The Black Keep retained its passion through the night. There were three more duel pairs– a sword duel and a spear duel– all through the afternoon. Those who had won the first bout of gambling doubled their wagers, while those who had lost previously scrounged together their savings to gamble once more despite the odds.
This process repeated six times over the course of the duels.
But all the bustle remained on the first duel of the day. The young Drakkennide's success was unforgettable. Some even tried to suggest duels be held against one of the Drake Knights of the Drakkennide family's exclusive private army. But this matter was foreclosed as the knights were called by their chief officer to leave the keep when twilight fell.
Thus, to occupy themselves, the rough and rugged soldiers of the keep had only one last bit of gossip to discuss.
"By the gods, Kal— you had your ass handed to you by a brat!"
"I did not see you in the ring fighting with him! Why don't you prove your boldness and challenge me directly!"
"Oh, I couldn't do that, after all, what if you're still bruised up from your last match, wouldn't it be embarrassing to lose twice in one day–? Oh, wait a moment!"
Another round of laughter sounded. After all, Kalados had lost the spear duel as well as the sword duel.
"Tis not my fault! I fought with the strength of ten men and I dare anyone to claim otherwise!"
"Careful, or you might lose another hundred silvers."
"Do not treat me a petulant son, I am cataphract: greatest rider of the empire!"
"Aye, and blundering like a fool!"
"You were not there! I admit I should've predicted that one– even a bastard– from the line of dragonslayers would have known the ways of the spear well beyond any ordinary practitioner, but I've not seen any of you wield a spear like that before. Wherefore comes your mockery of me when you are all equally mediocre by compare?"
"Aye, unlike the sword match where he at least gave you some respect as a senior, he had completely foregone defense in the second match. Watching that spear strike again and again through the smallest gaps– as if slipping itself between the scales of a dragon!"
The soldier added before guzzling his mug of beer, "sadly though— you're no dragon Kalados."
"–Could be a little garden snake though!"
Kalados scowled and sipped from his own castle moonshine gruffly.
"Garden snake— the nerve! I'd be greater than any damned dragon for certain on horseback…"
It was not long into their mockery when the evening feast arrived. Though each soldier enjoyed only mild provisions, they were aptly fed per their portions each. The stew even had a bit of bone and beef broth in it.
"Damn, the Black Keep has its perks for sure. Service is nicer than anything else you'll find south."
Kalados scoffed, "we cataphracts enjoyed meat right off the bone in the capital, this paltry meal is hardly even a feast by comparison."
"Is that so, Kalados?"
The cataphract jolted to attention, as did the other soldiers as they heard the voice of general Radovid.
"Sir Radovid— I meant no offense sir."
The general kept his usual unbothered demeanor as he sat himself at the head of the long table in the castle's great hall.
"None taken," he said as the general began to sip from the same stew as the rest of them.
One soldier eventually mustered the courage to ask, "general Radovid, sir, what became of the young sir Artorius after the match? He has been absent for several hours now."
"I gave him temporary leave to deal with certain matters. He is scheduled to return in a few months."
The other soldiers missed the brief lapse when the general mentioned the word "scheduled."
"Ah, so it was a mission was it? How lucky, most of us simply sit around and watch the shadows pop up now and again. It's not very exciting– well, except when the lesser demons crawl out of the mists. But they're just creepy, not really dangerous."
The general took a sip from his own cup and replied, "only because of lord Ramnicus' blessing. Without his Goetëa surrounding the city, you would find those 'lesser demons' far more frightening."
A pause, "have you fought one directly sir– I mean, beyond the dome?"
"A few times. Scouts occasionally have to go beyond the dome to investigate if the Dark Mists have expanded northward, or if their influence is surrounding the city. Many of those scouting parties do not return."
"Damn," muttered one soldier, "pity to be them."
His comrade struck him upside the head, "pity!? Have some tact will you."
"Tis fine, he is right to call it a pity. Every soul that ventures to the realm of Az is such a pity. To be in the hands of that sadistic god of death– tis a true pity indeed."
"What of your relationship to the gods? Have you a patron?"
Patrons— in short, a reference to patron gods, divine benefactors, or guaranteers of the soul. The gods each ruled of a symbolic domain, beginning with the Overgod, Ex'Àomë, who ruled the domain of being, morality, and choice. Beneath him were the Eight Colors, the first generation Primordials, each draconic manifestations, though one fell and three withdrew from divine order. Then the Ten Greater Gods, the Lesser Gods, and the demigods.
Ex'Àomë was called The King of Symbols– like how the emperor is king of Helios, and beneath Him was the colors and the Greater Gods– functioning as the dukes do in the empire and often holding positions in His court. From there began the Lesser Gods, stewards and court officials of the lower realms of heaven, and last was the demigods– commoners of the heavens that live in paradise.
