One step at a time, Alaric ascended the staircase. He would lift a foot and push it forward, shift his weight onto it and bring himself up, repeating this onto the next step until he reached the platform. Before him now was a stone archway. A thin black cloth hung down from above the doorway, obscuring his view. He could see a bright warm light inside the temple, as though someone had lit a fire.
"Go on, then." Brigham spoke as Alaric stood before the archway.
Alaric put his foot forward, pushing aside the cloth. As he did this, the light he'd seen before dimmed by a large degree. He wondered why that was? What had that light been, as now he walked into a small square room that was poorly lit by a singular candle at the center of the room. On the far wall was the statue of some kind of draconic being, a cross between human and dragon.
Alaric had only read of such beings in scrolls of Ettran lore. The Mortadire Clan enjoyed studying and observing other Clans and their culture. From what they had known, Ettra was the only Clan to worship such beings, but apparently Sarua did as well. Alaric couldn't help but wonder then if the Sarua Clan originated from Ettra, splitting off and taking some of those beliefs with them.
The beings were called Dragon-kin, which were the offspring of a dragon and a human soul. They were said to have divine power, immortality and the scales and horns of a dragon. It is also said that there was only ever one blade forged in all of time that had the capability to slay a Dragon-kin.
"Welcome. I've waited for you, young miss. You are the one who has come here to avenge your family, yes? To slay the beast that consumed everyone you love." An old man suddenly spoke, sitting before Alaric, legs crossed as he faced the statue.
Alaric gave a glance at Brigham who put his hand over his eyes and shook his head.
"Uhm, no. My name is Alaric." He spoke.
"Oh." The old man said simply, then turned about, shifting his body with a grunt as he turned to face Alaric. "I see. Well. Wrong person. Simple mistake."
Alaric suddenly got the feeling he'd made a mistake in coming to the Sarua Clan. He felt as though he were wasting his time with a false prophet who thinks he can depict the future when it is just the delirium of old age.
"So, then you are the Mortadire boy?" The geezer asked with a slight curl of his lip, his brow raising knowingly.
Alaric froze, now looking the man over in a new light. He was decrepit and his skin was wrinkled, though, he seemed fit. It was strange, it was as though he was muscular, but also like he was to break and crumble away at any moment. This made Alaric come to believe the man used to be a warrior at some stage of his life.
The old man had a long white beard, bushy brows and his hair was done in braids. His eyes were squinted but you could see an almost golden glow beneath them. Black markings and symbols covered his arms and neck, most likely continuing to cover the rest of his body beneath his royal blue robes. He wore golden rings upon each finger and about his neck hung a necklace with some sort of ancient stone hanging from it.
And then Alaric noticed a very old looking sword leaning against the wall in a dimly lit corner. The blade was hidden beneath its scabbard, but he could tell it had been expertly crafted just from seeing the gold and silver detail put into the hilt. The design of the weapon was unlike the cultural blades his clan used, being of such style as katanas, kunai, shuriken, bowstaffs, longbows and, of course, wakizashi.
The blade had a more western style to it, the kind of sword you'd read of in stories of the dark ages of myth. The kind of blade you'd see the hero of a children's story wield to vanquish the great and terrible dragon.
Alaric now came to realize this man was well versed in the ways of swordsmanship and combat, and deserved his respect. He could only imagine how skilled the man was with that sword. The gleaming edge to the man's eyes only confirmed Alaric's realization, seeing now that this man could most likely best even him in swordplay.
"I see you've come to realize I am not just some old fossil from the stone ages." The old man spoke.
Alaric bowed, I placing his hand over his chest while holding the other at his side.
"I do apologize if I've offended you in any way. I did not realize you were experienced in the art of steel." Alaric spoke.
The old man chuckled, "Well, your bloodline definitely shows in the way you speak, boy. You should learn to ease up, stop with your tense posture, it hurts my back just looking at you."
