#beforeluca

72 Hours until Departure

Samuel paced across the carpeted floor of his bedroom, muttering to himself. The war wasn't improving. His father is on his deathbed unable to do anything. The Lords and Generals are now breathing down his father’s neck, waiting for the perfect moment to take over. And the Royal Order of Knights are dwindling day by day. She left. No goodbyes, merely a note stating her departure left in her now-empty equipment chest. Of course she left to go find Aslatiel, but Samuel would have went with her in a heartbeat. Why did she leave without him? The one promise Aslatiel made Samuel make, the only one that Samuel was unable to keep. “Keep Lucatiel with you. Just wait and then you can come looking for me. Just stay together. For her sake, and mine…”

With a cry of anger, Samuel punched the stone wall, watching a scroll fall as he thought about that promise. It has been almost a year now that Aslatiel has left, and already a full month since Lucatiel chased after him. Why didn't he follow? Was it because he was too scared; too frightened to leave into the unknown world? Samuel could feel the blood pool around his knuckles that were still pressed into the uneven stone as he continued to think about his weaknesses. A true knight wouldn't be having these problems; someone like Aslatiel would have followed immediately. However, with a glance out of the glass window, Samuel was reminded of the troubles that plagued his country. The billowing smoke was dotting the once-beautiful landscape, a grim reminder of both the approaching armies and the ever-growing undead curse. Mirrah will soon fall; Samuel knew this as an unavoidable fact.

I must leave. Leave before it is too late. Two days; that is all I need… His mind was set on his departure, all he had to do was procure the necessities and tie up the loose ends. What did he need? He couldn't bring anything luxurious, as that could bring unwanted attention. Samuel began to make a mental list on what he needed. A rucksack, hood and cloak, tools to mend his clothes and body, multiple flasks, his rapier, dagger, and shield of course, and as much Samuel hated to, he needed the mask of Kremmel to help protect his identity, at least until he left the country. He could take the food the day of departure; no need to let it spoil quickly. With the list kept mentally, Samuel left his room in a rush, heading to the armory to grab his blades and his precious armor. “I am leaving this Gods-Forsaken place, I swear. I will find her…” Words were uttered from the prince’s mouth as he descended the stone stairwell.

60 Hours till Departure

Thunk! Thunk!

Samuel observed the arrow’s position from afar. The arrows were scattered among the target; not one hitting the middle. He was never too skilled with a bow as he loved the exhilaration that close combat brought, however he needed to make use of any and every skill that he could develop. One doesn't know what they could face in the unknown territory. With a quiet sigh that resonated throughout the empty range, Samuel pulled another arrow from the grounded quiver and pulled back the string. “Practice makes perfect..” He whispered to himself as let the arrow fly, once again hitting the target with a resounding thud, this time a little to the left of the bullseye. While he couldn’t kill a target with his bow, he could certainly wound the target enough with a few hits. But who would do such a dishonorable thing; shooting at a person unaware?

48 Hours till Departure

“Everything seems to be in order,” Samuel announced to the empty room. The large rucksack was filled with different flasks, fabrics, and other accessories. All that was needed was the food, which Samuel had a plan for. He already told one of the cooks to prepare long term foods for him by tonight. And no one else knew of this request, as the extra coinage weighed down both the cook’s pockets and his lips.

Lifting the rucksack behind his back, Samuel made way for the stables. He would leave the bag in his stall so he could make a speedy leave if the need arises. As he continued down the hallway, Samuel passed the different servants and maids pass him in a rush, no doubt going to tend to his father. He gritted his teeth as he tilted his head down and pressed forward. He was continuously told to visit father and spend time with him before he’s gone, but Samuel had no plans to spend any more time than what was absolutely necessary with that man. The thoughts of escape were clouded with memories of his father until he finally reached the stables.

“Hey there, Eli..” Samuel cooed as he reached his personal stable and stretched out his hand towards the horse in their similar greeting. He allowed him to sniff his hand before petting the arch of the horse’s dark brown neck. A gift when he was sixteen, Eli was merely a foal when Samuel first saw him, and the two of them had grown up together; Eli was his only companion, aside from Aslatiel and Luca….

Bitting his lip in remembrance, Samuel passed the horse to grab the saddle; he needed some air. Strapping the leather seating onto the horse’s back, the prince grabbed his pack and climbed onto his familiar companion. A few more cautionary checks, and Samuel gently clicked his heels inward, and steered Eli out of the stables onto the cobble road. Once he passed the inner walls, another soft jab was given as the horse picked up speed, racing down the causeway. Their special place, where the three of them spent many a jovial evening with wine and food stolen from the royal kitchen. Samuel just felt like he had to go there, one last time…

44 Hours till Departure

“Woah there…”

Samuel pulled the reins back as Eli slowed to a trot, hoofbeats muffled by the tall grass as they approached the lonely hill. The ride to this place was tiring: racing around posted guards and points of attrition between the two armies wasn't easy and nearly tripled the time it would have taken to get to the hill. But now it doesn't matter; he made it.

