Fawkes had been a young lad of fifteen, around the time he had taken up archery and secretly kissing the boy who maintained the royal stables, when his father got the letter to come to Caer Moran. The lord of the house had taken gravely ill, and Fawkes father needed to oversee the succession process, just in case things turned for the worse.

What no one had known at the time, however, was that the king had been slowly poisoned by his wife, who was preparing to sacrifice him. She was unable to bear children, and through a bevy of unfortunate circumstances had met a witch, who promised her a child at the death of the king. What the witch did not tell her was that the lady of the house was welcoming a demon with every drop of poison she gave her husband.

The lord had died not too shortly after Fawkes and his father arrived, but something strange happened that night after the he passed. The lord of the house had been dead for several hours and the church leaders had taken his body for blessing when he got back up. It was as though nothing had happened, the church heads celebrating in their miracle while the lady of the house seemed horrified. Days passed and the lord tried very desperately to bed his wife, which seemed normal enough given that he had just had a near death experience. But people very quickly began to notice that despite seeming very much alive, the lord’s body still rotted around him. The king sent for a peacekeeper, and upon hearing the news the lord of the house began growing worse, his body deteriorating far faster than the normal rate.

Fawkes hadn’t slept at all that night. The look and smell of the lord of Caer Moran would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life.

The peacekeeper arrived that morning, and by the time he did the lord had become barely more than bone, the little flesh that clung to him yellowed and puss covered. The man wailed in the middle of the hall, as he had most of the night, as the peacekeeper approached.

The peacekeeper was an older man, seeming to be about the same age as Fawkes’ hair, with bright white hair and eyes that glowed of amber. His skin was pale in a way that seemed unnatural. His black coat fitted tightly, with coat-tails trailing the floor as he moved. He cautiously made his way to the wailing pile of rot and misery, and with one swift move the man was lying on the floor. The peacekeeper cradled him for a moment, speaking quickly but far too quietly for Fawkes to hear. He drew his sword and pierced the lord's chest, a large guttural scream filling the halls as he did so.

Something broke free from the body of the lord, the peacekeeper being thrown from the body by some unseen force, smacking against the large wall as though his body were as feeble as a rag doll’s. The creature was large, and Fawkes squinted against the smoke that filled the room. As he tried to get a better view, he was struck that he could not tell if the creature was made of scale or shadow, black or white, life or death.

Fawkes had never been more terrified in his life, but despite the screams and his father’s urging to leave the hall, Fawkes stayed, his feet planted where they were as though they had grown roots where he stood.

He watched as the peacekeeper drew his sword, beginning a fight that could only be compared to a dance, body dancing around immaterial, the light reflecting from the sword as it disappeared into mounds of shadow.

The creature put up a good fight, or at least it seemed as though it had, but it was no match for the trained peacekeeper. His sword struck something, and a louder and more terrifying scream burst through it’s chest.

The next moments passed by in a blur, the lady of the house rushing to her husband’s body, sobbing over the pile of bones and ash that laid in his place. Slowly, people trickled back in to the castle hall, Fawkes' father regarding him gently before going to the peacekeeper, thanking him.

It had taken quite a bit of effort for the king to move Fawkes, his son frozen in awe and fear. Eventually, his father ended up carrying him back to his room so he could rest while the King tended to the question of succession.

Only later did Fawkes get the full story as they took their boat back to Lowhen. The lady of the house had made her deal with the witch, what she didn’t realize was that the witch was planning to use the lord’s body as a vessel for her demon all along, and that that vessel was supposed to help the lady of the manor bear her child.

The peacekeeper that led the soldiers to Fawkes’ cell was not very much like the one that Fawkes had seen before.

For starters, this one was a woman. Short in stature and lithe in frame, she still somehow managed to be the most intimidating member of the group. Perhaps it was her eyes, the same dark blue as the underside of a raven’s wing in sunlight.

