re not one of the 5 G-ds are you? What are you? A d…demon?”
For the first time in quite a long time, a time spanning millennia, smiled a genuine smile. “Why my boy, you have done something quite remarkable. You are quite more capable than your aura implies. Firstly, I am no demon. Secondly, you indeed are blessed. Not by those presumptuous fools you call your 5 G-ds though. You are blessed indeed.
Your family is one of a long lineage. Just as all are, though you share a much more direct link. Your G-ds are apart of a much larger group. They are apart of my people. My people are lead by the Tuatha Dé, whom are the aristocracy of your world. Whom are also the military of your world. The Tuatha Dé were entrusted with great power to protect and safeguard. Yet, we made many mistakes too. Mistakes we sought to correct with you.
Do you ever wonder why you looks so much like your G-ds and the gods of other peoples? You were all created in our image. Our first attempt, the Primarchs was largely a failure. You see, we took ourselves and watered down our ability. We wished to provide an opportunity where you would not wage wars that destroyed the heavens in only a single battle. We failed, they were not weakened enough and they nearly destroyed themselves.
So we took them and lowered their abilities once more. Yet, their spark remains. Our blood and lineage in them remains strong in some of your kind. Each of your kind can inherently feel it, and so those with the strongest spark. The strongest aura lead you. Yet all those who posses it do not truly utilize what they have.
For instance, you had an attempt upon your life. Your people can sense you are not ready or capable to lead them. Not by your actions or schooling, which are among world class. Instead, they sense that spark buried deep in you. Latent and unmanifested.”
The confusion and excitement upon Prince George’s face morphed itself into disgust and anger at being calling him unready. “Do you know who I am? I am Prince George Ebenezer. Crown Prince of Lanceshir! I will have your head for such insolence, we are done you blasphemous bastard!”
“Insolence? I bear only the truth. You dare dare threaten my life? I could slay every man, woman, and child in your kingdom without lifting so much as my blade. Nay, I could slay every living thing upon Sciath without batting an eye. I am Ogma. High Archon of the Tuatha Dé. Champion of Lugh. Keeper of knowledge. Seer of the Other Place.
Your life has already had an attempt upon it for your state, yet you dare to cling to your father's name as protection? Coward. Parasite. Fool. You are far from your best, and nowhere near what your kingdom and father require of you. You disappoint your countrymen”
The sudden, cold, and calculated fury in the words muttered by Ogma, made all the worse by the calm and quiet yell they were delivered upon, battered at George. Battered at him with all of his insecurities aired for all upon this mountaintop to hear. Aired for himself to hear.
There was little for the prince to do, but simply breakdown. Conflicting feelings of inadequacy and personal pride overwhelmed him and driving him to his knees. “Now, are you prepared to begin your training?” Without further response, picked up the prince and tossed him over his shoulder. He was sedated before he had landed on the shoulder.
Ogma waved once more and another snowbank drifted off on his command to reveal a thick blast door. He laid his hand on it and it opened silently, despite it being several feet thick. Inside was dimly lit, with the recessed lighting not coming on until the door had sealed behind them again.
They were in a simple room meant to store one's heavy protection from the elements, and Ogma removed the borrowed cloak from the prince. Now hanging from a hook, he did likewise with his boots before bringing the boy with him deeper into the hidden facility. One side passage opened, revealing a simple room with a bed. Placing him gently down and pulling the cover up, he tucked the distressed prince in.
With the package dealt with he proceeded to a simple sparring room. It was a well sized room, with supple white padding upon all the surfaces. Ogma himself stripped down to bare robes which shifted to match the white of the room and placed his other items in a hidden compartment upon the wall. A wave of his hand materialized an opponent. Facial features similar to yet differing subtly from Ogma.
The distance closed quickly, as a furious melee broke out and Ogma swiftly leapt off the floor. His opponent followed suit, quickly joining him in the air as they exchanged blows and blocks. The fight continued on, the white surfaces blemished by the time a tired looking Prince George found his way to the room, his eyes puffy from his earlier outpour.
He was wearing a simple set of white robes that he had found on the end of his bed when he awoke. This can’t be happening, was all he could thing as he processed the foreign environment. There were no windows, no door handles, no torches to illuminate the surprisingly war stone. It all simply happened.