Climbing the gentle incline slowly, Samuel thought back to 3 years ago, the few months of happy peace that they had. Then the plague of undeath came, and then everything went to hell. It started with the farmer, lowlifes, and thugs. But it crept through the ranks, and now even a few lords are believed to be inflicted with this curse. And with that curse came insanity. Fellow Mirrans turned on one another, and cities fell into chaos. Extermination squads were created, sent out to eradicate the Mirran undead. Then there was war, and the resources were spread even thiner. Now two years later, and the country is about to fall apart….

Samuel broke his thoughts as he reached the top of the hill; the singular tree at the peak providing limited shade from the setting sun. The prince swung off the side of his horse, leading him forward as he loosely tied the reins around the tree’s base before leaning against the tree crumpling to the ground. The hill gave a full view of the once great Royal City, now beaten and bloody for all to see. Samuel stared off over the castle walls, leaving thoughts of the past behind and focusing on the future.

Lucatiel’s note spoke of Drangleic, the once great center kingdom that first birthed the curse, and was now long fallen. Rumors spoke of a cure, an ending to the madness. An open throne left, awaiting its new successor. The riches and powers that laid in wait in for a monarch. Perhaps one who could use its powers to create a stronger kingdom, one that surpassed all others…. Including the one that his “King” has ruined. He wouldn't become consumed with greed and self-preservation, like his own father. He was better than that….

Samuel took a swig from the wine flask, the soothing liquid coating his throat as he continued his thoughts, his plans. The prince must find Lucatiel first, having her join him as they scavenge the fallen lands. The vow must be kept, something that binds the three together. Aslatiel would be joyful when they find him once more, surely she will have forgiven him by then, and they would continue their quest to the throne together. Once they ascend the throne, they will use the crown’s power to become rulers, each equal to the other. They will then rebuild Drangleic and the surrounding lands, including Mirrah. The Three Lords, they will be known as, the ones who brought the world into a new age, an age of righteousness…..

Filled with wine and thoughts of glory and victory, the prince relaxed as the sun took cover behind the castle. His eyes grew heavy, and gave way to slumber, Samuel’s final thought was the time where they will be reunited, and the joy that he will feel….

30 Hours till Departure

The prince entered the stables slowly, the mask of Kremmel blocking his identity to others. He didn't need it the previous night as the setting sun gave him cover, but now, in the midday, he couldn't afford to be seen wandering the streets. Finally reaching Eli’s stall, Samuel slid from the saddle slowly before removing his mask. The prince began to loosen the leather straps underneath his horse, but decided to keep them on, as he might have to leave quickly...

Shoving the mask into the rucksack, Samuel placed the filled bag into the corner of the stall, right next to the other, equally large bag. Sighing, the prince turned to enter the castle proper. He still needed to retrieve his sword and shield from the armory, as well the food from the kitchen. Hopefully it will be ready when he gets there. Then he could rest and prepare himself for the coming journey.

13 Hours till Departure

Samuel awoke with a start, loud knocking and frenzied voices calling from him from outside the room. Rising, the Prince called back out to the voices as he dressed himself, asking them the reason he was needed.

“Your father requested that you visit him! His health is returning, and he wants to talk to you about your involvement with the kingdom! “ The gruff voice of a guard called out to the Prince. Samuel acknowledged the man and sent him away as he prepared himself and his things within his quarters for the last time. His weapons, food, and other acquired items laid in wait for the Mirran by Eli, but the moment he left his room, guards and servants alike would note their Prince’s outfitted to march a long journey. Once he was ready, Samuel stared at the heavy wooden door, as if contemplating his decisions. But the man sighed, his hands touching his personally-made rapier and dirk, both made with Mirran’s finest steel, and left his quarters and doubts behind and headed to his father.

Many a strange eye stared at the Prince as he strode towards his father’s quarters, but Samuel payed the eyes no heed, continuing his path towards the King briskly. He did not want to remain in these corridors any longer than he had to. Once he reached outside the King’s room, a single guard led him in, announcing his arrival to the King before retreating back outside the quarters. The Prince’s father stared out the balcony for only a moment longer before turning to face Samuel, the Lord’s thick body straight, yet still supported on the heavy oak cane. “Samuel,” the man spoke coldly.

“Father,” Samuel returned the King’s favor, staring flat looks at the man.

