Dire Radiance Part 1 "The Oracle"

Chapter 1 "The Graven King"

Nerif looked back only once at the place he had called home. As he stood there, taking in the view, he did not glance once at Her. The Pallid Sibilys showed no emotion, as usual, but inside she felt something she had not felt for some time. She feared. She knew this prophet held power, more than she had ever seen in a pupil. She brushed the feeling off. "Even if he discovers this power, this gift, he will never learn to control it." she reassured herself. Perhaps this fear resembled a sort of subconscious guilt for her actions, as if she anticipated his revenge. We will never know.

"It is time" the Cymurri wizard said. Nerif knew this man was merely a loyal servant to the king doing his job, but he could not help but feel a sort of resentment for him. As the wizard pulled out and read from a scroll, a portal to Cymurri opened. They stepped through, and Nerif watched as the last glimpse of his home faded away. He could not have known this, but this was the last time he, or anyone else for that matter, would ever see the Ivory Incubarium.

Darkness. The world swirled and spun as reality warped around them. After what seemed like hours, the darkness subsided. Nerif and the wizard stepped into the sunlit room. In front of the pair stood a grand hall. Great stained glass windows lined the walls, depicting former heirs with their prophets. Four long tables filled the room, two on each side with a walkway in the center, with every seat filled.  Each table belonged to one of the four clans of the kingdom. The four clans included Arod, known for its presence in politics and the court, Faelben, known for philanthropic work and heavy religious affiliation, Galadphen, known for its connection with nature and defense of the natural world, and Raeg, known for its immense spy network and heavy roots in organized crime.

At the front of it all stood the High Seat. The throne of Cymurri. It sat empty, patiently awaiting the next heir to take the former king's place. Nerif was led through a small door in the back of the room. It was here that he first laid eyes on his new master. The heir to the High Seat. The next Graven King. He sat alone, but stood upon their entry. It was obvious he had been waiting anxiously.

"Your prophet, my liege. Delivered straight from the Incubarium with the Sybilys's regards," the wizard said.

"Thank you, you are dismissed" the man said. He watched as the wizard left, his dark eyes following every movement he made. When the door was closed, he surveyed Nerif. Up and down he looked at him, taking in everything about him. Nerif did this as well, as he wished to become familiar with this man he had come to serve. The king was short for someone in a seat of such power, barely reaching five and a half feet. His jet black hair was unkempt and oily. His robes were grandly adorned with jewels and gold, displaying the crest of the king proudly in the center. His face was unkind, and showed deep worry and nervousness. Its most prominent feature was a long scar running across his face from his left eyebrow, through his blind left eye, and down to the right side of his chin. Finally, he spoke to Nerif.

"I am Thiriston. And you are my prophet I would assume?"

"Yes, and the Sibilys called me Nerif, so I suppose that will be my name, not that I anticipate you will use it," he replied, already disliking this king.

"I was expecting someone more mystical and otherworldly." Thiriston said.

"I was expecting someone taller" Nerif replied with a grin. Thiriston remained stonefaced, and he began to explain the upcoming ceremony. Nerif was to stand quietly to the left of the throne until he was introduced, then he was to give a prophesy to prove his abilities. When he finished explaining, they stepped through the door and into the grand hall. As the ceremony began, Nerif started his meditation. Once he had reached full concentration, his spirit entered the aether, and the world faded away. As he wandered, he planned. It was not wise to reveal his abilities just yet, he needed to secure a foothold in the court first. After what seemed only seconds, he was called back into the real world by a loud noise that broke his concentration. All in the hall were staring, waiting in anticipation.

"Speak you fool!" Thiriston bellowed, his new crown nearly falling from his head. The ceremony was obviously almost over, and Nerif had missed his queue. Rage welled up inside of Nerif at the sound of those words. If Thiriston wanted to treat him like a lesser being, then so be it. The time for being civil had passed. Unknowingly, the Graven King had sealed his and the kingdoms fate. He almost smiled as he spoke,

"Tel' aran en' i' for will break i' ages iant treaty. He will declare ohta ar' i' kingdom will be plunged e'a ta meetima age. Tel' tella graven aran stands n'ala you."

"Advisor! Translate that gibberish so that we can understand!" Thiriston nearly yelled.

"The king of the north will break the ages old treaty. He will declare war and the kingdom will be plunged into its final age. The last graven king stands before you," the Advisor said with trepidation.

"Impossible!" a delegate from Arod declared, "That treaty has been upheld for generations! It was founded by the northern kingdoms in order to prevent the first Graven King from invading them! Why would they break it now? And which king does the oracle speak of?"

"YOU LIE!" Thiriston screamed, consumed with rage. He threw himself at Nerif, but just as he reached him, the door flew open. A courier ran into the hall, and everyone stopped cold when they heard what he said.

"The northern kingdoms have rallied together under one king. They march on the border as we speak!" And as panic swept through the hall, Nerif smiled to himself. It was only a matter of time now.