#legend stuff

The Legend of the Noble and the Younger

Even in a kingdom as ancient and strange as this, some legends become lost to the ages or are considered too peculiar to be considered true and become nothing more than fairytales.

Yet it’s the strangest ones, I find, are the ones that shouldn’t be forgotten.

As such, one such tale takes place long before the monarchy. Before the name “Hidden Kingdom” even existed, the land comprised of small kingdoms with no king. Only Nobles who lived in somewhat peace, occasionally, one of the Lords would get in their head that they deserved more power but would quickly be taken down by the other Lords. They loved their small lands and would do anything to protect their own.

But none loved their land more than the Noble of the House of Cutt. His land was small but prosperous, his taxes were not as low as his citizens would have liked, it was their love of the Nobles Younger Brother that kept them at peace. A young man who loved knowledge and nature and would often go off into the villages to talk to the people, seeing to their needs and sharing knowledge. The Noble loved his brother more than anything, so much so that on the day his brother became an adult he threw a massive party of many fine foods and music, a delightful event indeed. The Noble then revealed a gift he thought befitting the occasion. After much negotiation he had managed to purchase a peculiar forest from a bordering lord. Though the Younger was grateful for such a generous gift, a quality he wished his brother would share with the citizens, he was nervous at owning such an archaic and mystic forest. Not because he wasn’t curious, it was his nature to be curious, but he knew the dangers of interacting with something they didn’t understand. But the Noble thought the Younger was being modest and decided the only way to appease his brother’s always anxious heart was to arrange a hunting party to explore its depths.

The journey itself could have been completed with the two of them, but because the path took them along the border of neighboring kingdoms the Noble gathered a huge party of musicians, chefs and knights to come along. Treating the event like a royal parade, waving at the thin working peasants as he rode past looking more like a jester than a ruler, and it was only because the Younger handed out meals and sweets to the children who ran alongside. And at first the Noble was having such a good time he thought maybe they had walked past the forest.

Till they arrived

They were greeted with a faint fog that lapped at their ankles and chilled their skin in spite of the hot summer day, the trees thicker than the legs of giants. The fog was so dense it gave everything the illusion of being a ghost of itself, humming with a long-forgotten melody. The Younger, like many of the guards and servants, only managed to look at it for a few moments before some sense of reverence drove them to avert their eyes. The Noble, more foolish than wise, swung off his beast with a sword in the air, trying to approach the forest’s edge. But before he could breach the forest’s edge, there was a flash of light causing the Noble to stumble back. When the light faded all that was left at the forest edge was a tall being. Too iridescent to make out any true details, what the Younger could make out was that the Being towered over them with knobby knees and elbows dressed in a thin robe that looked like it had been woven from the mist itself, and a long beard that appeared to be vibrating, according to his imagination. But when the Younger looked closer he saw that the Being’s beard was in fact full of tiny bees, treating the beard like a hive. What stood out the most was the Beings bright white eyes that shone brighter than any treasure they owned. Some ancient sense of reverence drove the Younger to kneel to the ground in humility.

Even the Noble understood he was in the presence of something ancient and powerful, but he was foremost proud. He arched his shoulders back, “State your name!” the Noble demanded, “I am the Noble of the House of Cutt! I own this land and therefore I own you as well, Spirit!”

While most Spirits would have reacted with anger at the Noble’s arrogance. The Spirit gave a soft chuckle, for it had seen the arrogance of man far too often to be anything but amused, “I am the Spirit of Honey. I planted this forest long before your ancestors set foot on my land. I sang to the trees to give them strength and protected it from greed far more powerful than your own. You claim to own this land, as you creatures so love to do, but some things can never be owned.”

The Noble had never been told he couldn’t own something and reacted as a child. He grabbed a nearby axe from one of the guards, the first time he had ever touched a tool in his life and raised it overhead in a false sense of superiority, but the axe disappeared in a flash and was replaced with honey that immediately drenched the Noble. The Noble roared in disgust and rubbed at his eyes with his sleeves, despite the Youngers concerned inquiries and by the time he had wiped his eyes clean, the Spirit had disappeared with a haunting giggle.

Angered and Humiliated, the Noble ordered for the forest to be struck from the earth and a hearty reward for anyone who could accomplish such a feat which drew in warlocks. Foresters, and anyone without sense from around the Nobles land. For the next several weeks they camped and tried just that. Though no one could enter the forest without being hit with a wave of vertigo that drove them out on their knees, they worked on the forest edge. Raised axes shattered in their hands, spells cast by wizards and warlocks were turned against them (fire spells turned into fish spells, anti-magic spells turned in ‘oh no where are my clothes’ spells) no reward seemed worth the humiliation the Spirit seemed to delight in and drove even the greediest opportunist away.