A heavy and thick sigh emitted from the King’s bearded mouth as he slowly approached Samuel. Soft silk relaxing robes, royally ornate with golden designs delicately sown into the silk black as night, moved gracefully around the old man as each step brought the two closer. Samuel stood still, reluctantly watching his King, his bane, come upon him as he clenched his fists. Many years Samuel was locked away, hidden from all but a select few as the King was fearful of attacks upon his only heir, threatening his legacy and lineage.

As the Prince grew older, only then did the King reluctantly allow him brief leaves, but always had him as merely an ambassador or a delegate; Samuel’s royal birth still hidden from those outside the castle walls. And even within, it was a living hell. Downcasted eyes and quiet words, no one would dare even bother the Prince; he was an item that was to be kept in pristine condition until the King deemed the Prince ready to continue the King’s work. Oh how Samuel hated this; he wanted to be free like one of the Rangers, or find honor and glory in battle as a knight. Even if he was crowned King, no doubt his father would have in place “advisors” that would control his every move. Just anything that he could do to help and support his country and fellow countrymen that didn't involve being just another one of his father’s puppets in his failed plans and stubborn ways. The only respite that Samuel found was in Aslatiel and Luca, but even now they were gone from him…..

The aged hand clasped down onto Samuel’s shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts as his father began to talk once more. “Must I remind you that we are at war, you fuckin fool of a son,” the King whispered in quiet anger, squeezing the Prince’s shoulder, “Why in the name Kremmel did you take sudden leave from the castle grounds?! Rushing out and around like some simple minded child, you could have gotten yourself killed or even worse, captured!” Samuel tried to shake off the hand in quiet defiance, but the hand stayed unmoved, the grip tightening.

“I can’t keep my eyes off of you for a second, can I? I have already been attacked by some damn lords and generals who believe that I am unfit to rule in this war, who knows when you can be struck by my enemies? And you will not fair as well as I if such an attack arises,” Samuel’s father spat at him before pushing the Prince away.

Samuel’s took only a step back to balance, refusing to give any more. “Your enemies are not the same as mine, father,” Samuel argued barely above a whisper, his mind darting back to certain deals and promises made with war barons and smaller lords to ensure the Prince’s speedy exit from his country.

“Nonsense! My enemies will still be your enemies once you succeed me and continue on leading my country and nation,” the King spoke almost enraged, the thought of all of his efforts going to waste by the heir almost too much to bare. “Samuel, you speak like a peasant child, not like the eldest born child of mine. You need to dash all of those thoughts of adventuring away, boy. Dreaming is always beaten by tradition. You never use to be like this; you use to always follow my commands dutifully, like a proper heir. But then you met that traitor of a man Aslatiel, may he be damned!”

“Don’t… He was the captain of your Royal Guard…” Samuel growled through gritted teeth. He could withstand, but speaking horridly of his friend and mentor…..

“And that was a mistake of my masters of war, they should have seen his traitorous content. He came from nothing; a peasant boy who happened to be skilled with more than a pitchfork,” the King continued to insult, venting and battering the Prince. “And then that whore of his sister joined the Guard and even abandoned her country. She was the most pathetic..”

Samuel knocked the bastard’s hand from his shoulder before grabbing a handful of the tunic with his teeth bared, gripping tightly only to be shoved away by the oaken cane. The King took a small step back to distance himself, but gave a thin smile, clearly enjoying flaring the boy’s temper. “I speak only the truth, Samuel. I knew you had feelings for the bitch, but she was merely a peasant girl, even if she managed to join the Royal Guard. I refuse to allow you marry such a lowlife scamp. Even your mother would have refused such a ridiculou—“

The King’s smug words were suddenly cut as Samuel’s dirk cut into his bosom. The old eyes, filled with surprise and fright, looked up and saw the Prince’s cold and filled with hate. The man had no pleasure in this, and he pushed deeper into the heart. The King hacked, splattering his royal blood upon Samuel’s pursed lips. Blood began to stain the silk, and he pushed deeper into the heart. The two side prongs soon pierced slowly, further and further into the heart, as the King’s grip around his son’s robes began to loosen. And he pushed deeper, until all light was gone from the man’s eyes, and Samuel dropped the body unceremoniously. He pulled his dagger out in silence, and there were no more words as Samuel stared at the dead man before him; King no more.

Then the Traitorous Prince fled.

0 Hours till Departure

Samuel rode Eli hard, racing out of the city and past pastures without rest. By the time he past the final Mirran tower, rain began to fall, lowering the already minute visibility that the mask gave. But it did not matter; Samuel approached the final grove, a thick forrest of towering trees, that separated Mirrah from the fallen Kingdom of Drangleic. With a final sigh, Samuel entered the forrest, his greatsword and shield bouncing in step with his horse.

