Vraxious—Hope's Path

  Vrax stood outside an ornate high-walled manor on the outskirts of the nobles' quarter. It was an unmarked fine edifice to the division between the common folk and those in charge. People bustled in and out of the wrought steel gates in a dizzying display of different heraldry. Vrax had lost count of how many orders were here, but they were as varied as they were pompous.

  Another disturbingly large man practically spilling from his armor was carried from a fucking gilded carriage led by some kind of rainbow-feathered drake. By a group of six equally foppish-looking men in glimmering silver plate. They held his palanquin ceremoniously aloft with a single hand each. That thing is obviously flying with magic; even Torvald would have to put in some effort on that one. Wow, I’m going to have fun with this.

  Vrax walked up to the front gate looking hilariously out of place and cut the line. He got to bathe, but that didn’t do a damn thing for his half-shredded, blood-soaked cloak; the thing was nearly black at this point. Vrax made sure his status-obscuring amulet was securely around his neck still and walked the last few steps in front of a prissy man with a wide-brimmed feathered hat like the kind Red wears.

  The manor security closed in a flash, lowering halberds in front of him in challenge. The man he cut in front of positively puffed up his chest in impotent rage. “Whose servant are you? HMMM?” He blathered in only the way the truly entitled can. Vrax turned enough that he could meet the man’s gaze with his disconcertingly piercing eyes and scarred face. The noble trailed off, obviously unnerved by what he saw and the way Vrax didn’t act like a lesser to his challenge.

  Before the guards could intervene more directly, Vrax handed them a small, crumpled, filthy letter he had been carrying for far too long that the king had left for him at the guild. The older guard, probably high-level by the look of him, squinted, rereading the letter in surprise a few times before pulling a small glowing stone and holding it near the letter's seal. It glowed brightly a single time. He met Vrax’s lowered gaze and carefully handed back the letter, his hand slightly unsteady.

  Vrax walked past the guards down the fine marble road to the manor and straight around the side, heading for a servant’s entrance. Oh lord, this is going to be good. I just need to get a server’s attire and the help of one very do-not-fuck-with-me knight commander, but I’m betting he would be game to humble some paper warriors that have been wielding power pen stroke by pen stroke for decades.

  It didn’t take long for him to sneak through the crowds of servants and lordly retinue. He still looked out of place as all hell. But there was such a mix from functionally armored warriors to nearly naked dancers that no one paid him that much mind as he weaved his way into a promising-looking staff room.

  Ten minutes later Vrax walked out in a servant's vest with a deep green bestial masquerade mask. He had noticed a few of the smartly dressed waiters had them and couldn’t resist. Vrax spent the next twenty minutes having no fucking clue where he was going and wandering from hallway to hallway. He couldn’t ask directions either because he was dressed as a manor employee, and not knowing where the meeting hall was would have been a stupidly obvious giveaway.

  Gods I can’t wait to hear what these fuckers are saying amongst themselves when they think no one that matters is around. There is a decent chance Dorn or the others might recognize me even with the mask…but after our last chat, I don’t think they would give me away.

  Vrax finally found a bustling kitchen that had a short hallway leading directly to the meeting room. He waited for a small line of neatly dressed people in vests like himself to form. Everyone was loaded with a tray and sent towards the meeting room. Hah, the security here is questionable. I mean, I know probably literally everyone in that room could kill me one-on-one, but still!

  Vrax was at the tail end of the line; they were waved past one by one until it was just him and a grizzled-looking man with a cudgel and shield in his hands. He held his cudgel in Vrax’s path. “Stop. Who are you? Sneaking into a meeting like this with an identity-obscuring item reeks of ill intent.”

  Well shit, I take it back; we should hire this guy—he’s observant. Vrax nodded affably and set the drink tray down slowly. “Here I am invited… just not as one of the participants… I wanted to get an honest look at which of these hoity-toity fucks are worth my time.” Vrax handed over the letter slowly; the man took a cautious step back and started scanning the letter with his weapon still raised. “Also…want a job? It’s kind of hard to find guards who, you know, actually fucking pay attention. I honestly would have expected you to be champagne drunk by now…” Vrax half joked.

