Markus
It had been over twelve generations since his Clan last had real, honest power, the sort that carved a whole new fate for their family and Kingdom. The last had been his ancestor Deo, a powerful Elementalist with skills that had only ever before been birthed from their much-hated rival house of Sariel. When Deo died, his bones were made into two weapons that carried his two great talents– a spear, which possessed Deo's control over lightning, and a trident, which possessed Deo's control over the waves. When touched, they were said to create great storms capable of leveling entire villages in mere moments.
Both had been lost until Markus' grandmother, Helen, located them and brought them back to the palace, and while the spear was in Cydonia's possession, the trident had again been lost after Helen's death sometime when Markus was young.
Markus detested the spear, and the spear detested him right back. It would sputter violent sparks from its tip whenever anyone other than Cydonia neared. His Aunt, for her part, talked to it like it was a sentient being, an old friend. Her only friend.
Markus could never understand it, but then Markus understood so little of the sort of magic that had birthed the weapon. He was not educated. That wasn't his purpose. Markus was told what he needed to know, and that so far had only been an extensive catalog of creatures and destinations in his Father's Kingdom.
Cydonia smiled at him. "Lost in thought, nephew?" she teased with a knowing smile. "You have that look on your face like you're thinking too hard." She informed him when he frowned, a micro-expression that anyone less observant that Cydonia would miss.
Markus cast a look toward the carcass on the ground and his Aunt hummed as she swung her spear to rest it along her shoulders, draping her arms around it to tilt forward with the same small smile she always wore, a mask of fake friendliness that dropped the guard of those unfamiliar with the bitterness and cruelty breed into her bones. It was a soft look, an inviting one, and it hid her venom brilliantly.
"What a strange creature indeed!" She chirped, "Looks to me as I guessed it to be – a Bolotnik."
Markus did not recall his Aunt ever informing him of this particular guess, but he wouldn't call her out on that. If she had known, it wasn't uncommon for her to keep such a detail to herself if it meant Markus would be learning something. She liked to make him work for everything. Markus didn't know any other way. "And where do Bolotnik's hail from?"
"They are another creation of Sariel," His aunt said gleefully, "Particularly cruel ones at that." She prodded it with the exposed toes of her sandals then. "They look like their makers, if you ask me, such an ugly thing. I bet a Queen of Sariel made him, if his fat belly and fat fingers are anything to go by!" She said with a breathy laugh.
Markus frowned. "What is a creature of Sariel doing all the way out here?" Sariel was on the other side of the realm from Kokabel, though the distance never seemed like it was enough.
"Heavens knows," Cydonia said with a much-put-upon sigh.
She touched the very tip of the spear to the beast and Markus had just enough time to close his eyes before the beast exploded, sending searing gore flying everywhere. He slowly opened his eyes to stare blankly at his Aunt, who was similarly drenched in blood and tissue, a smile on her face. She stared at him in challenge, but he would not rise to it. Markus had never quite been angry enough to ever try to pick a fight with his Aunt. He'd seen how she fought. He wouldn't win that battle. When he only stared back at her, refusing to react, her grin widened. "You are relieved, nephew. Good work."
It was less of a praise and more of a mocking gesture, as if he was a child who needed to be patted on the head, but it was enough for Markus to consider his task complete. Markus let out a breath of air through his nostrils, the tip of his nose dripping a steady stream of the creature's blood. He didn't move immediately, instead watching as she sauntered back to town to do the thing that only came second to her behind long, drawn-out kills – soaking up the glory and praise of their people. Her voice was booming, commanding, as she announced the successful conquest of the beast. The cheering of the locals followed, but Markus was already looking east, toward home. It would be over a day's worth of travel on horseback, with the horse in a hard run nonstop, but Markus could clear it in just under thirty minutes if he put all of his energy into it. He would likely get a bloody nose and his head would ache for the rest of the evening, but the sooner he was at home, the sooner he could relax and scrub himself clean of the filth he was coated in. He did not mind getting dirty, in fact, he often did not feel successful if he hadn't, but there was something about bathing after a battle that seemed to give it a finality. Closure.
He would not linger here any longer than necessary. His job was done. He would return to the palace and report to his father.
Once he was pointed in the direction of the palace he broke into a run at full speed, the wind snapping in his wake. He flew past the town, past the next and the one after that. The stretch felt good on his legs, having been stuck in their position for so long, and by the time he had to stop for a breath ten minutes later he was already halfway home; Longula and its filthy marsh nowhere near. He would have continued forward, but he crossed a river and decided to do a cursory wash to avoid getting yelled at by the Aunts' that kept the palace clean and tidy.