The soft paps of rainfall hitting his large brimmed hat was oddly comforting to the Mirran as he trotted quickly down the small pathway, feeling as if he could finally relax. The worst part of this was over, he was able to depart with relative ease and little opposition. Now he just needs to reunite with Lucatiel and then find Aslatiel. He could start by questioning passing wanderers within Drangleic, as many have ventured there to find a cu—

Suddenly, arrows bolted from behind the trees, barely missing Samuel and his steed. Frightened, Eli began to bolt forward without his master’s command. But the horse found multiple arrows lodged into its neck after merely a few more steps, and threw Samuel from his saddle. More arrows flew, and Eli fell, dead before the Mirran could rise to face his attackers.

His hat removed and laying off in the mud road, Samuel pushed himself up before quickly as he drew his blade and his shield, scanning the trees for his enemies. It was eerily silent save for the pounding rain for a moment before figures dashed out one after another, each taking a strike out on the Prince. Samuel clashed steel with one shortsword, and blocked a morningstar’s strike with his shield before clumsily dodging the last three attacks. Breathing heavily, the Mirran stared at his ambushers coldly from behind his mask as they began to approach him again.

One of the rouges stepped forward, twirling two small swords in his hands as he placed his boot ontop of Samuel’s hat, pushing the fabric even deeper into the muddy earth. “So,” the thief started, pointing one of his blades towards their target, “I hope you don’t mind us working, don’tcha? You seemed to big of a score to pass. What are you anyways? Some sorta baron’s boy or a Royal Knight?”

Samuel slowly straightened himself, his large blade held up by his shoulder as he continued to stare behind his mask, much to the amusement of the bandits. “What are ya, the cold, stoic type then? Welp, not much to grieve, as we’re just after your goods, mate. Nothin personal,” the lead bandit spoke cooly before motioning towards the others, and they charged the Prince.

Samuel braced himself and met the dagger wielding thief first, ramming his shield towards his attacker. Sending shockwaves through the bandit’s arm, the Mirran raised his Greatsword above his head and brought it forcibly down onto his opponent, rending the thief’s buckler as his blade tasted flesh and tore screams from the man. Anger flashed through the attacking party and all attacked him at once without caution. Blocking the blades and morningstar, Samuel caught the glint of a burly axe speeding down towards him. Through years of rigorous training, the knight instinctively dodged to his side, catching the Greataxe user by surprise. With the fluid motions of a dancer, Samuel spun around, gaining quick momentum in such a short distance, before cleaving the axe-user’s head off in a single strike. These men were clumsy, and unprepared for such an opponent. Samuel’s mask turned to face his next opponent in stride when a speeding arrow took him in his left calf.

Stumbling backwards, Samuel tried to regain balance as another arrow struck him dead in his face, shattering his mask before falling to the ground along with the broken pieces of his God. The other two thieves took advantage of this situation, and pressed forward. The twin blades were blocked once again, but this time the strikes felt stronger than before. Samuel tried to retaliate with an attack of his own, bringing his blade up singlehandedly when the morningstar tore into him. The iron spikes ran through the Mirran’s armor and pierced into his flesh before pulling away, wrenching his arm back. Samuel felt his grip loosen, and his greatsword flew free, gone from the Prince’s use. The devastating strike sent Samuel reeling, muttering curses as he instinctively reached for his rapier.

But all of the Mirran’s movement ended as the thief’s sword found a hole within his stomach. Grinning wildly, the bandit leader pushed in the blade deeper, and Samuel found himself bent over the shortsword, hacking and coughing violently. Then, almost gently, the rouge raised the Prince’s chin with his second blade, grinning at the defeated Mirran; the look that looked almost like Aslatiel, and Samuel couldn't help but weakly smiled at his victor as he had many times before. But thief pressed the sword into the Prince’s throat, slicing through his flesh quickly. Samuel fell, and even the rain felt dull on his cold body as life fled.

His last thoughts flew back on his life, learning how to use his blade, spending evenings on that hillside, making that promise to Aslatiel to protect Lucat….. Who?

The Prince’s cold body flared in pain, as if smelted iron was poured over his right shoulder. Samuel wanted to writhe and scream in agony, but was restrained by his dead, unmoving body. The pain grew and grew, encroaching from his shoulder to the rest of his being.

My name is….. Samuel of Mirrah. And what did I come here for…? For her… right..?… Her…. name is….

The Mirran’s vision wavered and faded, the last sight being the remaining bandits rummaging through his packs. And then thoughts and memories fled from him, replaced by pain and dread. Everything was gone; all there was left was the Dark, frightening and comforting….