Yarren Pallin

The cold halls were howling like mad wolves as the cold of winter blew outside the great keep of Nyranum. Yarren did not care much for the howling, nor did he care for the cold, that made his sinews grow stiff and his joints ache. In his youth, he might not have cared much, for in his youth he had been strong and fit. Alas, the years had taken its toll and all that remained of Yarren was an old and frail shadow of the man he had used to be. His eyes were but slits in his wrinkly face, his back was hunched and his hands trembled like leaves in the wind. His mind, however, was as sound as ever and his counsel was invaluable to the Young King. For for 72 long years, he had served the kingly family, giving counsel to three regents of the Turian Kingdom, serving his rightful masters. Now, however, villainous nobles had exiled their king and so the king needed sound advice more than ever.

Yarren had put on his finest robes. They were expecting fine guests from Citadel space, ones that might help the king reclaim his throne and get them away from this cold, cursed rock. He finished writing his letter, folded it up and sealed it with the king's seal. Then, he began his descent down the many, cold stone steps going down from his chambers to the throne room. It was said that Castle Nyrnanum was a castle of a million steps and stairs, though Yarren would sometimes feel as if it might as well have been a billion steps. His old weak knees could barely bear the strain of climbing the stairs.

The keep was old. While it was one of the oldest in the entire Kingdom, it had not been erected by the Turians. Stark and cold, it had been carved into the side of the mighty Mount Mulark in ancient times by a species native to the planet, that had died out long before the Turians had arrived there. The keep itself was 1250 feet high, and towered menacingly over one, when one approached it from the foot of the mountain, greeting you with its smile of a thousand white steps, that went up the side and led to the great iron gates. The king had been but a babe when he, his pregnant mother and his sister and their loyalist forces had arrived at the old abandoned keep, seeking refuge from the hierachists, who that murdered the king and crushed most of the royal army. The Young King had become a man grown since then, his mother had died, but not before giving birth to twins, one of which had been claimed by a fever after only three years of life.

After climbing a few more stairs than Yarren cared for, he finally arrived in the throne room where many of the king's guards and vassals were present. He were all wearing their armour and the colours of their houses, yet one could tell from the ragged condition of their attire that they had been in exile for quite a while. It seemed that Yarren had arrived just in time.

"Scribe! It is good to see you!" said the young king with glee in his eyes, sitting in his great stone chair. "My liege," the old man said. The young king donned the crown that his father had worn before him and his fathers before him. Yarren was surprised. The young lord had never worn the crown before, but he supposed that these were special circumstances. He also wore a fine suit of amour, with the intrinsic markings of the royal family upon it and a red cloak with a golden brooch. "My lord!" the old man exclaimed and knelt before his king. His boy.

"The Alliance's emissary should be here shortly, Yarren. I want you to greet him at the gates and lead him here. The gods have led him here, now let's pray he opts to aid us in our endeavors," the king said. He was only fifteen years of age, but he already spoke like a true king. Yarren had done a good job of raising the young lord, he thought to myself. "My lord," Lord Surr Bakkalon spoke, went up to the king, kneeling before him. "Speak, Lord Bakkalon," the young king said. "Are you sure it is a sound decision to accept help from the alliance? The are vassals of the Citadel" he objected. "How can we be sure that this is not just a ploy made to lure us out?" he asked the king. "The Humans may swear fealty to the Citadel, but they are as much enemies of the Hierarchy are we are. They have even met them in open war, not long ago" the young king said. "Surely, they thirst for blood and vengeance".

