A Duke Amongst Gods.by BbotChaptersWater LockedAnd Too Tight to Breath 1/2And Too Tight to Breath 2/2Water LockedStultus took his father’s bag of coins and unleashed a hail of gold to the surface of his desk. The coin heaped into a hill of gold and with a grubby smile, he counted diligently. He assembled the counted to their own pillar of gold and brushed the unneeded sum to the floor. The sensuous sound of gold hitting rock threw his heart into a race. He took the pillar of gold and sprawled it evenly on his desk. “1, 2 ,3 ,4 ,5.” he said aloud as he swiped coins into his pouch. The pouch filled with gold and when the last septum fell “100!” he yelled out. He coiled the bag closed and formed three knots with the excess lace, for the added insurance. He slipped into his silk bathrobe, his father had gifted him last autumn as a joking gesture to his fright of water. His family coat of arms bore it's back; a black hydra burdening three heads, their necks stretched to each end of the shield they embed, howling to a watery stream of red lining to right of the shield. He made for his door and sealed it shut behind him. To find those gold pieces looted away, because of his adventures siblings, would be infuriating. With his back to the door, he sat there silent for any disruptions—guards loafing about, his siblings muscling one another for some ridiculous race they would host in the halls, or his father strolling about, like he would, if he found the energy to do so. Nothing had reached his ears, so he began. It may have been too early for such a dramatic start to his day. The castle was completely devoid, not a single soul, the rats from the cellar even kept to their own that day. An adventurous bunch below there, they explored and scavenged freely in the early hours if Dulce and Mortem weren't awake and sporting a hunt for their tails. Stultus caught them more than once chasing rodents up and about the castle, he would tell them they would become ill from the animals blood or even from it's bite, but held back in wonderment if one of them would get bitten. Less pain and trouble to be dealt with, he thought. And would it really rot like father said? Stultus escaped the chamber hall and to the balcony directly over his fathers throne. He made his way down the stairs and to the floor of his father's high room. His high room stretched a lengthy pace, portraits of him standing on his hind legs and with his sword drawn out and stilted to the floor with his claws resting on it’s hilt, lined continuously on the walls. Expertly crafted and by the same artist, he believed. The look in his eyes repeated and never changed,solid and emotionless, but with a smile peeking on the corner of his face. His throne was at the other end of his high room, what a petrifying feeling to simply confront him, seated on his throne of course. Stultus leaned on the oak doors leading to the castle's yard. Clouds gathered above and hued and suns rays to it’s layers. He hid his pouch under the safety of his robe and continued to the barracks. He flew over the wall and to the town’s courtyard. He landed near his father’s statue and saw no one. The town seemed like it were raided but nothing of value was taken but that of life. Merchants and their stand laid barren and the guards were all absent to their post. He rushed to the barracks and with three heavy strikes to the door yelled,”Hello!? Anyone alive?!” he kept a wary eye to his back and struck again. The door opened to the sound of rusted hinges and lead to a void of darkness. A heavily plated griffon appeared from the darkness, with his sword sheathed and to his side. He stood on his hind legs and approached Stultus. . “Aw… Gladium, just the griffon I wanted to see.” He said with a plastered smile. Gladium stood silent and bore down at Stultus with his golden eyes. He was heavy with the smell of liquor. He picked at the scare that traced his neck and lead into his armor. A new addition to his appearance, Stultus thought, but was too afraid to mention it. His coat was black, it was difficult to see, he might have not even care for it’s appearance or forgot it himself and was simply picking it for the sensation.. “Stultus? What do you think you’re doing?” He said settling back down on all fours and with a stern look. “I need to see you!” “I understand that, but why are you here at the barracks, and at such an early hour? It was your fathers birth yesterday, he bought the entire town 50 kegs worth of brew. It seems it takes more than a few hours of sleep to clean the system of that fluid.” he laughed. “And not to mention… your birth is today, as well.” He said smiling with anticipation for the towns next public gift. “16 is it?” his voiced lighten to a higher pitch. Stultus noded, “I turned a month ag- ” “16 and legal, finally! Now you can come drinking with the guard, like you always wanted!” Stultus raised a brow, unable to recall the memory. “I’ve never said that.” Gladium put a claw to the back of his neck, “Then who am I talking about? Oh nevermind, what does the Duke’s son require of me at such a ridicules hour; training