Marked Ones: Advent of the Demon Prince

Throughout Varris, a number of soldiers moved mechanically and along designated paths. They were assigned strict routes through the city for patrols to ensure that the population of non-elves and mixed races did not enter into the areas cordoned off for the true elves.

Another of their responsibilities was to ensure that the true elves who had 'lost their sanity' and cavorted with other races were kept inside their assigned areas.

To put it bluntly, the trade city of Varris was put under martial law. Indarel watched the events in his city from a balcony on the third floor of this family home. He was taking in the fresh evening air to clear his head of the wine that he had been enjoying during the party.

Though danger sat outside their walls, those of high-society still had their images to maintain. The night's party had been scheduled weeks prior and Indarel would not tarnish his good family name just because of some non-elven brat leading an army of traitors.

In his mind, Lady Ayalla had the right of it. To keep their race pure, it was best that they close their borders, just as Haedda had done centuries ago. Granted, no one knew by what means they were able to easily enforce their isolation. Aedrider would suffer breaches in their borders without similar protections, but they could manage.

In such a future, cities like Varris would become military strongholds to protect their lands from those who would cross into them. This was why Ayalla had secretly funneled funds into his family's coffers for years prior to her attack.

At first, Indarel was not very convinced, however, at the eleventh hour before needing to finalize his decision, a non-elf made his way into the city and wrought destruction and chaos along its streets.

Such barbarism would not stand in the future and this solidified Indarel's wavering feelings regarding the situation. That very next day he sent a letter to the capital addressed to Princess Ayalla informing him of their allegiance. He also sent letters to surrounding lords regarding the incidents within his city.

Fewer leaders than he had hoped responded in kind with Indarel. Many simply responded with inane yammering regarding not letting a 'few rotten apples' spoiling the bunch. Seeing such frivolous dismissal for a Ayalla's fearmongering being realized pissed Indarel off to no end.

When the order came to rise up, he and his allied lords quickly cast out the weak-willed fakes who were unworthy of protecting their country's borders. Several of those lords fought to the death, but others willingly surrendered for the purposes of sparing their lives. The survivors currently sat in Varris's dungeon below the main floor.

"Sir Indarel," a butler approached and bowed, "Your guests await your return, milord."

"Ah, of course they do," He responded with a suave smile, "Who would not be eagerly awaiting my return to the dance floor. Many of the noble ladies tonight have already swooned at my performance on the ballroom floor, 'tis only right I continue to sweep many others of their feet."

"It is as you say, milord. Though I do beg your pardon that there is one additional matter to attend to." The butler calmly cleared his throat before attending, "The guest of honor is on his way as well. We expect him to arrive within the hour."

Indarel paused; his expression solidifying on his face as if it were turned to stone. He took a moment to regain his noble visage before nodding in understanding and stepping inside the ballroom.

Pleasant music filled the air courtesy of the string quartet that was hired to play the event. Dozens of nobles danced along the ballroom floor, their fine shoes clacking against the marble floor in time to the gentle rhythms of the instruments. Dozens more gathered at the edge of the dance floor, gossiping about the latest events within and around the city. Read new adventures at empire

Though an enemy force was at their doorsteps, one would never imagine it given the atmosphere within the Varris family manor. Indarel had since fixed the expression on his face back to one of confidence and pride. The smells of fine meats and desserts wafted through the air to assault his nose, pulling him towards the buffet table.

The party had gone on long enough that it was finally proper for him to be allowed to eat. As the host of the party, it was considered ill-mannered to eat prior to the first dance. Of course, for Indarel, the first dance turned into over a dozen as the young daughters and sisters of noble and wealthy merchant families tried to woo his heart at the hopes of becoming a wife candidate.

Indarel gladly accepted the attention and selected a few young women in his mind who he would approach before the end of the night with an offer of joining him in his private chambers. Many of them were likely to accept on the potential that they get pregnant from their union and secure a place by Indarel's side through blood ties.

Some of the attendants serving the food and delivering trays of drinks among the guests whispered among themselves. They seemed to think that they were being quiet enough to not be overheard, but Indarel had just managed to make out their conversations.

It seemed that many of the guests and the staff had discussed, though not with each other, regarding the oddity of hosting such an event at such an odd time. Many more people were invited to the soiree, but were unable to attend due to the enemy force preventing people from moving into or out of the city.

Hearing about such concerns made Indarel smile because he knew why there was no need to be concerned. Though it was now common knowledge that Titan of Eroa, now commonly referred to as the Angel of Death among hushed whispers, was the one leading the forces outside their walls. Everyone initially assumed their own demise, but Indarel assured them there was no need.

For he was the only one who knew that the infamous man would not destroy their city.

Indarel calmly reached into his coat pocket and thumbed a letter he had stuffed inside. It was a document he had received shortly after word got out that Letheya's forces were advancing upon Varris. As panic began to set in, Indarel found a strange document on his desk. In it were several pages detailing a number of things about his family and Princess Ayalla's allies that were kept top secret.

After the author of said letter provided detail after detail of secret matters, they then informed him that Lucius Kane was looking for something within Varris. Though they did not share what it was that he was searching for, the author of the letter insisted that it was important enough to change his approach to attacking the city.

It was even possible that he had separated himself from his forces and infiltrated the city undercover. Were this to be the case, Indarel assumed he might be able to capture Lucius or at least delay him long enough for reinforcements to arrive. At the same time, he received a request to parlay by General Faylin, which Sir Indarel graciously accepted.

All with the intent to further buy time, of course.

The likelihood of capturing Lucius Kane on their own was extremely small, especially if he made contact with Kestis and the rebels hiding throughout the city. However, another gift of fate was bestowed upon him, in the form of a direct representative of Ayalla's mysterious allies.

Murmurs and the dull roar of sudden chatter drew Indarel's attention to the entrance of the ballroom. Standing there, calmly with his eyes closed, was an elf wearing strange clothing. To the average onlooker, it would appear that he was wearing simple monk's clothing, yet the material was anything but simple and denoted a much more expensive make.

The flowing sleeves and pantlegs of the man's articles fluttered gently at his wrists and ankles from the subtle breeze coming in from the open balcony doors. His head was completely shaven and he moved about the hall gracefully, despite his eyes being sealed shut.

At his waist was an ornate scimitar with specks of green scattered throughout the metal, seemingly folded into it during the forging process.

No one knew what it was that created this strange coloration, and though Indarel and his personal blacksmith had asked several times, the mysterious man never answered. In fact, since his arrival, he had not spoken. He kept his lips as sealed as he kept his eyes.

Several of the other guests had yet to meet the enigmatic representative and found themselves in awe of his strange and somewhat alluring attire. Indarel gave a subtle wave in the man's direction. The guest nodded and weaved through the crowd without issue until he was by Indarel's side.

"Thank you for your attendance, good sir." Indarel whispered, trying to keep their conversation quiet. Many of the patrons tried to not so subtly listen in despite his look of warning. "With Faylin's presence outside the city, I do believe that Lucius Kane is somewhere in the city.

Since he is an irregularity and rather unpredictable, I would appreciate if you stayed by my side until the situation is resolved. Though I do not know what it is that the man is looking for, it is likely that it is in my possession. I doubt anyone else in this damnable city has anything as valuable as what my family possesses."

Indarel moved to gulp down a glass of wine in mild frustration, while his guest simply nodded silently in understanding.