"My lord, we shan't need they help of traitors to reclaim your throne!" Lord Benron the Black of house Fell objected. "Yours is the divine mandate to rule Palaven and the Turian Systems and The Stars Beyond! The gods shall grant us the strength to take back what is rightfully yours!" he said with conviction as stern as his features. "Heard!" said Lord Yras Fell, cousin of Benron. "So many would claim," the king said and scratched his chin. "But unless the gods grant me men and ships, it has little worth to me" he said, silencing the lords. "Unlike the gods, the Alliance has promised that they would give me both as long as I gave them my coöperation. I intend to do so. Traitors or not, they will give us our homes back" he said. Yarren remembered the days, no longer than 13 years ago when his king, Valan VI Praxis had been but a mewling infant, a sickly little child with terrible nighterrors, who would often wet his bed. Many men had feared that the king would grow up to be a weak and craven lord, but the tutelage of Yarren had made the boy wise, the training with Sir Vickan Zorahna had made him strong and a brilliant strategist and the council of Lord Donor Exos had made him a competent and frugal administrator. One wouldn't have thought it, if one had laid eyes upon him all those years ago, but if any king would be able to reclaim the kingdom, it would be him. "Lord Benron Fell and Sir Otho Larharnax, go help Scribe Pallin with fetching our guest, who should be waiting at our gates at this very moment". "Yes, my king," they obeyed.

And so they would climb even more stairs down through the giant keep until they reached the gates, at which point Yarren's legs hurt so, he could swear they could fall off. "Guards! Open the gates!" Larharnax cried.

Many years ago, Larharnax had served his king faithfully, Yarren recalled. At first, he had been one of the most outspoken proponents of the monarchy in the parlairment and later he had been one of the most prominent generals leading the battle against the Hierachist forces, holding them at bay for a very long time. But he wasn't succesful in saving the monarchy, and the day the royal palace had been sacked, had been a great day of shame for him. He never quite forgave himself for being unable to do anything as the Batarian lords betrayed their king and slew him and his most fierce General, Lord Vexos, as they were visiting Batarian Space. Yarren could scarcely remember meeting anyone more honourable during his many years of servitude.

"So..." Benron said to Larharnax. "Have you heard about the fire in the east-wing of the third floor?" "Yes, tragic train of events. How many mustn't have perished in the fire? A terrible way to die, death by fire" Larharnax said. "It shall take us months if not years to repair. Let's pray we can return to our homes soon" Benron said. "With some luck..." Larharnax said. "We might just be able to".

The gates swung aside and the Alliance's envoy revealed itself outside. Yarren would have taken a step back in stupefaction if his legs had allowed him to; he had heard of the humans before, but not before laying eyes upon them would he ever have suspected them of having such grotesque manifestations. Their skin was pink and fleshy, and their mouths reminded one of the Turian's cloaca. A crown of fur rested upon their heads, but apart from their chins, the rest of their bodies were completely bald and unprotected.

The one standing in front of the others was clearly the leader. He wore odd clothes, that seemed as strange and grotesque as the species itself. A black tunic covered a white tunic underneath and around his neck, he wore an odd piece of cloth, tied into a knot at the top of his sternum. His head-fur was much slicker than the rest of the humans, and was slicked back. His eyes were blue-green emerald.

"Who seeks entrance?" Lord Fell asked the foreign dignitary. "Timothy Fitzgerald. I am here to treat with your lord on behalf of the Alliance"
"Well met, friends," Larharnax greeted them. "Our lord is expecting you in the throne room. Come with us and he shall give you audience". The human and the guards escorting him stepped forward as to enter, but Benron bade them halt. "Just you, My Lord", he explained. "His Majesty welcomes you wholeheartedly, but he does not trust you enough to let you bring armed guards into his keep"

"Allright," the suave diplomat said, put a white stick in his mouth and lit it on fire. Smoke came out of his nose and mouth. Strange creatures indeed, to light incense inside themselves, Yarren though to himself. "Bowyer, you stay out here with the rest of the men. I'll be back in soon" the human said.

"Great. There's always waiting outside" the one called Bowyer said with gloomy resignation. The dignitary entered and was led to the Hall of Kings by the elderly scribe and his two companions. Later that evening, the knights and lords would feast in the knights' hall.

