From the murky abyss of obscurity, there arose a figure, illuminated by a ghastly luminescence akin to the embers of the once vibrant lives of Castrol's kinfolk, as they fled the crimson square in a maddened scurry. This individual, of formidable stature and command, was none other than the enigmatic leader of Barley's second faction, the ambitious and aspiring Tobias Mitchell.
Yet, 'tis not always destined for one to tread the path of dominion, for in the yesteryears of his youth, he was but a novice, a fledgling in the tempestuous throes of fate. This narrative commences in the wake of a fiery calamity that claimed the lives of Lilly's kin, an incident that would irrevocably mold the trajectory of young Tobias' existence.
Nurtured within the austere embrace of the sacred sanctum, amidst the unforgiving precincts of the ecclesiastical institution, he evolved into a pupil of repute, esteemed for his mastery over the elusive essences of mana and his profound comprehension of the hallowed scriptures. These virtues, extolled by the clergy, bestowed upon him the appellation 'Raised Right', as he was indeed the embodiment of religious upbringing.
But beneath this vesture of piety dwelt an ambition unbridled, a ravenous hunger for power that the meager morsels of his station could never satiate. For from the very depths of his soul, Tobias Mitchell was a man consumed by visions of worldly salvation, a self-anointed deity yearning to be the fulcrum of the cosmos.
The lofty seat of the high priest called to him with the siren's seductive allure, a throne that promised absolute authority. Yet, the capricious hand of fate had dealt him a divergent path, one of anonymity and servitude.
Tobias, ever the architect of his own destiny, grew restless and disenchanted with his lot. He began to amass a devoted congregation of youths, ripe for the sowing of discord's seeds and the manipulation of the feeble-willed. His charm and eloquence, once instruments of the divine, now served to bend the weak to his nefarious purposes.
With the relentless march of time, a clandestine sect grew from within the very marrow of the church, a congregation that revered the young cleric as a prophet heralding the dawning of a new era. Their numbers burgeoned, engulfing even the aged clerics who succumbed to his fiery orations and the tantalizing prospect of a realm reborn in the reflection of his divine intellect.
And thus it came to pass, on the fateful day of the Second Birth, when the heavens themselves were rent asunder by the cacophony of celestial horns and the very essence of the gods descended to purge the earth, that the true nature of this man was laid bare before the astonished gazes of all.
The high priest Mathias, a bastion of faith and constancy, stood as the very embodiment of holiness and righteousness in the eyes of the faithful. Yet, as swift and as ruthless as the shadows he often invoked, Tobias Mitchell raised his hand in rebellion, his voice a venomous growl that resonated through the square.
"Heretic!" he bellowed, his words a damning indictment of Mathias' soul.
"I serve the true deities, and I shall not be blinded by the whims of mere mortal clay!"
His speech was that of a man possessed, a declaration of war upon the very bedrock of Avarician doctrine.
For 'tis a grievous sin in the eyes of the Avarician faith to submit to the rule of another man, and though Mathias, a beacon of peace, offered his own defense with a heavy heart, his voice a solemn toll that reverberated through the very essence of all who bore witness, it was in vain.
"You have been led astray, my esteemed mentor. Allow this enlightened soul to guide you back to the true path."
Tobias spoke, feigning ignorance of his accusations, extending a treacherous branch of mercy to Mathias.
Yet, whether he truly sought to redeem the high priest, this chronicler shall not presume to know, for on that grim morn, the beast of ambition had been unleashed, and its craving for dominion knew no bounds.
Mathias, high priest of Barley and steadfast adherent to the teachings of Nandi, the Goddess of Balance, would not be swayed by such deceitful pleas.
"You blaspheme against the holy order, child?" the aged priest bellowed with the might of a thousand lions, his fury unbridled.
Tobias had provoked the beast, and now it would wreak its vengeance upon him.
At least, so it was meant to unfold.
The square was frozen in a tableau of horror as the once-revered priest was brought down by his own brethren in clerical garb, betrayed by those he had sworn to lead. A dagger in the back, for the man who had once been the spiritual shepherd of Barley.
And as the mortal shell of Mathias collapsed into a convulsing heap, once a bastion of holy might, now an example of the cost of defiance, Castrol Pennant could do naught but watch, his arms restrained by the very men who had once offered their blessings.
Barley, once a bastion of unity, now stood asunder, a yawning chasm of distrust and terror cleaving through its very core. And as the shadows lengthened and the abyss of nightfall approached, the man who had been a mere cleric now claimed a title that whispered of power unchecked.
The title, 'Kingg'.
As the tale unfurls, the crucified corpse of Mathias would be the catalyst for what came next. The division of Barley.
-To Be Continued-