Chapter Eight, The Assassin's Son

"What!? I have to claim a throne?" I asked, taken off guard by that last statement.

"Yes, you know, the throne your Grandfather left wide open for every Warlord in Sharapuur to fight over. By disposing of every known King and Queen in Sharapuur, he made himself King by Right of Combat. You know, "The Strong Survive" and all of that. He was the Anti-King, The Usurper, The Shadow-Spinner, The Most Famous Assassin in all the Realms. I thought he told you that, or that you figured it out.

Your Grandfather single-handedly destroyed every Kingdom on the continent, then left it to do what it will. An open-air power struggle ensued to fill the void your Grandfather created, devastating the entire continent in the process, making Sharapuur the wild frontier it is today.

Everyone wants in on it. The metals, the minerals, the land, even the magic. Every nation in the world has a colony there now, albeit a small one threatened by the monsters who were free to roam after the armies all left or were destroyed in the wars that followed." Dusk iterated, telling me the status of a nation I had only heard bad things about, and had never considered the outcome or consequences of what my Grandfather had done.

My mind began to race. What did it mean to be an Assassin's Son? The Assassin's Son. I wasn't ready! Dusk was right about that. I didn't even know the first thing about walking the Shadow Plane, much less what it took to reclaim a throne I supposedly had rights to, and I wasn't even sure I wanted it if I did. It was simply too much at the time for my young mind to comprehend. Ah, the blessings of youth…

"I know by the look on your face, you're not prepared, and I didn't expect you would be." Dusk said, as he saved me from my thoughts of doom. "First, you must train. Then, if you live through it, maybe I'll take you to Sharapuur." he said with a wry grin. "But first, let's get out of here before folks find those dead bandits and start associating us with them." And with that, we packed up the wagon and headed west for what Dusk assured me was "A small Elven village near the mountains of the Frozen Kingdom of Vost."

"Great… Sounds nice and warm." came my sarcastic reply later that day on the road.

"Honestly, I'm sure you'll like it. These Elves there don't let morals get in the way of methods. They're some of the best fighters in the realm, and some of the wildest. The closest thing you'll find to the people of Sharapuur, but more civil by half." he assured me. "Though their dress and some of their rituals can be a bit strange at times…" he said, more to himself than to me.

"Just want I need, Elven savages." I thought to Kooraw, who had just flown in from his most recent scouting foray. "Bet they know where the best berries grow…" Kooraw thought back, food always on his mind. "That, and they probably speak Raven." came another ponderous reply. "Or eat Raven…" I thought back to him with a chuckle as he ruffled his feathers up. "Bah! Doesn't taste near as good as roasted man-child!" Kooraw jabbed back, and I couldn't help but laugh, which solicited a raised eyebrow from Dusk at my seemingly random outburst.