Again, Alaric did not understand what he was doing wrong. Was he not simply showing respect to a higher authority? How was he being.. tense?
"So, ya gonna tell us your story, kiddo?" Brigham spoke. "Sorry to rush ya, but I must say I'm intrigued."
So, for about half an hour under the firelight, Alaric began to recall the events that led up to the current moment. He began by explaining why he'd left his room in the first place, as well as how he'd come across Esrian. Then he explained the scene of finding his father dead, Tanon as well, and how they'd gone over the scene. He explained each detail of the murder itself as well.
"Well, then it would have to be either Esrian or Tanon, would it not?" The old man asked, stroking his beard.
"I'm not so sure." Alaric responded. "Esrian didn't seem to have a guilty conscience, plus when I was framed for the deed he came after me in a wrathful onslaught, screaming it was all my doing."
"When you were framed?" Brigham asked.
This allowed for Alaric to continue the recount of events. He explained how his brother and he had deciphered a few of the mysteries of the crime, such as the arrow through the window and the dagger, as well as the missing ring and the fact their father could have by no means been killed in his quarters. He then explained how he'd gotten blood on his shirt by wiping the dagger to see the insignia, showing the Sarua mark.
After this he went over how the guards found he was guilty when seeing the blood, and how his brother, even if he knew otherwise, claimed there had been no blood on the blade to clean away to begin with. He went over his own capture and how he'd come to believe his brother was not the culprit, even despite the events.
"How could ya say he wasn't the killer? He framed us as well as ya. Seems like he is the guilty one here if ya were to as me." Brigham said with a slight shrug.
"No. If my brother was the killer he'd have no need to frame me, I pose not threat to the throne, being the youngest and most hated son. Him being the most popular would've easily taken the crown and had no need to cast shadow over me. Not only that, but associating me as a defector who had come to your side was also a strange move. If he were the killer it would've been smarter to simply leave it at an intruder from Sarua snuck in, killed the king and then fled. That would have been the best way to go about it, but he did not do so. I genuinely do not believe it was him, I think he was just hurt, confused and jumped to conclusions."
"Does this mean you forgive him for what he's done, then?" The old man asked.
"Nay." Alaric shook his head. "I still have hatred for my family sown deep into my heart. I cannot for give them and I have denounced the name of Mortadire, I intend to bring my Clan to its knees, killing every last one of its members, including myself once my creed has been followed through."
"A sinful creed." The old man sighed.
"I do not care whether you approve of my path or not. I shall follow it, whether the shadows that dance from my feet are dark and long cast or not." Alaric spoke firmly.
"I do not cast doubt or judgment over the path of others. My only aim is to guide them towards the correct corridors along that path." The man said. "By the way, my name is Grifford. It is swell to make your acquaintance."
Alaric nodded. "Indeed, I bow my head to you in respect. I can see the calluses on your hands and the wisdom within your eyes, you've wielded a blade much longer than I."
"Indeed I have, though, I should say the fact that you can see that is proof enough to your natural talent with a sword. I look forward to seeing your skill." Grifford said.
"Can we get back to the rest of his story?" Brigham asked. "It is still not finished."
"Of course." Alaric responded.
He then went over the day he was exiled, how he had been thrown out and dishonored. He explained as well how his brother had made an attempt for his life, most likely paying the archers to shoot him down as well. He recounted how Esrian had fought with him, and how he'd spilled the blood of his own brother.
"I see. The first life a man takes will forever be engraved into his being, the memory of blood and the life fading from your opponent's eyes will forever be drilled into your memory. It will never leave you. Is that something you've accepted?"
"It does not bother me, I am unaffected." Alaric spoke bluntly.
"Hmm. I see. It would seem you have an aptitude for combat." Grifford said.
"Too bad there is no war to put him to use." Brigham chuckled.
"I wouldn't be too sure." Grifford spoke. "Am I wrong, dear Alaric?"
"You should prepare yourselves." Alaric spoke, "my brother intends to wage war on Sarua."