in the sword, flight combat, archery, the leading of troops? I am at your command.” he graciously bowed and awaited his word. “Do you recall the proposition I made to you, back in the tavern, not to long ago? Well... ” Stultus removed his claw from under his robe and presented the pouch. He held the pouch by it’s lace and rattled it gently, so the sound of coin voiced to Gladium’s ears. Stultus gave Gladium a sly smile. “You’re not serious?” he squinted his eyes, his voice now in a fright “This must be some test?” his face completely perplexed, he stood on his hind legs and reached for the hilt of his sword. “Tell me this is a joke, boy! A test for my loyalty, is it?!” he raised his voice to a fury, “Pathetic that your father resorts to this. Dux, show yourself!” He said, lashing out into the air and scanning his surroundings. “Shhh!” Stultus hissed, “Gladium, this no test, now settle yourself.” “Then what is it?!” Gladium sneered. Stultus reeled away from Gladium, “What I told you.” Gladium feel back to all fours and gave another look to his surroundings. “Stultus,” he began with panic in his voice, “how could you? This is… This is treason, and forbidden by the crown, not even the true crown allows for this. If you were to be discovered...” He whispered. “Do you not believe I do not understand that!” Stultus bursted, then lowering his tone when he caught wind of his volume, “I’ve take everything to consideration, I understand the punishment and I’m more than willing to take it. Think, Gladium, if this were to succeed, your position in my father’s council—my council—would be secured. And with you and I, assisting one another, no one would fathom the thought.” “But to murder your own, your own kin! It’s disgusting, and I refuse.” Gladium turned his back and made for the barracks. Stultus took to the air and intercepted Gladium’s path. His words, ripe in his mouth, only lingered on the tip of his tongue. “500 then.” he sputtered. 500 gold was no laughing amount, it was incredible to own that amount. Even as a Duke that sum is not easy to gain. But for a commoner, or even a marshal, to gain that amount, was… unbelievable. The offer was beyond tempting, it spoke volumes, but his loyalty and pride spoke another sound. To kill his legis hairs so the eldest could own all it’s titles. Under griffin law, titles were to shared amongst the successors of that Duke or Lord, once they have past. But this break between, law, pride, and fame, had him by the neck. “And what of Pax, your sister?” he whispered “She’s been dealt with.” And Too Tight to Breath 1/2Gladium was sat on the corner of his bed with a claw to his lower beak. As the marshal to Duke Dux, his name along with his bed were levitated to fit his title. His own room—exotic furnishings, his own shield and sword with sets of armor of all kinds and embellished with the family's coat of arms, bags of coins hidden away in a clever pocket he tore into his bed, numbering to a grand total of 50 shillings; all gifts from the Duke. It was too lavished for a marshal; another guard to the keep. Lavishing it may have been, but then it came to him:'Lavishing'. Lavishing but no fame to justify it, and no family to carry it. But what fame is there? What family is there? There is none to be had in a country based on peace and tolerance. And to begin a family was beyond manageable. Unfitting for a griffin, but strangely, it sat well with him. The offer Stultas made him was still fresh in his mind. An insidious request, but it carries its weight in gold. The number ran rampant in his mind, “500!” he said, "500." it was a delectable number and it sugared his tongue, but at a price of two lives: Dulce and Mortem. It was a ghastly thing to commit, but the number, it mined at his being and infested what he thought was loyalty. And when the deed is to be done, what then? How does one execute the act, even!? To treat them like they were bandits, or animals, and end them with a sword in their gullet? The mere thought of it was… was… vulgar; to end life so young, utter vulgar. A faintness passed over him, and the air fell constipated. The nerve in his claw began to collapse into a violent shiver. That sugar he once tasted, now savored in iron. “What the hay am I doing?” = “Pax, could you get me more water.” Pax left her father’s bed side to the pitcher of water that rested on his nightstand. She passed the filled cup to Stultus who stretched over his father’s bedside and handed him the cup. “Thank you.” he said, stifling a cough. “And for the dutchie?” Stultas continued with an eager gaze. “That will go to you, Stultus. As the eldest you've gained the honor to it’s title. But I can’t help but to feel that you don’t deserve it.” Dux said, sipping from his cup. “What?! How could you not entrust me with your title, I am the hair!” Stultus protested. “Oh, calm yourself boy, I was merely jesting. You are only hair to my title and this county, nothing more. If I find you meddling in your siblings affairs when I am gone, I’ll haunt you from my grave.” he said with a smirk then waving him off. “Father, you’re not