Each failure angered the Noble and it was only through the Younger’s intervention that no punishment befalls the failures. Being the only one left with a level head, the Younger was often seen sitting at the forest’s edge looking in with a sense of peace and wonder on his face, and sometimes he seemed to be talking quietly to a little bee on his palm.

After weeks of trying, the only change around the forest was the fact the Noble had never been so tired in his life. He lay in his tent finally conceding the fact the forest would never truly belong to him and thought warmly of returning home when a sickly-sweet voice whispered in his ear

“How may I be of service?”

The voice was so different from that of his attendants that he sat up and looked around in panic. But after his heart stopped racing acknowledged the fact the only other occupant in the room was a tiny little spider hanging from the roof of his tent, a pinkish purple in nature and no bigger than his smallest cufflink, “Was that you little friend?” he asked in humor

“Who else would it be?” the Spider speaks again, causing the Noble to gasp and draw away. The little Spider lowered itself onto the Nobles blanket, “You have been slighted my Nobly Noble.” the Spider squeaked “and that can not stand. What will the other Nobles think? If you can not even bend a decrepit spider to your will?”

It was only shock that kept the Noble from squashing the Spider where it stood, but her warm silk words drew him in, so his head hovered over her. Gently gathering the tiny creature into his hands to hold her at eye level, he decided this was an exhaustion dream and he might as well humor it, “And what can a Little Spider do for me?”

“You wish for the Spirit to disappear do you not? To prove your superiority?” The Spider tilts her tiny head, “I can tell you how to do this. I can help you regain your pride.”

“And in return?” The Noble asks,” What would you have from me?”

“I merely ask for the One thing you treasure most. Just One.” The Small Spider raised one of her legs to Cutttt off his protest, “Just one, you can keep everything else in your world. I simply ask for your most priceless treasure.”

Even for one as foolish as the Noble, he takes a minute to think thoroughly of his most prized possessions, of which there are many. He remembers that none of this was real, and not binding, “Very well.” He says, “What will I have to do?”

“All you have to do is give me a wittle kissy wispy. Then you will be able to fix all your problems.”

The idea of kissing a spider appalls him but remembered that none of this was real. He raises the spider closer to his mouth, the little creature rising hirer on her little legs eagerly and gives it its desire. There is a flash of light that immediately wakes up the Noble who sits up in panic, gasping for air. A moment later his mind starts swilling with information he previously hadn’t known and runs from his tent.

WITH the fury of a madman, he orders the guards and servants around. Guiding him with knowledge he hadn’t had before with a sense of urgency he had never felt, it takes less than two days for everything to be gathered and during which the Noble works nonstop, he orders the guards to have a nearby Silversmith build him a suit of armor, and a potion to be made from the waters of a dry waterfall and leaves of saffron and sage from underneath a moonless night. As they hurry to carry his bidding, they desperately ignore the feeling the forest is watching them. The only one brave enough to say anything was the Younger who begged on his hands and knees for the Noble to see reason, but the mad man would not heed his words only the weight of his own ego and the silky sweet voice in his ear.

The suit of armor is placed within a circle of sacred chalk, outlined with ancient runes the Noble had never known before. AS his brother yells and begs for him to stop, the Noble says three words that had not been spoken in a millennia.

There’s a terrible scream that fills the air, more terrible and sorrowful than any one had heard that brings several servants to their knees in tears. A light trace around the runes of the suit of armor before pouring out of its cracks and holes as though someone had thrown a flame inside of it. The Younger, with tears in his eyes, broke free of the guards holding him back and ran forward. Before the Noble could stop him, the Younger stepped into the spell circle and grabbed the suit of armor.

The air explodes in a mass of furious bees, swarming the unwilling party and punishing every trace of bare skin they can find with a fury of a god. Driving them away from the forest's edge. The Noble, manages to grab his brother and drag him back with him as they flee from the forest. Behind them he can hear the ground scream as new trees burst from the ground and fill in the gaps between the forest, creating an impenetrable wall around the sacred woods.

When the pain finally stops, the Noble desperately tries to wake his brother but finds not a breath or warmth left in his body. Greif tore through the Noble at the loss of his only family as he wept into his brother’s hair, oblivious to the small spider bite that rested on the nape of his brother’s neck. It was only then he noticed the suit of armor was twitching on its own before rising up into a sitting position, the lights that filled its eyes looked around in panic and confusion and it was only then that the Noble realized his spell hadn't been a complete failure. His grief and anger twisting him into a monster of his former self as he ordered the trapped spirit to be locked in his deepest dungeon. Offering a great reward for anyone who could destroy it.

He would only see the suit of armor one last time before it was locked up. But occasionally, he would hear the armor yelling the same thing repeatedly.