"A toast to the human benefactors!" the young Kaesyr Pallin yelled gaily and came to his feet with his cup raised. The hall roared as dukes, barons, knights and landless alike rose their cups and clanged them together in a traditional cry of "Arak-alum", the king will live. Yarren's young first cousin, twice removed fell to his seat with a smile on his lips, wine on his breeches and a drunkeness to his eyes. Yarren drew a smile on his old, wrinkled lips; the young boys was like a mirror image of his grandfather, proud and strong, as a true warrior ought be.

The dealings had been long and tedious but after some time, the human had agreed to give the king a host of ships in return for three spies and the promise of support if a war should break out. The king had chosen Kaesyr Pallin, Benron the Black and Balor Vexos as those who would would be going back with the human. The turians were all happy with the prospect of soon having the chance to go home and so they feasted wilder than they usually did. The exception was the human, who kept calm as ever and didn't get merry with the rest of the gathering.

"Say, how fares things in The Kingdom of Turia?" Yarren leaned over to Fitzgerald and asked. "It has been a lifetime since I have seen the White Vales of Palaven and, well... ever since the... err... rebels claimed them, this solitary rock has been... err... my home, I suppose" Yarren said. There was no reply, so Yarren pressed on. "And an old man like me... cannot wander far from his home, you must realise" he said. Timothy took a sip of his wine. "You ask me, how things are in Palaven? Aren't you the Turian and I the Diplomat?" the human said, playing innocent. Yarren, however had heard whispers of this strange creature and the many spies at his employ. He didn't fool anybody. "Well, I understand that your trade is in... er... information, kind lord" Yarren said. The green-blue eyes turned to Yarren. He stared at him for a few seconds before saying anything. "Ah" he said with a slight grin. "I see that my reputation precedes me" he said. He turned his head away from Yarren, scanning the crowd. "Well, what is it that you do here at this castle?" the man asked. Yarren felt puzzled at this. "I? I am the First Scribe and Master of Exchequer for The King" he said proudly, boasting a bit more than he knew he ought to in front of strangers. "Yes, but what is it you do here at this court? What gives you the right to be here at the court of the mighty king and not at the nether levels with the commoners?" the strange man asked Yarren. "My good lord, I am not of low birth" Yarren asked, taking slight umbrage at the mere implication that he did not belong at the King's side.

"Seeing how most of the Turian nobility had to flee the Hierachist rebellion, I am sure that most of those living down there are of noble birth too" he said with a sinister grin upon his lips. Yarren looked him right back in the eye. It was true. Most of those toiling in the mines below or living in the poorer quarters were all of noble birth. Lower nobility, but nobility none the less.

"Talent," the man said. "You take care of the king's finances for him and you have talent for it; this is why he keeps you at court" the man said. Yarren remained silent, rather awestruck at Fitzgerald's bold statements. "Do you think he would keep you if you took care of the alliance's finances in stead of His Grace's?" the man went on to ask. Yarren didn't answer. "My job is to answer my master's questions. Questions like 'how fares things in The Kingdom of Turia?' or 'how many Turian ships are currently stationed at Paranax Station?'" the human said and laughed slightly. Yarren could feel something sinister about this one. He had an aura of evil to him- Yarren wanted to spit at his feet, but he restrained himself. "And I do. I have a talent for doing so. This is why they keep me and pay me in plenty. I like being kept and paid in plenty" the spymaster said. The threads of silver running through his raven mane almost hissed at Yarren him like white vipers as he spoke. "Do you think they would keep me and pay me if I answered your questions instead?" he said, starring Yarren deep into his eyes. Yarren spoke to him no more.