Her gaze was focused and heavy, regarding everything she passed as though it would be important later. Her white hair, loose curls down past her shoulder blades, the rest pulled into a loose braid that tied off somewhere towards the small of her back. The peacekeeper’s skin was perhaps what struck Fawkes the most, a soft and dark brown that still seemed to have an ashen pallor to it at the same time. It was as though she were dead.

He remembered the peacekeeper he had seen before had a similar hue of paleness to his skin. Perhaps it was something that they all had in common.

She stormed forward, eyes trained on Fawkes as the sound of her boots echoed through the dungeon.

As she grew close enough, she shot her hand in the air, the group of guards behind her immediately stopping in their tracks.

The peacekeeper took a few steps forward, stepping on the ring of keys and slowly bending over to pick them up. She twirled the ring on her finger, eyes regarding Fawkes in amusement before turning to the guards he had taken out, and back to the group behind her.

“Are you sure this is the one?” She asked, her voice much higher pitched than Fawkes had assumed it would be and a very thick Ivaalen accent dripping from every word, “The record surely cannot match this prisoner.”

Fawkes answered before any of the armored guards could, “What exactly does your record say?”

The peacekeeper’s eyebrow raised as she grabbed a folded parchment from her coat’s inside pocket, “Well, let’s see.”

She cleared her throat before she continued, “Roughly twelve counts of theft, seven of arson, gambling, attacking a palace guard, more than several acts of violence against holy fathers, destruction of church property, assault with a deadly weapon, attempted assassination of the Augustine, and…” She refolded the scroll, staring at Fawkes, “driving a royal horse car without a permit.”

“To be fair,” Fawkes held up his hands innocently, “The last one isn’t really my fault, per se. Can’t exactly get a permit when you’re a registered felon.”

The peacekeeper smiled nodding to the guards, “What exactly was your plan for when they woke up?”

“I was supposed to have a plan?” Fawkes asked, trying subtly to move his leg from the bars, “So what, they’ve sent you to exorcise me so maybe I’ll be a good little boy again?”

“Not exactly, unless you think that would work.” She said, tossing the ring of keys at Fawkes, “You’re being sent to join the peacekeepers.”

Stunned silence washed over Fawkes. Only the worst of criminals were sent to join the peacekeepers. It was practically a death sentence, no...it was a death sentence.

“But...don’t these people know who I am?” He said, his voice cracking, “Who I actually  am? You can’t banish me, I’m the heir to the throne!”

The peacekeeper shrugged, “Perhaps you should have considered that wouldn’t matter before your little failed attempt at assassinating the Augustine.”

“He’s killing people! I would have been saving lives!” Fawkes strained, his leg finally popping from the grate, “You can’t do this!”

“No, you  can’t wrongly accuse someone of something based on personal bias and proclivity to believing conspiracy theories and expect the status of your birth to pardon you from consequences.” The peacekeeper said with a glare, “Your Uncle ordered this, your only other option is execution, as I’m sure you’ve been made aware.”

All of the blood in Fawkes’ body ran cold, “I…”

He hadn’t  considered this. Once that man had condemned his friends to death, he hadn’t considered anything. The Augustine was doing everything he spoke against, everything the church shouted as wrong was exactly what that man did and they were blind to it.

The Kaiden he knew would still be here if it wasn’t for that man.

As would Fawkes’ father.

His mind scrambled for some sort of clarity, some way out of this.

He took several slow steps towards the prison door, noticing the cautious shuffle of the guards as he did. The peacekeeper remained still, her gaze studying Fawkes carefully. He stuck his arm through the opening between bars, placing most of the wrong keys into the lock before finally getting the last one, the door opening with a loud click.

Fawkes stepped out, every guard now had their hand cautiously on their weapon as Fawkes stepped towards the peacekeeper.

He didn’t know what he was doing, but anything was better than death.

If Fawkes were dead, he wouldn’t be able to wring the life from the Augustine with his bare hands.

“I’ll join you.”