The Legacy of Kain series and all related characters belong to Eidos Interactive and Crystal Dynamics.
A few lines in this story were taken directly from the Blood Omen game dialogue.
The Fall of the Lion
- by Ardeth Silvereni
- Part One -
The Lion's Folly: The Dollmaker
"Oh Father... It's beautiful!"
The young princess of Willendorf, seated at the side of the king, stood and quickly stepped down from the royal dais. Though she lifted the hem of her gown like a lady, her excited childlike manner betrayed her age. Ottmar, the kind and beloved ruler of Willendorf, leaned forward on his throne as she took the offered doll from the kneeling master craftsman. He smiled as she returned to her seat and hugged it close to her, her eyes bright with joy. The whole court smiled at the sight of her innocent happiness. Whispers of praise for the dollmaker's gift rustled throughout the great hall. The other dolls presented that day - nearly three hundred exquisite works - were immediately forgotten, even by their creators. All were awed, and the winner of Ottmar's favour was unquestioned.
"Rise, Master Dollmaker," Ottmar said respectfully, "and tell us your name." When the tiny man had first arrived, the king had felt a pang of distaste and suspicion at his odd gnome-like appearance. Now he was shamed that his initial impressions had been swayed by unfounded prejudice. Ottmar was a good man, and he resolved to absolve himself. He would celebrate the dollmaker's skill, and no prize he requested would be too great.
The dollmaker got to his feet, standing as tall as his small stature permitted. "My name is Elzevir, sire," he answered with a bow. His voice fitted his unattractive body, harsh and high-pitched. Several nobles tensed at the sound of it, but like the king, a single glance at the delighted princess quelled any ill feeling it aroused in them. "I hope her highness likes her birthday present."
"Yes sir, I do. Thank you. Thank you very much." The princess, still holding the doll tightly, beamed as Elzevir looked at her for approval. He responded with a toothy grin.
Ottmar nodded in agreement. "We are most impressed with your talent, Elzevir."
"You are too kind, sire. It is my pleasure."
"Not at all. You have earned your reward." Ottmar made a short sweeping gesture with his right hand, his palm upwards. "Willendorf will offer you whatever you desire. You have only to ask."
"I only want a small thing, sire, but it is not yours to give." Elzevir turned to the princess, and a quiet murmur came from the assembled court as she let him take her hand and kiss it. "Your highness is so lovely and sincere, even to an old man like me," he said. "You have a good soul. Will you give me something, a small token to remember how lovely you are?"
"What kind of token?" She asked. She reached up to undo the clasp of her gold necklace. For generations, Willendorf's royal family had enjoyed and prospered from the great bounty of the provincial mines - precious metals and gemstones. The pendant was set with brilliant ruby and topaz, and it caught the sunlight as she held it out to him. "Will this be enough?"
"Too much, your highness. Too much!" Elzevir laughed. The lords and ladies of the court echoed the chuckle somewhat uneasily. A few noblewomen were privately pleased that they were not being forced to entertain Elzevir as the princess was. One or two were convinced that the dollmaker wanted far more than a mere token of the princess' appreciation.
"I just want a lock of your hair." He said.
Ottmar frowned. A lock of hair was too personal, and could allow a skilled magician to exert influence over the original owner. His advisors and sorcerers would not approve of allowing such a thing. But then again, they constantly warned him of portents and the threat of enchantment. If he listened to all their advice, he would never leave the castle. Nosgoth undoubtedly had some powerful magic users, but Elzevir didn't have the look of one, and they were not subtle individuals. They would attack Willendorf directly, rather than toy with him like this, and his closest neighbour, the Lady Azimuth of Avernus, had never shown any interest in his kingdom. No, the only threat to Willendorf was, and always had been other kings, hoping to expand their realms. They struck with men and steel, not magic.
His decision made, Ottmar let the princess grant Elzevir's wish. A servant brought a pair of delicate silver scissors on a scarlet cushion, edged with bright golden yellow - the colours of the royal household. The servant cut a lock of hair from where it would not be noticed, and the rich brown strands fell into Ottmar's waiting hand. He smoothed them flat, curled them back onto themselves, and the servant tied them together with a small yellow ribbon. The dollmaker stepped forward eagerly to receive the thin loop of hair.
"You do not know what this means to me, sire..." Elzevir said, a deep bow hiding the spark of greed and triumph in his expression...
No, he didn't. And ten days later, when the princess could not be roused from her slumber, news of Ottmar's anguish spread like wildfire throughout the kingdom and beyond. In public, all of his subjects shared his pain, in private, many of the upper classes believed disaster had been inevitable. They questioned Ottmar's wisdom and judgement, and in hushed voices they wondered if old age had finally overtaken their king. But they loved him still, and none had the heart to speak openly against him.
The court sorcerers took the princess into their care. They saw at once that her soul had been stolen, and only the physical vessel of her body remained. It had been a painful separation of essence and flesh - it felt raw to their probing mental touch. The dollmaker had utilised powerful spells to rip the princess' soul from its moorings and draw it to him, heedless of the agony and spiritual damage it caused her. They tried to coax the soul back with their own charms, but they failed to overcome Elzevir's hold on it. Although they shielded Ottmar from the details of his daughter's plight, they advised him that Elzevir would have to die before they would be able to restore her. They had no doubt that Elzevir was adept at this form of enchantment, and such an ability could only be refined through years of practice.
