Warnings of Hubris

Hello my lovelies, I am so sorry for the late post, yesterday was my anniversary. I assumed that I would be able to find the time to finish and edit the chapter. Obviously, I scarcely underestimated how busy I would be, as an apology I will be posting an additional chapter with the next post.

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As Galliard stood up, his gaze travelled along the outline of his saviour. He took in the tall Amazonian woman from her long black crinkled hair to her auburn-coloured eyes. Her pale skin and muscular body clothed in chainmail and gambeson, the only plate armour consisting of greaves and gauntlets.

Though there were a few of them serving Lords and Ladies of the Mask, this was the first time he had the honour of meeting an Amazon. She was fearsome and he could not seem to take his eyes off her while she was in the midst of battle. Although that was primarily because he had been tied up and on his side, so he had little choice at the time. At that moment he vowed to himself that he would become as strong as her one day, no, he would become even stronger than she was.

"My brother must surely know of my absence by now," He said composing himself, not wanting to look as weak as he felt in front of the woman. "I would like you to meet him and be rewarded suitably for I have nothing to give you at this very moment."

"Though unneeded I humbly accept your gracious offer," She replied with a wide grin and a nod. "Call me Ashlin and if I heard correctly you are the elusive Prince of Wrath."

"Wait, Ashlin?" Galliard stopped dead in his tracks. "As in Ashlin the unbeatable, that roams the lands looking for a master worthy enough of her?" At that moment a plan started to form in his head that would ensure that she would be kept around. He knew that she would be a great asset in the war he could see brewing over the horizon.

"I know of someone that you could challenge, powerful enough to be your Master." The boy spoke, his chest confidently puffed out.

"And who might that be?" She wondered, her curiosity getting the best of her.

"Why my brother of course."

"A mere assassin!" She bellows a hearty laugh, Galliard's eyebrow twitched in amusement, this being the first time he has ever witnessed anyone laugh at his older kin's prowess. She would soon learn better. "No assassin would ever come close to beating me."

"This assassin is unlike any other," He said in defence of his blood. "It will be worth the fight if nothing else."

"Fine, since you speak so highly of him I shall see if he is truly worthy!." She said boldly, doubting that he could so much as scratch her armour. "I'm not one to turn down a fight."

Ashlin lowered herself to pick up the now unconscious Xavier, or at least what was left of him and began their journey towards the castle of Wrath. Galliard decided at the last moment to grab the other mask for his brother to do what he wished instead of killing her as he wanted to. She had passed out from the shock of the pain at some point, not being used to being so badly beaten.

Compared to Lord Love, Olga looked more like a charred cadaver than a living being, her flesh blackened and flaking away. She would live, she was Blessed after all, even now he could see new muscle coming through over the bone. Considering where they were going, however, she may have wished she had died in battle like her companion that was completely cut in half. There are many things that the Blessed could heal from, that however is not one of them.

"So…erm, thank you again, for saving me, I mean." He looked up at her, shifting the traitor on his shoulders.

"That's quite alright little one," She smiled down at him, eyes almost shut at how wide her grin was. "Better him than us after all." She shook Xavier in one hand, like a tormented doll. His lax body flopped around from the sudden movement.

"True enough…" The prince nodded in agreement, wondering what the man would endure once his siblings got their hands on him.

"Men like him do not think of much more than what they can gain, relishing in tormenting others," She paused, looking upwards, at a memory. "My homeland has a history of overthrowing cruel lords and kings."

"I do not think I know much about your homeland, you come from the West right?" Galliard asked, curious about the topic.

The Amazon huffed at the question, thinking for a moment how she would answer. Looking around for a moment, the warrior tapped a gloved finger against her lips before quenching the boy's curiosity.

"I hail from Shevara, the Golden Mountains, specifically," She began, looking westwards. "It's a beautiful place, my home lies between the two largest ranges, cut off from the sea."

'Most importantly, untouched by mortals.' The thought galloped across her mind, only there for but a moment.

Amazonian women disliked mortals as much as most Blessed did. So much so that It was rare to see an Amazon even so much as tolerate them. It was not their lack of power or strength that annoyed them so, but the fact that they still believed themselves to be all-powerful and mighty with so little of it.

It would not take much for one Blessed to reduce a whole Kingdom to ruin and yet they still dare to go against them. Once upon a time, they knew their place as lesser creatures but as years turned to decades and decades to centuries they got smarter. Evolved.