leaving us, you’re slightly ill, that is all.” Pax said with a confidence unfamiliar to her. "Maybe there is a cure for this illness. You'll be well if we find it!" “Pax, please. I understand your concern. But you don't understand. I feel it. My bones are aching, and I'm begging to lose what little strength I posses.” he patted his pillow as if content with his destiny. “But I've lived fully and had my time in this world, you both understand, yes?” Pax with watery eyes, shot glances at her father and brother. Stultus stood unmoved by what had been said, and shifted himself away from Pax. “No…” said Pax, with an rattled voice, “You can’t…” “Pax, please.” The chamber door opened and a curious beak surfaced from the crack of the door. In a cheery whistle, it announced its presence. The door flung open and Dulce and Mortem threw themselves into the room, and in a tumble of wings and legs made for their father’s side. “To the Duke of Hoovington, we welcome you!” they said simultaneously and as if they were the lead jesters in Solstice Fair. “Why aren't you two in bed?” Dux asked softly. “Well, we didn’t want to go to bed.” said Dulce with both claws behind her back. “Yeah father,” added Mortem, “we weren't tired. BUT… look what Gladium gave us!” The two produced two wooden swords from their backs. Cheap flimsy things, not worthy for training, a childs toy. “Why would Gladium give you these?” “Just watch!” they said. Dulce and Mortem took up their wooden swords, and began dueling. They called the rooms attention, for reinsurance, and continued in a random flail of exaggerated slashes and prodding. They jumped to their father’s bed and continued their exchange, dodging and parrying each others blows. Dux began cheering, and Pax watched in total amusement. Dulce threw forward her sword to where her brother had already parryd her last blow. Dulce retracted a leg and recomposed, but Mortem jumped forward and began a frenzy of hacks all landing nicely on Dulce’s raised sword. Dulce flinched her sword and flung her brother's sword, then with a single thrust, struck Mortem between the pit of his arm, and in a theatrical spin and final gasp, fell from the bed. Dux and Pax began applauding while Stultas with a claw over his eyes to hide his annoyance. The two bowed for their audience of three. “Impressive!” Dux said, “Now, the only thing I wonder if that performance of yours was legitimate. It seemed a little too organized!” Mortem with a raised brow, asked “What does leg… liggnemt, mean?” “But it was real!” protested Dulce “I know,” laughed Dux, “I was merely jesting. But that is enough, Luna’s moon is above us! Off to bed the four of you. Pax and Stultus, could you take them off to their chambers; and you two do the same. Live well and long!” Pax took the two griffins under her wing and lead them out. “But we’re not tired” they repeated. All but Stultas left the chamber. He stood silently by his father’s side. And Dux saw something that struck him, he wasn’t sure what it was, but those eyes did not belong to his son. “Stultas, are you alright? You haven't gone and catch this illness of mine?” There was a storm in his eyes and it brewed something dangerous. A maelstrom of fire, eyes that only belonged to the insane. “No. I’m okay.” Stultas left his father’s chamber and met with Pax. = “But we’re not tired.” complained Mortem, “Can we do something fun, like hide ‘n seek , or maybe we can take a swim in the river!” Pax continued walking with the two troublesome griffins under her wing. She said nothing and by the strength of her left wing, pushed them forward. “Stultas, can you take Mortem to his chambers, I’ll take care of Dulce.” Stultas took Mortem by the neck and robbed him from Pax’s wing. The little griffin resisted his brothers grasp, but it only tightened. Stultas lifted him from the floor and flew to his chamber. He heard Pax cry out to him but ignored it. “Stultas!” the little griffin gasped, “you’re hurting me!” Stultas arrived to the chamber door and dropped Mortem to the floor. In a fit for air, he ran to his chamber door, and cursed his brother before slamming it. = Dulce was tucked in her bed, and everything seemed to be in order and at peace.The single thing that truly bugged Pax, was the handle Stultas had on Mortem. She has never seen that sort of aggression from another, let alone Stultas. Pax left Dulce to herself and leaned to the wall outside her sister’s chamber door; the chamber door just cracked open by a talons length. It was frightening, she admitted to herself, but to see Stultas lash out, was infuriating to let happen. It wasn’t as if siblings never fought over one another, it was common, especially the family Pax was born into. Stultas and her had their trades in harsh slurs and meaningless competition, but never… never gone as far as he had that night. And for no cause, he simply did. And Too Tight to Breath 2/2Pax had her back rested on her sisters chamber door. It was silent, and the only light that reached her eyes was the torch that lit the crossing were Stultas carried off Mortem. It danced on the hall’s red carpet