"Practice!" Ottmar had cried. "How many others have shared her fate? Why is this foul magician still alive to work his evil?"
No one could answer, but old Lord Aldous offered a suggestion as to where the dollmaker might be found, so the Army of Hope could swiftly bring his life to an end. He spoke of a region to the north of Nosgoth, beyond the Plains of Blood and close to the kingdom of the Nemesis. There, a deep, little-known lake had long been called the Lake of Lost Souls. According to a historian friend of his, an ancient forefather of the Nemesis had introduced the name, hoping to discourage his subjects from venturing too close. Local legend claimed that people had been found on its banks, uninjured but lifeless. They appeared to be trapped in an endless deep sleep, like the princess was now.
Three regiments of Hope soldiers departed within the hour, lead by Aldous' and Ottmar's nephew, Everard. The ninth Duke of Coorhagen was the son of Princess Avis, the youngest of Ottmar's two sisters, who were both now deceased. Though Aldous had been married to the elder princess Odette, their sons had not survived beyond infancy, leaving Everard as Ottmar's closest male heir. If the princess was truly lost, Everard would succeed Ottmar as the king of Willendorf. The obvious conflict of interests was not missed by Ottmar's advisors. Everard's ambition to rule was well known, and Elzevir had removed the duke's only barrier to the throne.
The advisors could see only two possible outcomes. Everard could fail to rescue the princess' soul. No one would ever know if he had found the task impossible, or if he abandoned the search prematurely to secure his inheritance. He would sacrifice his reputation as a faultless and glorious warrior, but he would be the undisputed king within a few short years. Alternatively, if he returned with the dollmaker's head, Everard would be given a hero's welcome, and his popularity would increase tremendously. He was respected already, especially in military circles, but he was not well liked by the people. Riding on a wave of public adoration in Willendorf, he could convince the Coorhagen nobles to support him in a bid for the throne. He would argue that Willendorf needed a powerful monarch, not a king who could be deceived, or a weak girl queen. Ottmar would regain his daughter, but certainly risk losing his kingdom. The advisors believed the second outcome was more likely, as Everard would not wish to lose his grip on the army. His influence would crumble if the generals though he was weakening.
"He can have the kingdom!" Ottmar had shouted, silencing their words of caution. "He can take it and be welcome to it, if he brings her home safely!"
In the great library of Willendorf an aged and yellowed tome sat, long undisturbed and covered with a thick layer of dust. Its contents were unknown to most, but soon no one would dispute what was written inside. It spoke of an ancient Seer. The Seer had prophesied the rise of the Nemesis and his army, enormous enough to destroy everything in its path. Soon no one would doubt the accuracy of what had been foretold, the orgy of rape, torture and murder that would accompany the advancing forces.
But Oracles rarely understand all of their visions, and when they do, they are selective in what they reveal, misleading or aiding the curious at their whim. Even the most truthful and gifted Seers cannot see every disaster. There had been no warning of Elzevir, nor of the plague that would seize Everard's city in his absence. Coorhagen had thought itself prepared and safe from the pestilence that spread from the east. Their overconfidence was shattered as hundreds died. It was as if the fates had conspired to ensure the Nemesis' victory, heaping misfortune after misfortune on Willendorf and her people.
Days passed without word from Everard's regiments. The days stretched into weeks. When a messenger finally did arrive, he spoke not of the princess, but of the devastation they had seen at Stahlberg. Until recently, the academic city had been a centre of learning, and sons of noble families had attended its universities - but not any more. The Legions of the Nemesis had laid waste to the city, killing every man, woman and child they could find. Corpses were impaled and left suspended on poles in the street. There they had rotted, surrounded by dark pools of coagulated blood. Carrion for scavenging birds and beasts, their hanging limbs had been gnawed and white bone protruded through blackened flesh. Aldous commented bleakly that the massacre was reminiscent of the days of the Sarafan's Vampire Purge, over five hundred years ago. But these were people, not monsters, and did not deserve such a death. He begged Ottmar to put aside his grief and recall his troops to protect Willendorf. Ottmar refused. When Everard demanded aid for Coorhagen, even he was not allowed to leave the search party.
"Willendorf will be next!" Aldous pleaded. "At least give us the means to defend ourselves against William! Let Everard return to Coorhagen, while he still has a city left!"
His words fell on deaf ears. The court was collapsing from the centre outwards, as if its foundations were built on quicksand. Ottmar was retaining his throne, but the Nemesis would only have to walk in to take it.
There seemed no way to halt the decay. Then the vampire arrived. Kain dropped his disguise as soon as he had earned his audience with Ottmar. To the king, anyone willing to save his daughter was a friend. Even one of them. Aldous and the advisors were too desperate to protest, even when Ottmar offered his kingdom as a potential reward for the fiend.
No one expected him to succeed where Willendorf's best were failing.
"I do not know that I can thank you enough, warrior." Ottmar said, the weight of his misery lifting the instant he spotted Elzevir's head. Kain had it gripped by the hair. He held a doll in his other hand. "My kingdom is but a small price to pay for my daughter's life. Willendorf is yours, if you wish it..."