  “ The man handed back the letter with a look of amused surprise on his face. “My L…” Vrax put a finger up to stop him.

  “Sir, may I bring the drink in now that you checked who I am?” Vrax asked performatively with an amused twinkle in his eye, making sure that the waiter coming back in heard him clearly. The guard smiled back and nodded, letting him past.

  The room was smaller than Vrax had expected. An oval table dominated the center with fourteen figures seated and a handful of still empty chairs. Huh, guess not everyone accepted the invite…or more likely some of the bigger players are here in their stead, expecting to get to buy themselves and their cronies into a new region. Lord knows how many fortunes have been made by rulers who gave up on keeping a large standing army and simply paid the knights a retainer for hanging around in case of emergencies or gave them swaths of land to make them have a vested interest in a region's stability.

  Behind each of the seated knight commanders, a matching warrior stood at the ready, nearly pressed against the wall. Guards…very skilled guards... Several of them tracked him as he walked in immediately, realizing his steady, careful gait wasn’t a match for the other servers’ stilted propriety. No one stepped up to challenge him for now at least; there were too many factions at play here for them to know who or what he really was, and it would be stupid to cause an unnecessary incident at an event as important as this.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Vrax noted the small stage hidden in an alcove of the wall that beautiful violin music played from. A familiar haunting melody, that felt out of place without the flash of fang and claw or the spray of blood. Ha, Edward got a job fast.

  Vrax stopped next to two commanders loudly arguing and offered them drinks while he eavesdropped.

  A burly man whose whole face was hidden beneath a truly impressive beard in armor that seemed made from jade with etchings of battles long past was fervently expressing his opinions to the same foppish fuck outside with the feathered wide-brimmed hat Vrax had seen at the gate. “No fedora! You don’t get it; a new king means someone can make anchors again!” The big man said with wild hands.

  “Bah, you are overthinking it, Huron! I bet it’s just one of the duke’s children striking out into the mountains with some long-hidden family relic.” Fedor said back dismissively.

  “I don’t think anyone has any, except maybe Chronos?” Huron said, a little less sure.

  “It doesn’t matter terribly who it is anyway; what matters is where it is. If I could get some mining rights out of all this, I could finally cut out the twats from the frost lords’ mines and their inane markups.” Fedor said, taking a big gulp from his glass.

  Ehh, not that bad actually, just normal money-motivated nonsense. Vrax moved on to the next interesting-looking conversation, skipping right over Dorn, who was rigidly sitting at the table looking done with everyone around him. Dorn's eyes snapped to Vrax for a moment and widened in recognition. Vrax shook his head slightly and circled back to Dorn.

  “My lord.” Vrax meekly handed him a champagne flute that looked hilariously out of place in his battered grasp. Then, barely audibly, “Let me go around the table, then announce me if you don’t mind…” Dorn’s lip twitched up slightly, and he nodded in thanks to Vrax before eyeing the champagne distastefully and begrudgingly taking a sip to sell the deception.

  The next group was a cluster of three well-dressed men that were just debating the best way to convince townsfolk to pay extra taxes to get a knight stationed nearby. Vrax just skipped over them for now; they would get eaten alive, either in the forsaken lands if they were lucky or by literally everyone in Hope's End.

  Phillis and Rogar were seated next to a boisterous man that Vrax recognized as being carried in by his men. The rainbow pattern across his armor made him look oddly like a poison dart frog. “Bah! Where is this new sovereign? I am a busy man!” He shouted out to damn near everyone in the room.

  Rogar Scowled dangerously at him. ” Shut the fuck up, Belial; you haven’t had anything to do other than protect merchant caravans in the already safe heart of the empire in years! Didn’t lift a fucking finger when we actually had to fight off those Rictor Skirmishers last year!”

  Belial's face jiggled as it shifted towards Rogar’s dangerous expression. “Not my fault that you let some vermin sneak into your territory; my part of the route was over… delivered safely to your awful little port in one piece and well fed.” He finished with a dismissive laugh.