and on the barren wall; she only feared that the flame would burn out. Pax removed her back from the wall and opened Dulce’s chamber door to see if little giffen had fallen asleep. It was dark, not even the light from the hall could reach the chamber’s room. “Pax, is that you?” a frail voice called out. Pax rolled her eyes at the sight of her sister’s silhouette rise from the bed sheets. “Yes? It’s me.” she said as gingerly as possible, to not invoke anymore noise that’s already present with the chamber. “Pax, I can’t sleep.” Dulce said planly. “Why not?” “I don’t know.” Pax lifted her wings to the air and made for her bedside, to avoid any disturbances to the night. With a thud she rested her head atop her sisters bed, at level with her pillow, and asked, “Tell me, what’s wrong?” “Why did Stultas do that to Mortem?” “Do what?” “You saw what he did. He grabbed his neck, and took him away like that.. He never did that before, even when their playing, never.” The question just penetrated Pax’s thoughts. She wondered the same, but wasn’t sure what to make of that somewhat violent event. “They were playing,” she lied as she placed a claw to her sister’s head “you shouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure they were just fooling around, like boys usually do.” “Is he mad? He must be mad at Mortem to do something like that. But Mortem and I were in the cellar looking… looking for wine for father. ” Pax sensed the deception in her voice, “You were hunting those animals again, weren't you?!” “No! We were looking for wine, honest!” Pax didn’t bother to question her further as her voice hit a pitch she found unbearable. Her energy was vanishing with each word she spoke. “Fine. Dulce go to bed, it’s past midnight.” she guessed blindly, but assuredly with the level of her energy. “Goodnight, see you tomorrow.” She picked her head up, and began for the door. “Wait.” Dulce yelped “What!” “Tell me a story.” “Ugh.. Dulce it’s late, and I have no stories to tell. None that I haven’t told you. Go to bed please.” Dulce with all her nerve flew up from her bed and took Pax by the claw and drew her to the bed. “Tell me. Tell me the one about the knight and the mare.” Dulce crawled back into her and made herself warm. “The old pony legend? What was it, Night’s Castle?” “Yes!” - Pax sealed the door behind her as she swiped a claw across her brow. She had laid the little giffen to rest. She was relentless with her questions, one after the other, “Did he die?” and “What did Celestia do?” after every pause. Her wings were heavy, and her eyes began faltering under their own weight. Step after step, she inched herself to her own chamber door. It was near mouth watering to see the plane of her bed, but the journey there felt as if she began an expedition for the ends of the world. The torch she once saw was snuffed out and buried within the darkness. With a few large strifes, she arrived at the crossing and took a left to the eldest chambers. Her claw finally grasped the handle to her chamber door. With an empty mind and eased temper, she collapsed onto her bed and drifted along with the night. - Stultus took his father’s ebony robe and made off into the darkness. Exactly 200 shillings hung from his waist, packed nicely in the same coin purse he presented Gladium one day ago. The meeting was this night and tardiness was the last impression he would want to make with those troublesome individuals. A bit of panic built in him, he was defenceless and was a son of a prominent duke, perfect for a kidnapping. - Gladium threw his bed sheets to the floor and gave a mighty groan when the morning air began blowing from his window. His back ached and his neck, stiff like the joints in his armor. His eyes were creased in a loathsome shade of grey, his mind still whirling. Celestia’s sun had just breached the tree line and began pouring it’s warmth to the grassy fields just outside the wall. Gladium sealed his eyes before the rays of light assaulted his eyes, he shift his weight to the end of his bed and allowed himself to fall. In an instant he stuck his limbs out and ended his dissent. The air was noxious, his nerves were still shaken, and his mind still ran numb. He rolled to his back and looked blankly at his talons and saw that they were clipped. He ran them thru his feathers, and found no satisfaction in doing so. A whole night left to thought, and no rest. “Gladium!” came a voice from his door. “What?!” he called back. Stultas invited himself in and saw Gladium still on the floor. “You seem to be doing well, Gladium.” he said with his waist leaned to corner of his drawer in a pompous fashion. “You’re time is up you understand that? Now what do you say, will you join me, or will I have to find another to do my deed.” he produced three massive bags, bulging with gold. “500, like I said.” Gladium picked himself from the rocky floor of his bedroom. He took a moment for his eyes to adjust. “No Stultas,” he said and then repeated. “I don’t know. Stultas, what you want from me is awful.” “BUT 500 GOLD! All for you, no one else.” “No… no, I understand. But I don’t desire gold.” “Then what?” “A county of my own.”
