Kings, Queens, And Princes.
Prologue
The Creehetian were an ancient culture full of ancient rituals. Their dead kings and royals a center to these. Like today where our leaders begin festivities and address their nations, so did they. But rather than a speech, they yelled the first battle cries and spilled the first blood. And on the eve of the kings death as he lay desperately gasping for life, his lungs expanding and deflating rapidly and without rest, the towns and cities worked. Rapidly, footfalls pounded on the rough and cold ground beneath well worn sandals. Shouts were executed with practiced ease as if this were rehearsed.
One withered and ancient woodworker was chipping away and painting in the most vibrant of blues, reds, and golds hastily. With hands of worn leather he pushed away the sweat on his brow leaving a smear of wood dust and golden flecks making him look like a foreboding and terrifying god.
The king's guards with their posts outside his door heard desperate and heart wrenching sobs. Cries of grief echoing down the vast and bone-chilling halls.
King lay there short of the necessary air of life as his wife was hunched over his bed, her back trembling and seizing with every sob. His son and next in line to the throne was perched against the unrelenting stone wall seemingly relaxed and stoic. But if you looked beyond his guarded expression and into his eyes you would see past his cold gaze and witness inner turmoil. Prince's mind was spinning at a rapid and dizzying pace. His uniform was covered in fresh dings and gashes that had been a product of the battle most recently fought. In the Creehetah Empire every boy, on his 19th birthday spent required time in the military. Wickedly harsh training leaving them weary yet seasoned warriors when released. At the respectable age of 28, Prince was one of the greatest warriors the Empire had seen. Whispers among some that he was stronger than his father. Prince was born with the gray eyes of his mother, which held intelligence learned and not studied. King lifted his hand of bony and bronzed skin and slowly motioned his son over. The prince pushed off the wall and made slow, long strides to his father's side. The aged man of 53 years began speaking from cracked lips with a voice of diminished steel.
"You know your job when I die." King did not ask but state. Prince nodded once and swiftly.
"Good." King now croaked as his entire body wracked with coughs. Queen was now dabbing at King's chin with a bloodied cloth. She had ceased crying but now took to intervals of wiping viciously at her face.
"You will, after Passing Tomb, ascend as new king." Passing Tomb was the week spent after a kings death mourning and performing rituals. King looked to his wife of 31 years and sighed quietly. The 31 years spent, while long, seemed far too short.
A mere three hours later, Prince swiftly opened the doors and motioned to the guards on duty. They nodded and proceeded into the King's chambers making swiftly with a makeshift gurney and transported the king's now lifeless body covered in a sheet through the maize of halls. Once in the cave like dungeons, long abandoned to make room for something much more important, they set the gurney on a slab of dusty granite. This stone bore markings in their ancient tongue. A figure wrapped in a cloak slowly made its way to the king.
The next day the king's casket, of which the woodworker had slaved over, made its way slowly to the catacombs near the city temple. Once there the body was prepared in private away from searching eyes. The kings of past had an ancient ritual. While today saw kings whom didn't believe in it, it was still performed. The kings would be beheaded so to prevent any using their bodies after death. They would be then sealed in by a slab of stone on top of which was the lid for the casket. Lowered 30 feet by a system of pulleys and chains their caskets would be hidden deep within the depths of the catacombs. They set up decoys of the same casket to prevent grave robbing disturbances. The only people permitted into the depths of the catacombs were the priests. Relatives had a small room in which they were allowed mourning, but even they would never see the damp depths and spiraled halls of below. One hunched figure cloaked in blackness made its way down the winding staircase to the King's resting place. The priests were above ground performing rituals for the people in the square.