To ascend to heaven was no easy thing, yet those who did would become demigods eternal. But to do so, one must embody the spirit and divine symbolism of a specific god's realm. Only then would they have a patron. Those without were doomed to the realm of Az, a sadist and divine executioner whose pleasure derived from the eternal screams of the damned. Even the other gods feared him, for Az was death wielded as axe and sword. He stands as the only god in heaven granted permission by Ex'Àomë to kill the divine.
Radovid but pondered these things as the soldier questioned him. He contemplated deeply that the soldier had to double his query.
"General Radovid, can you hear me sir?"
"Ah, yes I heard you question, you asked if I had a patron. In a sense, yes I do. Though not one I wished for."
The soldiers all looked at each other confused.
Kalados pressed, "what in the unholy Red and Black Lands does that mean? How could a man not desire their patron's support?"
"Because Kalados— damnation is a gift for the guilty. To be granted penance through suffering is a worthy end for an unworthy man. But to be granted heaven when one knows in their heart that they are deserving of hell, that is a cursed blessing."
Radovid put down his spoon, his bowl of stew was empty. The others would finish theirs soon.
The General rose and retreated from the hall.
"Enjoy your supper, men. A new day begins tomorrow."
The men waited until he had fully departed before discussing among each other of his odd behaviors.
"That general Radovid, I had known about him a little. But other than his reputation for being a long-lived servant of the empire, I'd not known he was such a queer bird."
"Kalados added, "you've not done enough studying then. Its ancient history now, but my old teacher had once met general Radovid in the capital briefly. The General was a long servant of the empire even back then when my mentor was still fresh from the barracks."
Kalados took another long gulp of the castle moonshine, feeling the alcohol dizzy his mind a bit and numb his fingertips. Odd. He hadn't yet had much.
"Anyways, my old teacher told me of a rumor that general Radovid was once a criminal who defiled a noble woman and was bound for death row."
"Damn, that's a cutting allegation."
"Aye, there's a reason he's out in this hellhole doing service until he rots away from old age. Even today the nobles avoid interacting with him."
"Well, he's not dead, so what happened to him then?"
Kalados finished the last bit of beer in his mug and replied, "according to my old mentor in the capital, it was a priestess of Alassochisma."
Recognition passed over the men's faces. They all understood at once what had happened.
"Damn, those worshippers of the goddess of pain are impossible to really measure. Sacrificing their lives for others so willingly… what a strange cult."
"Well, you're right about the inability to measure them. After all, who could suspect that the same lady whom Radovid had defiled would seek mercy on his behalf and serve out his sentence in his place. Freaks if you ask me."
A sobering silence was left in the wake of Kalados' closing words. But it was broken as the cataphract scarfed down the last of his stew.
When the bowl was set back down, he muttered, "well, I'm off to bed. That sob-story just took all the flame out of me."
The soldiers all fizzled out of the hall individually. By the time the night's curtain had covered the sky, all the men were readying themselves for bed.
They were oddly sluggish as they moved. Each one was walking with a kind of drunken limp. Kalados himself felt an ache in his stomach and fancied a ringing in his ears that was gradually beginning to agitate him. A group of castle maids were drying the soldiers' linens outside the barracks when they noticed his approach.
"If you're heading for bed, sir Kalados, then please wait just one moment. We'll have your fresh linens laid on the mattress soon."
The cataphract officer tried to shake away the stars and sparks crawling at the edges of his vision, "not a problem. Just– just make sure it's done soon."
"Pardon sir, but is something wrong? You seem unwell."
The cataphract ignored the maid's question. A migraine disturbed him and he felt a swirling pressure in his gut. He slipped a glove off of his right hand only to find it clammy and wet. Drawing it up to his forehead he felt a thick layer of sweat coat his palms and without realizing it, his breaths had become labored at some point.
"Sir Kalados? Sir Kalados are you alright? Sir Kalados!"
A sound emanated from his bowels and became immediately obvious as a sign of rapid movement. Red oozed from his nose at first, then his eyes, and ears, and other orifices. He began to suffocate– the maids were doubtlessly terrified now.
His trachea began to visibly roll and squeeze– and then!
All at once Kalados expelled a wave of red viscera and yellow bile. It did not stop. Again, and again it came. It covered the sheets drying out in the air, and maids who shrieked in terror. It covered the muddy earth outside the barracks and all over Kalados himself. He did not stop vomiting until the moment that any light had died in his eyes.
But it was not only Kalados that suffered this evening. All about the Black Keep, screams could be heard and panic ensued. Even in the streets of Anor the bustle of the town awoke in the night, and city guards moved to the Black Keep investigating frightfully. Everywhere across the keep soldiers lay dead in a pool of viscera, bile, urine, and stool. It was a sight of horror.
The castle garrison had been poisoned, and all the lost souls inside would go to the embrace of Az.