Water LockedStultus took his father’s bag of coins and unleashed a hail of gold to the surface of his desk. The coin heaped into a hill of gold and with a grubby smile, he counted diligently. He assembled the counted to their own pillar of gold and brushed the unneeded sum to the floor. The sensuous sound of gold hitting rock threw his heart into a race. He took the pillar of gold and sprawled it evenly on his desk. “1, 2 ,3 ,4 ,5.” he said aloud as he swiped coins into his pouch. The pouch filled with gold and when the last septum fell “100!” he yelled out. He coiled the bag closed and formed three knots with the excess lace, for the added insurance. He slipped into his silk bathrobe, his father had gifted him last autumn as a joking gesture to his fright of water. His family coat of arms bore it's back; a black hydra burdening three heads, their necks stretched to each end of the shield they embed, howling to a watery stream of red lining to right of the shield. He made for his door and sealed it shut behind him. To find those gold pieces looted away, because of his adventures siblings, would be infuriating. With his back to the door, he sat there silent for any disruptions—guards loafing about, his siblings muscling one another for some ridiculous race they would host in the halls, or his father strolling about, like he would, if he found the energy to do so. Nothing had reached his ears, so he began. It may have been too early for such a dramatic start to his day. The castle was completely devoid, not a single soul, the rats from the cellar even kept to their own that day. An adventurous bunch below there, they explored and scavenged freely in the early hours if Dulce and Mortem weren't awake and sporting a hunt for their tails. Stultus caught them more than once chasing rodents up and about the castle, he would tell them they would become ill from the animals blood or even from it's bite, but held back in wonderment if one of them would get bitten. Less pain and trouble to be dealt with, he thought. And would it really rot like father said? Stultus escaped the chamber hall and to the balcony directly over his fathers throne. He made his way down the stairs and to the floor of his father's high room. His high room stretched a lengthy pace, portraits of him standing on his hind legs and with his sword drawn out and stilted to the floor with his claws resting on it’s hilt, lined continuously on the walls. Expertly crafted and by the same artist, he believed. The look in his eyes repeated and never changed,solid and emotionless, but with a smile peeking on the corner of his face. His throne was at the other end of his high room, what a petrifying feeling to simply confront him, seated on his throne of course. Stultus leaned on the oak doors leading to the castle's yard. Clouds gathered above and hued and suns rays to it’s layers. He hid his pouch under the safety of his robe and continued to the barracks. He flew over the wall and to the town’s courtyard. He landed near his father’s statue and saw no one. The town seemed like it were raided but nothing of value was taken but that of life. Merchants and their stand laid barren and the guards were all absent to their post. He rushed to the barracks and with three heavy strikes to the door yelled,”Hello!? Anyone alive?!” he kept a wary eye to his back and struck again. The door opened to the sound of rusted hinges and lead to a void of darkness. A heavily plated griffon appeared from the darkness, with his sword sheathed and to his side. He stood on his hind legs and approached Stultus. . “Aw… Gladium, just the griffon I wanted to see.” He said with a plastered smile. Gladium stood silent and bore down at Stultus with his golden eyes. He was heavy with the smell of liquor. He picked at the scare that traced his neck and lead into his armor. A new addition to his appearance, Stultus thought, but was too afraid to mention it. His coat was black, it was difficult to see, he might have not even care for it’s appearance or forgot it himself and was simply picking it for the sensation.. “Stultus? What do you think you’re doing?” He said settling back down on all fours and with a stern look. “I need to see you!” “I understand that, but why are you here at the barracks, and at such an early hour? It was your fathers birth yesterday, he bought the entire town 50 kegs worth of brew. It seems it takes more than a few hours of sleep to clean the system of that fluid.” he laughed. “And not to mention… your birth is today, as well.” He said smiling with anticipation for the towns next public gift. “16 is it?” his voiced lighten to a higher pitch. Stultus noded, “I turned a month ag- ” “16 and legal, finally! Now you can come drinking with the guard, like you always wanted!” Stultus raised a brow, unable to recall the memory. “I’ve never said that.” Gladium put a claw to the back of his neck, “Then who am I talking about? Oh nevermind, what does the Duke’s son require of me at such a ridicules hour; training in the sword, flight combat, archery, the