Another wave of his Ogma’s hand and the opponent vanished. “It is good to see you awake. You had a productive rest I hope? You were asleep for nearly twenty hours.” He said as he drifted from across the room back towards the floor, the room shrinking back towards its smaller original size behind him. “We call this the White Box. The entire building is known as the Theatre.”
“Where exactly is… this”, George began as he continued to go along with the bizarre chain of events which had lead him to now. He absentmindedly rubbed his wounds, expecting to feel a dull ache and surprised where there was none. Moreover, the entire complex seemed familiar. He was certain he had never laid eyes upon this place before, and yet he felt at ease. It helped him to calm down, and finally sort through his emotions.
“What exactly are you going to teach me, High Archon?”, his face twisted with surprise as he had spoken more clearly than he had during this entire ordeal and with a conviction he had never heard from himself. And that title… he felt forces at work that was utterly foreign yet utterly familiar.
“Your lineage.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Your liege, I am sorry to inform you that-”
“That we have no leads where my son vanished to when that... thing took him under YOUR watch. Now, leave me. You’ve no further purpose here.”
At that the captain of the guard left. It had indeed been his own fault, yet despite all of that he had no option. His body, and the body of everyone else on that level of the castle had no loyalty to him in that moment. He had known, yet was powerless to do anything.
Despite having been the one that shared the information needed to plot the attempt on the Prince’s life he now regretted it. He had done it in a moment of anger he couldn’t explain, not that the man he had sold the information to cared. Now, the prince had survived and he was suddenly gone. What would have been an unfortunate attack was now blamed upon him.
With that thought be began to cross the courtyard of Castle Nuremberg, deep in thought about the insolent swine that Prince was. Deciding to disappear before he could finish the job, and not having the decency to even let his corpse show up after two weeks.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two years had passed, the Theatre becoming a second home to George. Throughout this time he had been trained in fighting like he had known never possible. Jumps, and moves which defied gravity to give him an edge. He was unable to match Ogma, who completely defied gravity regularly, but sharpened his proverbial blade against his grindstone nonetheless.
All through this time he was also taught, from meditation to the truth of his former gods. He developed further too, farther than any of his many trainers from his royal guard had expected him capable of. He now clearly exuded an aura of authority, and knew that he did.
Finally came a morning where Ogma was not to be found inside the White Box. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen. George searched throughout much of the normal areas, deeply uneased by the fact that his mentor was not in his normal routine. “Master? Master, where are you?”, he called out repeatedly to no avail. That was, until he happened upon an empty hallway. A hallway which had not been present at any point in his two years here.
He padded softly along the hall barefoot, head swiveling back and forth like he had been taught. On edge, he peered around the corner. At last he had sighted Ogma, who was sitting calming in meditation while a deep orange fire illuminated him from the side.
“Come and sit, we haven’t much time.”, he motioned to a simple box of shimmering energy just like the one he sat upon. “Now, you have experienced much and learned even more here during your stay. However, events are occurring which require my attention and both occupying and hiding this realm is beginning to be needlessly taxing upon myself. “It is time to return home.”
From the blaze he withdrew a simple chainmail armor. However, it was the darkest black George had ever seen. So dark that he almost thought there was no light reflecting upon it. Ogma let go of it and reached back in, the chainmail remaining hovering in the air.
The second piece was that same midnight black, however it was a proper chestplate. It was clearly a set meant to go together. Just as it was something that quite publicly stated his more than earthly connections.
“Now this blade, this blade shall be yours. Her name is Orna. She shall be your evidence and proof my prophet. Go forth and spread the truth, cleanse the vile name of the G-ds from the world and expose them for the deceitful liars they are. Your blade shall recount her deeds and she shall one day recount yours.”
“I...I…”, the prince couldn’t even begin to place his words into an speech, let alone a coherent statement.
“Don’t, now let us go. We must depart.”, Ogma waved off any further comments as they exited the chamber. They silently made their way to the outer chamber, where the cloak and boots that the prince had worn with his long past arrival still where they had been left.
This time however, Ogma donned the cloak as the prince laced his now ill fitting boots and donned his new found armor. With a simple nod to indicate that he was ready Ogma waved his hand and the large door opened. Outside the snowy mountainside was not visible, instead obscured by a pathway which showed the image of a castle courtyard. Motioning the prince through, Ogma stepped through behind him. Both pathway and door sealing behind him.
As they stepped through the pathway which rapidly materialized and dematerialized, they encountered the normal activity of the courtyard. Various off duty royal guardsmen training against one another. Most importantly the Captain of the Guard was passing though, deep in his seditious thoughts, stopped dead in his tracks. Confusion clouded his face, as the older prince looked on upon him.