He slowed down but didn't stop completely, the air roaring around him as the wind finally caught up with his pace. Into the river he went, washing off there to try and get rid of the smell that clung to his skin. The water was cold and removed a portion of the stink, but could not take away the gross feeling of what was stuck between his skin and his armor, the metal of his shin guards particularly grimy with gore. He would need new armor soon though, as he could feel it fitting too tightly around his shoulders, more so than six months ago. He had intended on staying knelt in the water for several more minutes until his breath was caught completely, until he was at the very least presentable, but was forced out when a pair of young women came to collect water from the river he was kneeling in.
They were pretty and roughly appeared to be his age, somewhere around sixteen, one with her hair in ribbons while the other had beads, and while they were clearly shocked at seeing him – the ever distinct prince of Kokabel – their gazes quickly turned to excitement and obvious flirtatious looks and he jumped back out of the water like it burned. One waved to him and smiled brilliantly, her lips moving to form a greeting - he broke out into a cold sweat and suddenly began to vibrate with anxiety at the sight of them. Their thoughts were excitable and he could see memories of them seeing his father once when he passed through town with his usual grandeur, waving, waving, smiling, oh how pretty the women here were, he had cried.
And then other images, images he had seen with his own eyes, caused with his own hands. Markus' face screwed up in fear and he turned, fleeing the river to return toward the way home at full speed.
The closer he came to the capitol the more congested the roads became, and when people began to spot his vision he slowed down to decrease the threat of crashing into someone or, in an attempt to dodge people, something solid. He had done that only once when he had been ten years of age, and having the sort of injuries he had sustained then was not something he was eager to relive. He and his clan members were not easily hurt - not like others - but it wasn't impossible, and running face first at full speed into a rock had done significant damage. Though healers had sped things along, and laying around for the time it took to recover gasping for air with collapsed lungs wasn't fun, having to deal with his father's fretting and dramatics was far, far worse.
He kept his pace quick, though, to avoid anyone reaching out to him. If he was quick enough, if people didn't take notice, if their attention was elsewhere, the voices could not catch up and he wouldn't have to withdraw completely into himself to avoid the shadows that wished to take hold of his mind.
He reached the tall, impressive white walls that surrounded the hill the palace was perched atop shortly thereafter and went through the gates, the air shimmering around him as he did so. Only those directly related to the reigning King could pass through the gates, an old curse placed on the grounds by a queen long ago to keep her husband's many mistresses out of her home. Though the queen was long dead, like all curses, it stood well past her death.
Beyond the gates was the small village where the unmarried sisters, daughters, and Aunts of the reigning King resided. Theoretically, once they married they moved in with their spouse, but none of his aunts had done so, instead remaining single to enjoy the benefits of living near the palace and each other. It was midnight now so everything was mostly quiet, his sisters all asleep in their homes, the Aunts still milling about, quietly, to respect the sleep of the King's daughters. Markus did not stop to greet them and they did not turn to look at him. They had their business, and he had his.
Markus went straight to the palace at the center of it all, marching up the steps to look pointedly at the two creatures that guarded the pair of massive purple doors.
At each side of the entrance was a Lycan, one of many creatures that his family was capable of creating with their blood but by far the most favored. These two, in particular, were creations of his father, roughly two years younger than Markus but bearing a far more striking resemblance to his father than Markus himself did. The only real difference between the Lycan standing guard there and his father were their teeth, theirs like wolves, and their eyes, yellow with fat circles of purple around their pupils.
All those in the Clan Kokabel had the same purple irises, the same shade as the fig that their ancestor had used to tempt mortals. The men, the women, the children - anyone that had Kokabel's blood had his gaze and the abilities exclusive to their clan, monstrous strength and great speed. Each of the twelve sacred clans was descended from a different Ancient, with their own unique abilities, but Kokabel was the only one of two that was centered in the physical body.
The Lycan looked him over before nodding to each other and opening the palace, watching him, the son of their sire, as he went with reserved expressions on their identical faces. Though they were always like this when he was present, professional, he had witnessed them from a distance and saw they were like their father in temperament as well, a bit like fools who enjoyed horsing around when they thought no one was looking, dancing around and making faces at each other only to return to their neutral state when someone neared.
Markus wasted no time in going straight for the baths, hurrying through empty halls toward where tendrils of steam crept out of a cracked door toward the heart of the palace with the intent of scrubbing himself raw.
Clean body, clear mind.
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