The Inevitable

A cruel wind rustled the leaves which lay thick upon the forest floor, their vivid golds and reds now faded to black and withering as they writhed amongst the rotting stumps of the once grand trees. Beneath the leaden skies only the occasional cawing of the black birds which darted back and forth between the decay disturbed the deafening monotony of the seemingly constant storm and crackling of the leaves. Towering above the scenes of decline stood a mass of grey rock which cast a shadow over the surrounding woodland: Mount Octavia. The mountain kept a solemn watch over the unchanging landscape, the frequent storms thrashing rain down upon its cold surface around which the black clouds swirled. Casting constant darkness on the land below.

In this uninhabited landscape very few people were seen, the odd travelled hurrying through now and then eager to leave the gloom, however on this day figures were moving slowly amongst the trunks of the ancient trees. From all directions small bands of men came, making for a pile of mossy stone at the foot of the mountain. On horseback the travellers emerged from the shadow of the thin canopy, their hoods raised against the incessant rain, and gathered around the ruins.

The growing group dismounted and stood in silence, seven bands in all each with a leader who stood side by side with the others facing the stone surface of the mountain which loomed above them. The remaining men gathered up behind their captain, one from each group holding high a dark banner which was entirely indistinguishable due to saturation which it had received on the long journey. The silence remained unbroken as the mass of people waited intently, eventually hurried footsteps were heard and a eight particularly ragged group emerged from the forest.
“Late again are we, Earl Henry?” King Jeremy II asked with a grin as he turned and lowered his hood. “Easy for you to say” Henry retorted “I’ve had to drive here from Keltia while you lot have private jets!” By now the rest of the group of captains had turned and were laughing and talking amongst themselves as if they were old friends who had been apart for too long. As hood after hood was lowered King Jeremy II, Earl Henry, Sahib Jahandar Khan, Theodoric Cyning, Yeremiah Bet Sarqis, Friedrich Ludendorff and Juliaj Yaqinsen were all revealed to be present and more or less intact after their long journey which had bought them to central Benacia.

The voices of the reunited family drifted through the forest for nearly an hour before a sudden thump ended the festivities. One of the accompanying guards had passed out from the long period of standing at attention and the Riponian flag lay sprawled alongside it’s bearer on the damp leaves of the floor of the clearing. “Ah yes, the matter at hand.” Jeremy II announced suddenly, remembering finally what had bought them there in the first place. “We are all agreed then, that this world is no longer what we desire and that the time to move on has long passed?” The others muttered their approval and so the ceremony began.

The eight men, now re-hooded, formed into a circle where they stood in silence seemingly lost in deep thought. Suddenly however, and in inexplicable unity, eight swords scraped from eight scabbards: each blade glowing an identical blue in the darkness of the unending night. Soon the swords were raised so the tips rested on each other, each blade baring a mark of “JIP” and identical in every way. “For the King of the mountain!” the leaders chanted in unison before silence was once more restored. Then a high whistle pierced the air, drifting through the dead wilderness. A lone raven answered the call, flying from the canopy and coming to a rest on the arm of King Jeremy II who seemed unconcerned by the mysterious behaviour of an apparently wild animal.

The former monarch then uttered a single quiet word before the bird once more took flight, the black figure souring upwards getting smaller and smaller until it vanished into the darkness and was gone. The guards looked slightly bemused as their leaders re-sheathed their swords and watched the blank rock face, however their confusion soon turned to disbelief as a crack appeared in the stone revealing a dark space behind. Slowly but steadily the crack increased and soon a gaping door stood where before there had been nothing amongst the mossy ruin, at this point each captain approached their escorts and took their banner “You are freed from our service” Jeremy II announced “you may return home now and tell the world of our departure so that they may remember our works untarnished, however you must never reveal what you have seen here today: or else” the old King said the last words with a grin and a wink before turning and leading his relations towards the newly created chasm in the mountainside.

One by one the banners and their owners disappeared into the shadows of the carved arch and disappeared, as the last man (Theodoric Cyning) was out of sight the door began to move once more and much to the guards astonishment it was soon gone entirely and not a mark could be seen to betray its previous location. After a few moments of confusion the escorts took the King’s advice and hurryingly began the journey home, passing back through the woodland through which they had come. As the guards of Friedrich Ludendorff looked back at the then distant lone mountain they noticed the sun had broken through the clouds and fell upon the grey stone. And indeed it had, golden light lay across the cold rock and filled the halls of Octavia with splendour once more, illuminating the Royal standard upon the tower and 8 glowing swords which now lay around a single mighty tomb in the long silent passages of Octavia.