  “You fuck, they hit us during the fucking exchange! If I didn’t know you were a coward, I would have said they paid you off!” Rogar had stood at this point and pointed one of his gnarled fingers accusatorily at the bright man.

  Dorn rubbed his palms across his face wearily and downed the champagne with a shudder. Now this is more like it; this is what I was expecting from a bunch of competing rich fucks and warriors.

  Roger’s outburst seemed to be the signal to the end of cautious civility at the table as another cluster started asking Dorn why he would even bother to show up. He immediately turned bright red and rounded on the three that had been discussing taxes wrathfully.

  Slightly farther down the table, the man in jade armor was being screamed at by a woman in contrasting-colored jade armor in what seemed much more…personal of a disagreement than many of the others. “If you hadn’t seen that harlot! We would still be a unified house!” She shouted, looking like she was about to draw her sword.

  The big, bush-bearded warrior turned a special shade of red. “I said I was sorry by the gods, Agatha! It was five years ago; just negotiate with me on this deal!”

  “Why don’t you go get her to help you now, hmm!?” She said venomously.

  “You know she left my miserable ass, you witch!” He shot back.

  Yikes, moving along… Vrax’s gaze fell on the one corner of the table he hadn’t inspected yet. A calm man in a fascinating set of tight-fitting dark green leather armor mostly obscured by a fantastical chameleonic cloak had his hands crossed under his chin and just seemed to be trying to ignore the commotion. Everything about the individual oozed deadly purpose.

  His neighbors were all talking across him at each other in various states of intensity. Vrax shook his head; this was about what he expected. I am very unprepared for politicking…good thing I don’t really plan to do that. He quickly looped back around the table, making sure to catch Dorn's eye. Dorn took a deep breath and drew himself back from the screaming match he was in with the trio of accountant-looking commanders.

  “Attention!” Dorn shouted, and no one even looked his way other than Phillis. “Attention!” He shouted again even louder. Nothing. Dorn grumbled a curse, and red mana poured from his shoulders like a mantle of power oozing through the room like a probing, hungry thing. That got everyone’s attention; half the guards drew weapons, and the arguments stilled instantly. Every eye turned towards him expectantly as he reeled in the mana.

  “The New Sovereign is here.” He said simply and gestured towards Vrax.

  Scattered laughter met his announcement as everyone in the room looked at Vrax neatly holding a champagne flute in his dress clothes. Vrax raised it in a toast. “To new allies and ever-expanding borders!” he said affably. A few scattered people cheered back, but mostly there was confused murmuring across the room.

  Belial stood up and leaned forward. “This is a very poor jest, Dorn.” Someone remove the prankster, he waved towards Vrax in annoyance. No one moved an inch, Belial’s own guards looking towards Dorn in open fear. Good, he has exactly the kind of respect I would hope for in a knight commander.

  Vrax handed Dorn his champagne flute and slowly walked towards Belial. He let miasma leak just the slightest bit with each footfall, blackening the fine carpeted floor as he calmly walked up next to the man. Belial looked on in increasing annoyance, then fear, as he saw no one moving to interfere.

  Vrax stopped within arm's reach and looked slightly down on the man. His guard had his hand on his sword and was looking back and forth between Vrax and Dorn in confusion. Vrax pulled his mask off and met the man's gaze. He held out his hand. “Sovereign Vraxious First of his name, King of the Forsaken Lands, and you are?” Belial’s eyes got wide, and murmured conversations exploded across the room.

  “Ahh, uhm, well, of course, well met, my liege…” He stuttered. Vrax smiled sickly as the corpulent hand shook his own. Vrax summoned his armor mid-handshake, and the man found himself looking into the merciless pits of light from the Paladin of the Forsaken Lands' helm.

  The room went dead quiet, other than a servant stifling a gasp and someone drawing a sword on the other end of the room. Vrax didn’t let go of the man’s hand. “You can leave now; I don’t think there’s a place for you in my lands,” he growled into the terrified man’s face and swung his gaze across the rest of the assembled knights.