leading of troops? I am at your command.” he graciously bowed and awaited his word. “Do you recall the proposition I made to you, back in the tavern, not to long ago? Well... ” Stultus removed his claw from under his robe and presented the pouch. He held the pouch by it’s lace and rattled it gently, so the sound of coin voiced to Gladium’s ears. Stultus gave Gladium a sly smile. “You’re not serious?” he squinted his eyes, his voice now in a fright “This must be some test?” his face completely perplexed, he stood on his hind legs and reached for the hilt of his sword. “Tell me this is a joke, boy! A test for my loyalty, is it?!” he raised his voice to a fury, “Pathetic that your father resorts to this. Dux, show yourself!” He said, lashing out into the air and scanning his surroundings. “Shhh!” Stultus hissed, “Gladium, this no test, now settle yourself.” “Then what is it?!” Gladium sneered. Stultus reeled away from Gladium, “What I told you.” Gladium feel back to all fours and gave another look to his surroundings. “Stultus,” he began with panic in his voice, “how could you? This is… This is treason, and forbidden by the crown, not even the true crown allows for this. If you were to be discovered...” He whispered. “Do you not believe I do not understand that!” Stultus bursted, then lowering his tone when he caught wind of his volume, “I’ve take everything to consideration, I understand the punishment and I’m more than willing to take it. Think, Gladium, if this were to succeed, your position in my father’s council—my council—would be secured. And with you and I, assisting one another, no one would fathom the thought.” “But to murder your own, your own kin! It’s disgusting, and I refuse.” Gladium turned his back and made for the barracks. Stultus took to the air and intercepted Gladium’s path. His words, ripe in his mouth, only lingered on the tip of his tongue. “500 then.” he sputtered. 500 gold was no laughing amount, it was incredible to own that amount. Even as a Duke that sum is not easy to gain. But for a commoner, or even a marshal, to gain that amount, was… unbelievable. The offer was beyond tempting, it spoke volumes, but his loyalty and pride spoke another sound. To kill his legis hairs so the eldest could own all it’s titles. Under griffin law, titles were to shared amongst the successors of that Duke or Lord, once they have past. But this break between, law, pride, and fame, had him by the neck. “And what of Pax, your sister?” he whispered “She’s been dealt with.”
And Too Tight to Breath 1/2Gladium was sat on the corner of his bed with a claw to his lower beak. As the marshal to Duke Dux, his name along with his bed were levitated to fit his title. His own room—exotic furnishings, his own shield and sword with sets of armor of all kinds and embellished with the family's coat of arms, bags of coins hidden away in a clever pocket he tore into his bed, numbering to a grand total of 50 shillings; all gifts from the Duke. It was too lavished for a marshal; another guard to the keep. Lavishing it may have been, but then it came to him:'Lavishing'. Lavishing but no fame to justify it, and no family to carry it. But what fame is there? What family is there? There is none to be had in a country based on peace and tolerance. And to begin a family was beyond manageable. Unfitting for a griffin, but strangely, it sat well with him. The offer Stultas made him was still fresh in his mind. An insidious request, but it carries its weight in gold. The number ran rampant in his mind, “500!” he said, "500." it was a delectable number and it sugared his tongue, but at a price of two lives: Dulce and Mortem. It was a ghastly thing to commit, but the number, it mined at his being and infested what he thought was loyalty. And when the deed is to be done, what then? How does one execute the act, even!? To treat them like they were bandits, or animals, and end them with a sword in their gullet? The mere thought of it was… was… vulgar; to end life so young, utter vulgar. A faintness passed over him, and the air fell constipated. The nerve in his claw began to collapse into a violent shiver. That sugar he once tasted, now savored in iron. “What the hay am I doing?” = “Pax, could you get me more water.” Pax left her father’s bed side to the pitcher of water that rested on his nightstand. She passed the filled cup to Stultus who stretched over his father’s bedside and handed him the cup. “Thank you.” he said, stifling a cough. “And for the dutchie?” Stultas continued with an eager gaze. “That will go to you, Stultus. As the eldest you've gained the honor to it’s title. But I can’t help but to feel that you don’t deserve it.” Dux said, sipping from his cup. “What?! How could you not entrust me with your title, I am the hair!” Stultus protested. “Oh, calm yourself boy, I was merely jesting. You are only hair to my title and this county, nothing more. If I find you meddling in your siblings affairs when I am gone, I’ll haunt you from my grave.” he said with a smirk then waving him off. “Father, you’re not leaving us, you’re slightly ill, that is all.” Pax