Thursday, April 23, 2015

The Sitting Son of the House of Kel'tep Nal

In this we meet one of the major players in the fantasy world I have been crafting for some time, as well as a key location in global politics.  I hope you enjoy the journey, however brief, into my universe.

A tall, thin man walked slowly, cautiously across heavy stone tiles, each etched with intricate pictographs, like some ancient, formal hieroglyphics, to the center of a grand, hemispherical chamber not less than a kilometer across.  As he approached, his dark, slim fitting robes fluttered in a mild cross breeze, and his hood, draped low over his brow, played out a fantastic show in the shadows cast over it by the high hanging torches which flickered in the unsettled atmosphere.  As the footfall of the tall figure, the meter of whose walk seemed to be his only preoccupation, came gliding to the sharp edge of the high, cylindrical plateau which consumed the center of the hall by twenty meters in all directions, he paused only for the utterance of a few words in some tongue, indistinct from the babel children, and long forgotten to the modern world.  As the last breath of this strange, forgotten phrase curtailed itself into a pristine glottal stop, the tile beneath the darkly clad man began to rise upon the top of a sheer pillar which, had anyone been in such a position as to notice it, would have seemed to grow, like a chute of bamboo, from the cold, gray, inscribed tiles beneath it.  When the ancient elevator reached its zenith, and found itself adjacent and in a parallel with the enormous, slick, obsidian plane atop the dais, the darkly clad man, with the low hanging hood, and the gate so measured as to seem as though he floated from one step into the next, stepped forward toward a pillar which stood upon the center of the dais, slick and obsidian as the floor from which it sprang, and reaching to the very top of the ancient and arcane chamber so as to form a central axis, into which there was carved an arching hollow, two meters in width, and a dozen in height.  Within the hollow of the pillar, there was also carved a grand seat, a throne of insane proportions, considering that the flat of it set low enough that a human might sit comfortably within it, and the arms of it stood such that he might rest his elbows at shoulder height upon them, but the seat back rose to engulf the entire arching hollow, and on every point of interest of the throne there were carved inlets, filled with grand jewels, carved, themselves, of shining obsidian.  On the throne before him sat a boy, not more than fifteen years, with long, black hair which shone in the torchlight not unlike the obsidian throne and platform around him.  His face was sullen, pale, and gaunt, in sharp contrast to the environment in which he dwelt. His fingers, long and bony, gripped, with confidence, the perfect, obsidian spheres which rested atop the outermost point of the armrests of the ancient carven throne. He wore about him robe not dissimilar from that of his caller, save for the button fold trim which ran from his collar to the floor in shining crimson band, punctuated by buttons of the same carven obsidian which dominated the sprawling dais and rising pillar that held the ancient throne on which he sat.  Upon his head rested a similar dark band, carved of obsidian, etched with the same form of pictographs which engulfed the floor of that massive, hemispherical chamber, and periodically punctuated with spires that just outward and up as the horns of some diabolical creature, and some which spiked downward and in, goring the young princes scalp as the weight off the shaped volcanic glass dug deeper into him with the passage of time.  Amongst all of this dark finery, the most noticeable presence was that of a ring, fit loosely on the right-hand, middle finger of the young lord, forged of the finest silver, and inset with a perfectly spherical obsidian orb measuring not less than a centimeter in diameter.

When the tall, obscured man reached the foot of the throne-engulfing pillar, he knelt low upon one knee and bowed even deeper, such that the billows of his hood graced the floor.  Then, as he arose from that grand symbol of deference, whilst remaining on one knee, he flipped back the shroud which had, until that moment, kept all light and recognition from his face, before he kissed his master's ring and begged pardon for his intrusion in the ancient, guttural, long-forgotten tongue which had facilitated his ascent to his master's throne.

"Please, spare this, your life that I use, that I might serve you further, My Master," his hoarse throat scratched within a stream of clipped vowels and rough, uvular consonants.

"Know that the very breath you take is granted by my grace, ant the very life you live is mine to end at my leisure," croaked the young prince in same, incomprehensible manner.  "Enough with the pleasantries, James, I know well that you know your place, and you would not interrupt my meditation without cause."

"My Lord, I bare news from the Taral'Uroog.  GlothoH has named his successor. It is..." James' voice taped off.

"Out with it, James! You are trying my patience!"

"Keffin, the half-blood, has been named successor to the House of GlothoH."

"That treacherous, vile, disgusting ORC!!!!!" He screamed in the common tongue, echoing throughout the vast hall. "I'll have his muddy gray skull stuffed above my bed for this!  That ungrateful beast! No pig will get the better of the Sitting Son of the House of Kel'tep Nal..." He tapered off in quiet illumination, then asked abruptly, "When is the ritual to be performed?"

"At dawn, My Lord."

"Then GO!  Take a complement of guards, and bring him here, ALIVE!  I need to practice my hog hunting before the summer."

At that instant, James hurried toward the gaping maw of the chamber's vomitorium and disappeared below the horizon of the grand dais.

Stay tuned for more long-winded, expository introductions, complete with minimal dialog.


No comments:

Post a Comment