Yarren excused himself and left the feast. It was getting late and he tired quicker than in his youth. On the way back to his chambers, the though he heard a sobbing coming from Hall of Heroes. And surely, when Yarren investigated, he found the young boy king at the foot of the statue of Valan the Clever, second of his name. Yarren had often found the boy here in his infancy, when the boy had become sad and wanted to escape the court for a brief moment, hiding amongst the statues of his great forefathers. Earlier the boy had done his duty and seemed like a king when he had treatied with the human. But now he showed himself to be the boy he truly was. "Valan. I thought I might find you down here" the old man said. The boy looked up and wiped the tears from his eyes. "Dammit. Hi Yarren" the boy said. "What troubles you my grace?" the old man asked. "Dammit Yarren, I just wanna go home already. I'm tired of living in hiding. And now I'm sending some of my best and most valiant men out to what surely must be certain death" the king said. "Such is it to be king. Sometimes you have to make tough decisions. Even the most golden crown has thorns, your grace" Yarren said. The old man Yarren sat down next to the young king. "Do you know whose feet you sit at right now, my king?" Yarren asked. The young king looked up. "No... Is it Urron III?" the young king asked. "No boy, it is not" Yarren said. "He is your namesake and great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, Valan the Clever, first of his name, father of Urron III and Valan II" he said and pointed to two other statues. "son of Urron II" he said and pointed at yet another. "great grandson of Kwellon the Liberator" he said and pointed to the oldest and biggest statue in the room. "Do you know of his deeds, young boy?" Yarren asked. "Remind me" the king said and dried his eyes once again.

"After the death of his father, Urron II, at the hands of the King of Turia, Malan IX, Valan the Clever declared war against a kingdom that was twelve times as large as his own. But Valan understood that he couldn't meet the enemy armies in the field - so he didn't" the old Yarren said. "Instead he made a mighty fleet of ships, that could beat the fleet of any other kingdom. He ruled the skies. And so he would hold the planets of Turia in a stranglehold, raiding trade lines and and denying his enemies to leave their planets" he explained. "The seige was long and painful but after 12 years Monan III, son of the late Malan IX, had to surrender one third of his empire to Valan" Yarren said. "He lived for 67 years and begat 7 children" Yarren said and rose. He began walking down the Hall of Heroes, adressing the statues of each king. Valan followed him. "His first son, Urron III also expanded a little upon the kingdom, taking some Batarian vassals as the first Turian king ever to do so. He died issueless, however, at an age of just 41" he said, resting a moment before he went on past the next statue. "So the crown passed unto Valan II, his younger brother. He lived for 71 years and begat 4 children" he said. "he was succeded by Urron IV, who was known as 'the Builder' or 'the Kind'. He was a good king that cared for the common man and buildt many great buildings. When he died, the elective chose his brother as king, as his sons were too young, and so Kwellorr II was crowned" Yarren said. The next statue had two kings holding hands. " Valan III and Urron V, known as the 'cousin kings'. When Kwellon II died at age 57, Valan III, his nephew and son of Urron IV, was crowned. Valan III conquered the rest of the Turian Empire, but died in battle. His son, who was still a toddler, was denied the crown and it went to his uncle, Urron V, who was born to Valan III's twin sister, Hara. Urron ruled until Kwellon III came of age, which is why some consider Urron V's reign a continuation of Valan III's" Yarren said. "Kwellon was a weak king, and the realm divided in half under his rule. He died when he was 43 years old. His son Valan IV took over, but died of consumption. The realm was cast out into a 12-year interregnum until Valan V took over and united the Turians with his strengh and tactical genius. He was perhaps the greatest of the Praxis kings, and all loved him. He heard of strange artifacts littered all over the universe and therefore he ventured the stars in the quest for these. Here, he fell in love with a lowborn crewmember of his flagship, who was known as Gwendel the Fair. Your grandmother" Yarren explained. "And though the marriage was most unorthodox and many objected to it, they loved each other. And Gwendel gave birth to 5 children, your father, your three uncles and your one aunt. Your father, Urron VI was a great man. But he fell in love with a woman that was bethroed to another, which proved to be his undoing. The undoing of a kingdom" Yarren said rather dimly. "But you need not fear young king. The blood of great men flows in your veins. With the blessing of the gods and the honour of men you shall regain your kingdom and take back what is yours" Yarren said. He went up to an empty pillar next to the statue of Valan's father's.

"And if the gods are just, a statue of you shall one day rest upon this pillar, my young king"