said with a confidence unfamiliar to her. "Maybe there is a cure for this illness. You'll be well if we find it!" “Pax, please. I understand your concern. But you don't understand. I feel it. My bones are aching, and I'm begging to lose what little strength I posses.” he patted his pillow as if content with his destiny. “But I've lived fully and had my time in this world, you both understand, yes?” Pax with watery eyes, shot glances at her father and brother. Stultus stood unmoved by what had been said, and shifted himself away from Pax. “No…” said Pax, with an rattled voice, “You can’t…” “Pax, please.” The chamber door opened and a curious beak surfaced from the crack of the door. In a cheery whistle, it announced its presence. The door flung open and Dulce and Mortem threw themselves into the room, and in a tumble of wings and legs made for their father’s side. “To the Duke of Hoovington, we welcome you!” they said simultaneously and as if they were the lead jesters in Solstice Fair. “Why aren't you two in bed?” Dux asked softly. “Well, we didn’t want to go to bed.” said Dulce with both claws behind her back. “Yeah father,” added Mortem, “we weren't tired. BUT… look what Gladium gave us!” The two produced two wooden swords from their backs. Cheap flimsy things, not worthy for training, a childs toy. “Why would Gladium give you these?” “Just watch!” they said. Dulce and Mortem took up their wooden swords, and began dueling. They called the rooms attention, for reinsurance, and continued in a random flail of exaggerated slashes and prodding. They jumped to their father’s bed and continued their exchange, dodging and parrying each others blows. Dux began cheering, and Pax watched in total amusement. Dulce threw forward her sword to where her brother had already parryd her last blow. Dulce retracted a leg and recomposed, but Mortem jumped forward and began a frenzy of hacks all landing nicely on Dulce’s raised sword. Dulce flinched her sword and flung her brother's sword, then with a single thrust, struck Mortem between the pit of his arm, and in a theatrical spin and final gasp, fell from the bed. Dux and Pax began applauding while Stultas with a claw over his eyes to hide his annoyance. The two bowed for their audience of three. “Impressive!” Dux said, “Now, the only thing I wonder if that performance of yours was legitimate. It seemed a little too organized!” Mortem with a raised brow, asked “What does leg… liggnemt, mean?” “But it was real!” protested Dulce “I know,” laughed Dux, “I was merely jesting. But that is enough, Luna’s moon is above us! Off to bed the four of you. Pax and Stultus, could you take them off to their chambers; and you two do the same. Live well and long!” Pax took the two griffins under her wing and lead them out. “But we’re not tired” they repeated. All but Stultas left the chamber. He stood silently by his father’s side. And Dux saw something that struck him, he wasn’t sure what it was, but those eyes did not belong to his son. “Stultas, are you alright? You haven't gone and catch this illness of mine?” There was a storm in his eyes and it brewed something dangerous. A maelstrom of fire, eyes that only belonged to the insane. “No. I’m okay.” Stultas left his father’s chamber and met with Pax. = “But we’re not tired.” complained Mortem, “Can we do something fun, like hide ‘n seek , or maybe we can take a swim in the river!” Pax continued walking with the two troublesome griffins under her wing. She said nothing and by the strength of her left wing, pushed them forward. “Stultas, can you take Mortem to his chambers, I’ll take care of Dulce.” Stultas took Mortem by the neck and robbed him from Pax’s wing. The little griffin resisted his brothers grasp, but it only tightened. Stultas lifted him from the floor and flew to his chamber. He heard Pax cry out to him but ignored it. “Stultas!” the little griffin gasped, “you’re hurting me!” Stultas arrived to the chamber door and dropped Mortem to the floor. In a fit for air, he ran to his chamber door, and cursed his brother before slamming it. = Dulce was tucked in her bed, and everything seemed to be in order and at peace.The single thing that truly bugged Pax, was the handle Stultas had on Mortem. She has never seen that sort of aggression from another, let alone Stultas. Pax left Dulce to herself and leaned to the wall outside her sister’s chamber door; the chamber door just cracked open by a talons length. It was frightening, she admitted to herself, but to see Stultas lash out, was infuriating to let happen. It wasn’t as if siblings never fought over one another, it was common, especially the family Pax was born into. Stultas and her had their trades in harsh slurs and meaningless competition, but never… never gone as far as he had that night. And for no cause, he simply did.
