Enter Abyss

Prologue; Mist in the streets.

Galen sat alone in his room, a cloud of despair wrapping its cold arms around him like a shroud.

The king was dead.

They had hoped he would survive until spring, until better times, yet it had not been so, and Galen mourned his father's passing bitterly. And while some boys might  welcome the fact that it was now their turn to be king, the young prince only dreaded it. Even now, he could hear his father's counselors arguing in the halls;

"The boy is weak, no more than a child!" one hissed, "I daresay his brother would do a better job. He, at least, is not so sickly that he would need to be carried to the throne."

Galen winced. Subtle, they were not.

"Mordren will be the death of us all!" another roared, "He is a madman; only seeking destruction and war."

"Well perhaps he is right. Maybe we ought to take a stand, he is the prophesied one, after all--"

"Do you hear yourself?"

"Better than you, no doubt."

Covering his ears, Galen shut his eyes in despair. Why could they not let him grieve in peace? He longed only for quiet, a quiet that had not come since they had laid the king in the Hall of the Ancients. Were they so blind that they could not see that he had not only lost a father but a dear friend as well?

Eventually, their arguing silenced and there came a knock at the prince's door.

"Come forth."

Immediately, his father's counselors opened the door, each of them wearing brightly colored robes, the gems in their foreheads sparkling in the torchlight. Their faces were grim and without needing to ask, Galen knew that he had been chosen to be the next king.

It was time for the crowning.

Weakly, he stood, waving off one of the men who tried to help him. "No." he said, quietly but with an edge to his voice, "I wish to walk on my own."

Several of the counselors exchanged uneasy glances, but they let him walk on his own through the rough stone halls, passing by the large chamber that held the prophecy. It was by far one of Galen's favorite rooms and he remembered spending hours upon hours in the chamber, looking upon the prophecy, trying to decipher what it meant. The words were engraved in his mind now, as clear as if the stone the runes were carved on was right there before him.

A chaser of darkness, a bringer of light.

A friend of the sun, a prince of night

Peace he shall bring, to those in the dark

And bending nature, he shall unite

A world of darkness and of light.

And as vague as the prophecy was, Galen had loved studying it as a child and bringing his theories about what it could mean to his father.

"Really?" his father would say, a kind smile on his face and an amused sparkle in his blue eyes as Galen told him his latest hypothesis, "That's quite a theory, young man. Perhaps you should be our interpreter for the ancient texts."

Little Galen had glowed with pride then and had tried even harder to decipher the words, filling pages of paper with ideas and drawings, wondering who the prophesied one could be.

But by then they had figured out that it was his brother.

Galen's father had forgotten all about the young boy's theories then, and had instead turned to his younger brother, Mordren, who the scholars assured him that the prophecy was about. And while Galen had been abandoned to the shadows, left to tinker with his inventions, Mordren was trained by the best, showered with praise, and treated as if he were the second coming of Threndas himself.

But it was never enough.

While Galen was content with being overlooked, Mordren only craved more power; stopping at nothing to get it.

Shivering, Galen still remembered the rage his younger brother had flown into when his father told him that the throne would go to Galen, since he was the oldest. Mordren did not speak to him for several days after that; a blessing in disguise, the king assured him.

Snapping back to the present, Galen saw that they had already arrived in the throne room-- all the officials prepared and waiting to see him crowned. Crossing the rough stone floor, the prince was about to kneel before the Head of Ancients to begin the ceremony when he felt a strong hand grip his shoulder painfully. Twisting around, he glared at his brother who was looking at him like a wyrm looks at prey.

"I hope you know what you're getting into." Mordren hissed like a viper, his teeth glinting like fangs in the dim light of the stone room. "Just know it won't last forever. Have fun playing king." And with that he released him.

Galen gave his brother a stony look, then proceeded to the front of the chamber and knelt before the Head of Ancients. Yet as the chant of Succession was spoken, echoing around the room, Galen found that he could not focus. He could only see his brother's eyes before him, glinting with a malice that terrified him.

He wondered just how long he could 'play king'.

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A dense mist covered the cobblestone streets like a thick blanket, obscuring the pale glow of the street lamps that towered in the darkness of the oncoming night.

A silent figure stood in the shadows, his black cloak covering every bit of him except a wickedly sharp blade that gleamed in the silver rays of the moon's face. The man was hidden behind a building, his eyes locked on a part of the street that had crumbled into the unforgiving blackness of the Abyss. He had been staring at the same spot for nearly an hour and soon, his patience paid off, for there, just now coming out of the pit was a young couple; a pale, thin man, and a woman with hair like fire. Even from this distance, the figure could see that the man was holding a bundle of sorts-- no doubt books of some kind.

The figure waited until they passed by him no more than a hair's breadth away before he sunk his blade deep into the man's chest, whipping it out again with a ferocity that surprised even him. 

The woman screamed as her husband slumped to the ground, his bundle tumbling out of his hands. Turning to her, the figure snarled as she sprang back and began to run with a speed almost unhuman. Within moments she had been lost to the mist, and the figure simply let her go.

She was of little threat to him; for it would be her word against the word of a servant of the Keepers. No one would believe her.

"No one disobeys the Keepers." he snarled, wiping off his blade on the hem of his cloak. He was just about to leave when the thing the man had been carrying caught his eye; most bundles did not usually cry... did they? Cautiously, he stepped forward and pulled back the cloth of the bundle.

A baby.

The man shook his head; they had said nothing of a baby. He could not just leave it here and he certainly could not bring himself to do what the Keepers would have wanted. There was only so much he was willing to do for them, after all. His job was finished as far as they were concerned. He stopped suddenly; perhaps the Keepers truly did not know of the boy and maybe they would not know if he simply took the baby with him.

Hoisting him up into his arms, the figure attempted to hush the crying child as they made their way through the streets of the Midnight District. Finally, the baby calmed down and began to play with the buttons on the man's cloak.

Smiling, the figure glanced once up at the stars and caught sight of a familiar constellation; a man with a bow and arrow, riding the moon. Looking down once more at the boy, he whispered, "I'll call you Archer."

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