Of Wayward Princes and Mysterious Witches

[Damian Prince]

The Kingdom of Aelhaven has prospered for centuries, upholding the code of honor and justice revered by brave warrios that built it. It exists as a shining beacon for the oppressed who seeks refuge, the wanderer who seeks a home, and the courageous who seeks employment. The King's wise and merciful reign reflects the greatness of the kingdom itself.


One day, however, the King banned magic. Most did not notice, and if they did, they did not care. After all, how would such a decree affect them? Magic was a rare art, practiced in seclusion. No, a much nobler art existed in the form of honorable combat. And none excelled more than the King's son, Prince Ezekiel Aster Mikkelson. However, he houses a "dark" secret, quite literally. Despite his best attempts to hide it, it would seem someone witnessed it. What happens now is up to fate.

 

[Damian Prince]

Sweat dripped from his brow, momentarily obscuring his vision. Alas, his helmet, whilst providing ample protection for his head, did not allow Prince Ezekiel Aster Mikkelson to do anything about it. Of course, had the helmet not been there, his opponent would almost certainly have prevented him from doing so anyway. Their swords clashed, the sound of forged metal on forged metal ringing out over the hushed whispers of the arena, with only the occasional grunt of effort from the two duelists breaking the otherwise still air. With a deft hand, the Prince blocked and parried, living up to the royal pedigree he was brought up in. However, this was the final battle of a long anticipated, multi-kingdom tournament, and his competitor did not challenge him without merit. Suddenly, a slight misstep on the Prince's part gave the foreign warrior the leverage needed to bring the young Prince to his knees. The crowd gasped, some cheered, but he heard none of it. In that moment, time slowed down for Ezekiel as a vaguely unfamiliar, yet unwanted feeling began to blossom in his chest and creep down his sword arm.


It had began only a few, short months ago, but it still disgusted the Prince. Shortly after his great and noble father, the King, had outlawed magical practices, Ezekiel had been practicing for this very tournament in a rather unconventional manner. He'd reasoned that there was no better way to become better acquainted with the way of the blade than to test his mettle on worthy adversaries, which the kingdom's rank-and-file soldiers were not capable of being. So, he stole away into the night, passing the guard towers with a practiced degree of nonchalance. It was in the dark forest that he encountered the creature he thought would be his undoing. Despite his prodigious abilities, the Karnagor, a beast of legendary strength and infamous ferocity, pinned the Prince and opened its horrifying maw to reveal rows of serrated, poison-tipped teeth. With a snap of its bone-crushing jaw, it bit down on the blade that Ezekiel had raised in a feeble attempt at protection... Yet, the sword did not shatter. As he lay there, gasping for breath under the mass of the monster, time slowed down. The world moved at a snail's pace, and he could see the very drops of saliva drip from the dangerous teeth that were mere inches from ending him. Wasting no time, he utilized his advantage, whatever it was, and dragged his blade from the Karnagor's snout to its stomach, disemboweling the creature as if filleting a fish. It was only when he'd returned to the safety of the kingdom the next day that he heard horror stories from a band of traveling, drunk mercenaries. They spoke of a small pack of Karnagors with hides so thick that no physical blade could pierce it. Curiously, upon further inspection, the Prince's sword was curiously lacking in luster, as if the metal itself had been... tainted by a dark force of unknown origin...


From that day on, every time wielded his sword, he felt a chill run down his spine. In times of dire struggle, a sensation overcame his body, as if someone, or something, else had awakened within him. It was not a warmth, but a freezing cold that he felt when he experienced what he could attribute to only one thing: magic. And, yet, for all his father's laws and his own repulsion at what was happening to him, he could not deny its usefulness in battle. With this in mind, Ezekiel focused his attention on the task at hand. As the warrior brought down what was clearly meant to be a two-handed finishing blow, the Prince miraculously, or rather, magically, blocked the mighty swing with a single hand. Spying what seemed to be an ostensibly minor flaw in his opponent's stance, he swung out his leg, catching the other knight by surprise. At that moment, the battle was decided, and the execution by impalement of his foe was a mere formality. The crowd jumped out of their seats, professing their never-ending praise for the Prince. As his father proudly heralded him as a shining example of what a champion should be, Ezekiel could not help but have his triumphant mood tempered by the knowledge of the truth of his victory. More importantly, he sincerely hoped that no one with keen eyes and a discerning mind had witnessed what happened. If word of this reached the King, who knows what would happen.

 

[Prize Fighter]

Well, well, well. What do we have here? Khana thought, her interest was piqued. It was rare for someone to have the ability to do magic, but to have the ability to do dark magic? That was almost unheard of. With the exception of herself, the prince was unique in this ability. The witch smirked. This day was going to be more eventful than originally believed. With a snap of her slender fingers, time began to slow; the cheering crowd died down, their screams floating away on the wind. Only Khana and the prince had the ability to move or grasp what was going on. She moved towards him, her flowing white dress trailing behind her. She was a goddess among the mundane.


"Aren't you a naughty prince. Using magic to win a duel? That's so very...exciting. Exciting until daddy dearest finds out and beheads you like he's beheaded everyone else who can do magic." She patted the king on the cheek, wiping her hand on her dress in disgust. "If you decide the power is too much for you to handle on your own, you can find me in the cottage by the pond. You'll see it if you use your powers." With that, Khana was gone and the crowd had resumed their merriment. The king touched his cheek, with the oddest sensation that someone had touched it.