And Too Tight to Breath 2/2Pax had her back rested on her sisters chamber door. It was silent, and the only light that reached her eyes was the torch that lit the crossing were Stultas carried off Mortem. It danced on the hall’s red carpet and on the barren wall; she only feared that the flame would burn out. Pax removed her back from the wall and opened Dulce’s chamber door to see if little giffen had fallen asleep. It was dark, not even the light from the hall could reach the chamber’s room. “Pax, is that you?” a frail voice called out. Pax rolled her eyes at the sight of her sister’s silhouette rise from the bed sheets. “Yes? It’s me.” she said as gingerly as possible, to not invoke anymore noise that’s already present with the chamber. “Pax, I can’t sleep.” Dulce said planly. “Why not?” “I don’t know.” Pax lifted her wings to the air and made for her bedside, to avoid any disturbances to the night. With a thud she rested her head atop her sisters bed, at level with her pillow, and asked, “Tell me, what’s wrong?” “Why did Stultas do that to Mortem?” “Do what?” “You saw what he did. He grabbed his neck, and took him away like that.. He never did that before, even when their playing, never.” The question just penetrated Pax’s thoughts. She wondered the same, but wasn’t sure what to make of that somewhat violent event. “They were playing,” she lied as she placed a claw to her sister’s head “you shouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure they were just fooling around, like boys usually do.” “Is he mad? He must be mad at Mortem to do something like that. But Mortem and I were in the cellar looking… looking for wine for father. ” Pax sensed the deception in her voice, “You were hunting those animals again, weren't you?!” “No! We were looking for wine, honest!” Pax didn’t bother to question her further as her voice hit a pitch she found unbearable. Her energy was vanishing with each word she spoke. “Fine. Dulce go to bed, it’s past midnight.” she guessed blindly, but assuredly with the level of her energy. “Goodnight, see you tomorrow.” She picked her head up, and began for the door. “Wait.” Dulce yelped “What!” “Tell me a story.” “Ugh.. Dulce it’s late, and I have no stories to tell. None that I haven’t told you. Go to bed please.” Dulce with all her nerve flew up from her bed and took Pax by the claw and drew her to the bed. “Tell me. Tell me the one about the knight and the mare.” Dulce crawled back into her and made herself warm. “The old pony legend? What was it, Night’s Castle?” “Yes!” - Pax sealed the door behind her as she swiped a claw across her brow. She had laid the little giffen to rest. She was relentless with her questions, one after the other, “Did he die?” and “What did Celestia do?” after every pause. Her wings were heavy, and her eyes began faltering under their own weight. Step after step, she inched herself to her own chamber door. It was near mouth watering to see the plane of her bed, but the journey there felt as if she began an expedition for the ends of the world. The torch she once saw was snuffed out and buried within the darkness. With a few large strifes, she arrived at the crossing and took a left to the eldest chambers. Her claw finally grasped the handle to her chamber door. With an empty mind and eased temper, she collapsed onto her bed and drifted along with the night. - Stultus took his father’s ebony robe and made off into the darkness. Exactly 200 shillings hung from his waist, packed nicely in the same coin purse he presented Gladium one day ago. The meeting was this night and tardiness was the last impression he would want to make with those troublesome individuals. A bit of panic built in him, he was defenceless and was a son of a prominent duke, perfect for a kidnapping. - Gladium threw his bed sheets to the floor and gave a mighty groan when the morning air began blowing from his window. His back ached and his neck, stiff like the joints in his armor. His eyes were creased in a loathsome shade of grey, his mind still whirling. Celestia’s sun had just breached the tree line and began pouring it’s warmth to the grassy fields just outside the wall. Gladium sealed his eyes before the rays of light assaulted his eyes, he shift his weight to the end of his bed and allowed himself to fall. In an instant he stuck his limbs out and ended his dissent. The air was noxious, his nerves were still shaken, and his mind still ran numb. He rolled to his back and looked blankly at his talons and saw that they were clipped. He ran them thru his feathers, and found no satisfaction in doing so. A whole night left to thought, and no rest. “Gladium!” came a voice from his door. “What?!” he called back. Stultas invited himself in and saw Gladium still on the floor. “You seem to be doing well, Gladium.” he said with his waist leaned to corner of his drawer in a pompous fashion. “You’re time is up you understand that? Now what do you say, will you join me, or will I have to find another to do my deed.” he produced three massive bags, bulging with gold. “500, like I said.” Gladium picked himself from the rocky floor of his bedroom. He took a moment for his eyes to adjust. “No Stultas,” he said and then repeated. “I don’t know. Stultas, what you want from me is awful.” “BUT 500 GOLD! All for you, no one else.” “No… no, I understand. But I don’t desire gold.” “Then what?” “A county of my own.”