Those same mortals the Blessed took under their wings, protected from the beasts of the land, all but smiled in their faces while they sought out their weaknesses. Sadly some were found, and with it, they were able to imprison some of those same Blessed that kept their ancestry alive.

The Elves among others, got the worst of it, they were always the most trusting of the Blessed. That trust, however, came with a heavy price. Keargyrite, though harmless to most, is a powerful weapon when wielded against an Elf. When nearby, it sucks their power and strength dry, leaving them as defenceless as a mortal. They wielded this gem against them, giving them two options, sign a soul contract or die. If they refused they were slaughtered, but the alternative was far worse than they could have ever imagined.

Elves, ever traditional and pious, observed many rituals to the divine. One such event was the Day of Reincarnation, celebrating the endless cycle of death and rebirth of the Blessed. During this, Makya the Goddess of the hunt and Ivy the Goddess of nature were venerated. During this holy day, the human empires of old sprung their trap. With many of the leaders and heirs of the Elven Houses present a devastating blow was struck. Surrounding the area with crystals, disguised as gifts to the Blessed race.

Suddenly leaderless and in chaos, the Elven houses fractured, many of their kind being slaughtered or captured by their controlled kin. The only ones to escape this fate were those who were too young to join the festivities. Taken in as wards by the other Blessed Races. Those who escaped and went into hiding. Or those who were stationed elsewhere in outposts or on military campaigns. Soon those who were left faced the collapse of their nation. Scavengers picked at their lost territory as the young and the scattered struggled to regroup.

With how many of the Elves had been captured, or killed, even the other Blessed races took pause. The losses they would take dealing with the issue would be devastating, weakening their positions. All remembering the great war between the Thousand Masks and the Vampire Counts. An apocalyptic conflict at the end of the second cycle that saw the Vampires extinct and the continent of Zarora to become what was now known as the Shattered Isles.

Ever wary of their peers striking at their backs should they rally to destroy the mortals that had disrespected the Blessed. The blades of the other Blessed stayed sheathed, as was that of the Churches of Dawn and Dusk. The location of the treacherous Empire would become known as the Redwater Dutchy. The Goddesses themselves were not amused by this mockery and the waters became poisoned with the blood of the many Elves that had fallen. Becoming as crimson and as thick as blood, where nothing could survive in the accursed waters there.

Yet this was not the end of the Elven dominion, their sons and daughters rising anew. Their scattered remnants become a hundred nations and a hundred peoples. In the forest, the wood Elves hunt down all mortals that dare trespass. In the dark caverns beneath the earth, the Dark Elves raid against their hated foes, seeking to return their kin to the cycle. The Snow Elves in Zuraitus to the frozen north, spirited away any mortals foolish enough to enter their domain. Lastly, the Sky Elves in sun-scorched Creonix to the south, patrolling the skies on the backs of the fearsome Nerkin.

Relying on more than just their powers they trained their bodies into weapons themselves. Should they encounter the crystal again, they might not be able to fight using their magic but even at the strength of a human, they could cause great destruction.

Little did the Amazonian know as she stewed in her hatred of the species that she was standing next to a halfling. As Galliard walked side by side with the behemoth of a woman, he was completely unaware of the hatred she held in her heart. If she ever found out about the origins of his lineage, who knows what would happen.

"I have only heard tales about your people, but it is nothing compared to seeing you in person." Galliard spoke, looking up at her with the eyes of an awestruck child, something that Ashlin had become quite used to throughout her travels of Xendrada.

"With lots of practice and discipline, you could achieve such yourself," Ashlin's soothing voice matched the tenderness of her words. "A great warrior is not made in one night."

"Tell that to my brother," He turned his head away from her as he mumbled under his breath, unable to help the scoff that came out with it. "He thinks of me as worthless."

As true as they were, the words stung every time he heard them. He could not bring himself to understand why his two older siblings could achieve such greatness when he tried just as hard but got nowhere. He often wondered what made him so different from them, was he destined to be the family outcast for the rest of his life?

"A worthless man is a man that does not bother to try," Galliard's head snapped back towards the woman as she spoke. This was the first time since his mother that anyone had tried to comfort him in such a way. Even when he spoke similar words to Gabriella all she spoke of was a profession away from the evils of the battlefield. Not that Wrath would ever allow that to happen. "If you fail you get up and you try again, quitting is true cowardice, but a man that continues to try…"

"That is someone I can admire."