“You...you’re the prince! But you’re dead!”, by now the shouting of the captain and the pathway had caught the attention of the various people scattered in the courtyard.Hands everywhere drifted towards the hilts of blades in scabbards.
The prince stepped forward, “I am Crown Prince George Ebenezer. Successor to the throne of Lanceshir. Protector of the Realm. Prophet of Lugh.”
A single voice cried out in the background, carrying across the entirety of the courtyard. “Blasphemy! Our prince is no heretic!”, with that a group of guardsmen drew their steel blades and dashed forward with a cry.
Perhaps my plans haven’t gone quite awry yet. It seems the prince will get himself killed for his new found beliefs. The captain remained where he was, carefully watching the situation. His hand drifted to his own hilt, though for drastically different reasons.
Ogma simply stood, allowing his new knight to fight the battle. George drew Orna, the Tuatha Dé blade itching for a good battle to record into its living history after such a long slumber.
In a blink of an eye one soldier was already dispatched, head removed and the blade soiled by his blood. The next moment had the prince lunge, narrowly missing a sword application to the head. However, despite the avoidance of the blade to the head one still made contact upon his chest. The force of the blow would have driven the blade deep into any normal armor. Yet, with his princely armor it simply deflected and would leave a nasty bruise in the morning.
Despite being hit, Ogma looked on with satisfaction. He had never trained him to avoid all strikes, instead to only avoid getting struck where he could not be protected. It was the style of his people, and had served them well in many a war. With many a more dangerous armament…
The fight continued as the group of four guards which had lashed out only remained two, despite their battle cry scarcely having left their lips. Now the two circled, weary of the young man who looked so much like their dead prince and had uttered such heretical words. One raised his blade for a strike, and began to close the distance when a single shout carried around the courtyard. “Cease this mockery at once!”
The King himself had made an appearance, his anger worn plainly upon his face. “Cease this mockery at once. Can you not see for yourselves that this is the Crown Prince? My child.” The mass of off duty guards hung their heads in shame, having lost and now attempted to strike down the prince unwittingly. Of course they saw how similar he was, yet he was clearly older. More developed, and certainly more capable.
At this sudden calming of the crowd the Captain saw his window quickly closing. “This is no crown prince! He is a saboteur! Too old to be our two weeks fallen prince!”, the distraction worked as the collective group once again considered if it could truly be him. Drawing his blade he moved and lashed out, directly towards the unprotected jugular of the distracted prince. Noticing out of his peripheral vision Ogma drew a short hilt, almost like a throwing knife.
Inches from making contact a hiss filled the air, the hilt held in the hand of Ogma suddenly sprouting a blade of pure black. It was blacker than night, completely void of light except where it bent the light around its edges into a faint white glow. The knife of the captain was caught upon the blade, sparking as it began to cut through the simple steel like butter.
The entire area descended once more into total silence. The arm which had suddenly extended from Ogma was sheathed in material as black as the blade. “Your Majesty, I do believe that this particular man was the one who allowed the information to be leaked to the undesirable elements that conspired to remove the life from your youthful heir here.”
“Nonsense! I am the Captain of the Guard, I have devoted my life to the king.”, the nervousness had consumed his voice. His window to kill the insufficient bastard prince had closed, and now it seemed that he had been found. But how? This man had nothing to do with it, he was an outsider.
“Actually, I didn’t want to seem presumptuous but you will find a box of gold marks in his chambers. Under those marks will be a false bottom which holds the cipher he delivered and received messages.”
The king nodded at two guards, who took off running to investigate the claim. “Who may you be, informative stranger?”
Ogma pulled back the hood of his cloak, “I am Ogma. High Archon of the Tuatha Dé. Champion of Lugh. Keeper of knowledge. Seer of the Other Place. I must depart posthaste, I leave in my place Prince George. Crown Prince of Lanceshir. Knight of the Tuatha Dé and Prophet of Lugh the almighty and truthful.”
With that he turned. Waving his hand once his departure, he made a second motion which saw the guard captain began to convulse as blood began to pour out of his abdomen, and a third motion which opened a Path Way. “An eye for an eye, eh regicidal scum?” he called back to the now dead corpse, stepping through as the passage vanished behind him. His duty here was done.Remove these ads. Join the Worldbuilders Guild