The prince stood at the center of the crumbling temple, hidden deep below the city. He’d ordered his guards to stay outside the entrance. He was not to be bothered in his final moments. His Father had been weak and selfish, and his Mother had died when he was young. When the King had revealed that he would rather his people perish in blood, fire, and starvation than risk his own life, Prince Neer had incited a coup. It would not last long, for the demands were very clear. 

The one who wears the crown must offer their life.

Once their hands are given, the people shall flourish.

For generations his people had suffered from the aftermath of countless wars, plagues, and famines. All suffered at the wrath of his idiotic father. When the prophet scroll was found and translated, finally there was hope. But his father refused to die in order for his people to live. At least, on his own terms. Neer had no love lost on the petulant man that had impregnated his mother. But he had immense love for his people, and would do nearly anything to see them safe. 

He had everything planned out for what would come after. He would die to save his people, and his most trusted friends and advisors would find to raise up as the next king. Until that new heir came of age, his allies would act as a governing council. The pact they would form here would ensure that his people would survive. He also made his friends, knights, allies, and advisors alike that they would not alienate the next ruler, but involve him. Teach him through experience. They swore to a blood oath, the greatest oath any in the kingdom of Vathrah could make. 

With the future of his land and people decided, Neer prepared himself. He kneeled by the summoning circle, a great black thone with ancient runes carved into it in ages long past, as the crimson ones began their chant. They were the god of blood's most loyal followers. Blessed by his ichor, they had lived for centuries on the blood of their parish. Neer shivered in barely concealed revulsion as each one drew an obsidian blade across their palms. Forty-two pale taloned hands dripped blood that was far too red to be human into the receiving bowls circling the sigil.  As the bowls filled with ichor so red it could have been mistaken for paint, they began to chant as one. Droning out words that barely registered as real to the prince. 

“Valadix Impal’vanir, Valadix Impal’vanir, Valadix Impal’vanir, Valadix Impal’vanir…” On and on they droned in an eerie whisper. Despite each speaking softly, their voices joined together to fill the chamber with their unsettling echos. Neer jumped in fright as one of the bowls close to him ignited in a crimson blaze. One by one each of the bowls ignited. As they did, the flames spread to the carved divots that made up the circle. Shadows black as pitch began to swirl with strands of light red as blood in the center of the large circle. 

As the wind began to whip around the room, the devouts never once increased their volume. Their quiet chanting continued to drone on. The dark and light split as a shape began to emerge. Long arms tipped with wicked talons reached out from the dark maw within. Dripping with dark ichor. The claws sliced through the stone dais as smoothly as a knife through butter. Four gargantuan wings erupted from the storm, splattering dark liquid across the walls. Large, fur covered legs bursting with muscle found purchase on the ground. Dark red mist coalesced into robes of crimson that floated in an unseen current. Capes and glittering jeweled chains decorated in rubies and garnets wrapped themselves around the shoulders, arms, and thick furry neck of the creature. 

Then, the body fully emerged from the darkness. Every inch muscle and power. Dark fur with vibrant red patterns covered its body. Robes and gems adorned him, concealing just enough to be at least somewhat modest. It was as his head appeared that Neers mouth went dry. Large, satellite ears swiveled at attention, the blood diamonds hanging from them clinking musically. His face was like a bat’s. Covered in fur with a mouthful of dangerous fangs. A golden piecing in his nose attached to one of the bobbles on his left ear by a delicate chain of some unknown red metal.  His eyes glow a deep crimson, and they did not leave Neer. 

“Art thou the one?” He spoke in an ancient, rumbling voice. Though his mouth did not move, his voice boomed around the chamber. Neer could not speak, his voice stolen from him. Before him was the great Crimson Lord. Lord of blood and arbiter of war. Creator of the crimson race and the only one who could save his people. “Wilt thou honor the word of thy forbears?” The creature asked. Neer swallowed his fear as best he could and bowed his head to observe the cracked and ruined floor. He himself was dressed in robes similar to those worn by the servants of the god around him, though his were pure white and accented with gold. A beautiful garment to die in, he thought. 

“Yes, Crimson Lord.” Prince Neer said, voice shaking in terror. “My father is dead, he did not care for my people’s plight.” Neer said, as he did, the archherald approached from behind, placing a coldiron crown upon his hooded brow. “I wear the crown.” He said as the archherald backed away. The deity observed him keenly, his glowing eyes boring into Neer’s soul. As if the creature could peer straight through him, which it probably could. For all Neer knew, the Lord of Blood could see his soul laid bare as the flames between them. 

With shaking hands, Neer unlatched the ornamental box before him, revealing an ornate dagger. The pommel was crusted with fire opal, and the blade forged from the finest obsidian. A rumbling chuckle reverberated through the room. Neer was surprised enough by the noise that his head snapped up to stare at the monster who made it. The lord of the hunts’ shoulders trembled slightly as he laughed. 

“Of course, thou desire us to commence.  Hence be it, allow us begin.” The Crimson one rumbled. A large, almost feral, grin splitting his animalistic face. A clawed hand reached into the endless expanse of robes and produced a goblet of gold. The outside was decorated with blood diamonds and red silk was wrapped round the stem. The creature carefully placed the goblet in front of the prince. It was the size of a small punch bowl to prince Neer, though it was no kore than a wine glass in the hands of the Crimson one. 

“Ere the largess  are exchanged, thou might not but posset.  E'en only a mouthful shall serve our intent.” The creature said. Though Neer could not quite understand everything the god said, he understood what it wanted him to do. He looked down into the goblet, finding a deep dark liquid within. It was warm enough to steam and smelled strongly of spices and a strange exotic scent that he could not place. Neer struggled to lift the mass of gold and drink. He was surprised when the Crimson One reached out to help him. Gently lifting the goblet just enough for the prince to gulp down a mouthful of the mysterious brew. 

The taste was divine. It was savory, sweet, and reminded him of every mulled wine and cider he’d ever sampled. It warmed him from the inside out, and nearly burned in its intensity. His eyes closed in an unexpected bliss as he continued to drink. As he drank, the Crimson Lord began to speak in a language Neer did not recognize. 

“Ya gn'th'bthnk l' ymg', ya gn'bthnknyth l' ymg'.  Iiahe ya gn'th'bthnk flows ph'nglui ymg', ymg' mgah'ehye become mine.  Iiahe ymg' ahthrodog ahorr'eog, mgah'ehye ya become ymg'.” He spoke, and as he did Prince Neer’s lungs began to burn and his heart began to pound. His eyes snapped open to see the Crimson One gazing down at him. Neer watched as his hands which had been gripping onto the monster’s hands wrapped around the goblet, paled. His blunt nails painfully sharpened and darkened before his eyes. 

Pain shot through every cell and vein. Every pore and hair seared like hot iron on raw meat. Neer fell backwards, only to be caught by one of the monster’s gigantic hands. His own hand gripped onto the Crimson Lord’s wrist fur. The soft silky fur there seemed to be the only thing that eased the pain. Neer lolled against the monster’s arm, burying his searing face into the fur he found there. The Crimson Lord’s deep voice rumbled around him, but the pain was too great for Neer to hear what he’d said. Though large, the bat creature’s hands were deft. 

He felt something be secured round his throat, and an object pressed to his palm. Great shame and fear flowed through him. Is this how I die? He thought collared and poisoned, without even the dignity of a blade? The pain was too much, and Neer screamed. He screamed long and loud. His throat became raw and sore beyond anything he’d ever felt before. It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to be alive. The last thought that entered his mind before the pain overtook him was this. At least my people will be safe.