“I’m your brother! I’m your brother!”

but after a few decades, even that would fade into a depressed silence. The suit of armor would not see his brother or another soul, at least one that didn’t wish him harm, for many years to the point where the suit of armor was convinced that living in a cold dark dungeon was to be his fate

Until….

(#)(#)\/(#)(#)

The Baron had very little use for anything flashy. So, with a snarl he yanked his dark blade out of the unmoving noble. His mood saved a little as he watched the Nobles now severed jewels fall from his fat neck. While some consider any loss of life a loss, he wasn’t of that mindset. He had spent years watching the house of Cutt fall from grace and succumb to ravenous greed that nearly starved their lower class. It was only when they declared war on the rest of the kingdom, did Draxum find need or interfere. The Cutt soldiers, all drafted from farms, surrendered easily. The only real loss of life had been Cunningham Cutt the III, who had been too greedy and ill-mannered to have a wife. In sort considering that there was only one loss of life and one person injured (one of the farmers had dislocated his wrist throwing down his weapon in surrender) this was the shortest rebellion in the Kingdoms history (ok not quite, he reminded himself, remembering the 13:00=19:00 rebellion a few centuries earlier.) He glanced around at the golden ornate walls in disgust wondering how many hard-working farmers starved to pay the taxes for a castle they’d never see the inside of.

Nobility

Royalty

The worst plague of all

Though he can barely hear someone approaching, he turns to acknowledge the ranger approaching with a dark cloak. He tilts his jaw in greeting, “Did you find anything of interest?” The only upside about these old castles was there were usually long forgotten rooms of limitless resources. And considering the House of Cutt had ties that existed long before the kingdom, it made him eager.

“We haven’t finished going through all the rooms yet, but while I was in the dungeon, I found a suit of armor”

Draxum let out a scoff, “Really? Of all the things you could have informed me about. I do not care about some discarded rusty suit of armor.”

“Even if it is talking?”

Draxum paused, turning to look at Tsukino who he could tell was smirking from under her hood,if she wasn’t such a competent warrior, he would have had her fed to Huginn and Muninn years ago. He turned to her fully, she stepped back and gave a half bow with her arm extended. Scratch that, he would have fed her parents to Hugine and Muninn years ago to keep her from being born.

But she was sharp, so if she said she found something significant it tended to be true. They descended several stone cases till they came across a wooden door ripped off the hinges, (more of her work) she stepped to stand guard by the door as he walked in. The lack of a rotting smell told him that there hadn’t been a living thing in many years (though that was probably because the Cutt’s had favored a quick public execution in recent years) He peers into each cell. Everything was cast in a thick layer of dust. There was so much of it in fact he glanced over one cell before pausing and looking back in.

The suit of armor in question was slumped against the wall, the style itself was almost as old as the castle, as though the wearer had promised himself a moment's rest but then lost its will to get back up. At first, he thought that Tsukino had led him astray or was losing her mind when two white lights flickered through the visor looking up at him, “Is that tyrant dead?”

Draxum almost wanted to ask ‘which tyrant’ since the House of Cutt hadn’t seen a respectable Noble in many generations. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tsukino turn her back to him to face the entrance of the hallway. Signifying she would defend their position while they talked Before Draxum was even born, “The Master of this estate is dead.” He may have expected the Armor to be grateful for such news, judging by the giant gashes in his armor he hadn’t been treated kindly. But the lights that represented the armor's eyes dimmed and turned downward, “So the House of Cutt has fallen.” He taped his badly dented forefingers together, with noise that Draxum can only assume is a sad sigh, “I supposed I should be grateful my brother wasn’t alive to see it.” before a laugh escaped him, “I truly am a fool, he dedicated himself and his descendants to destroying me and I still call him that.”

“I don’t suppose it was particularly devastating. I doubt you can feel pain in your form.”

“You’re quite right, I can’t feel physical pain. But to be at the receiving end of such anger and violence for so many years has its,” The metal man paused, “Mental repercussions. I suppose I should be grateful that the last few generations forgot about my existence.”

Draxum’s eyes traced over the Metal Man’s body, entire parts of him had been hacked away or dented beyond repair. The sheen of his armor was lost behind scorch marks. A distinguishing footprint on his badly dented chest armor. As though countless people had stood on his chest and repeatedly slammed numerous weapons on him. He noted the goblin moss on his undamaged parts told Draxum he had been here for many years. He hadn’t noticed that he had been silent, far past what was considered comfortable, “So the legends were wrong. The Youngest Son of the House of Cutt wasn’t killed by the Spirit of Honey,”

“No,” the metal man shook his head, his neck creaking as he went, probably breaking some long settled rust, “Not that anyone listened, We tried to tell them but I supposed my unmoving body was enough to persuade them, I should be dead, but the Spirit of Honey was very kind and when he had been pulled into the suit of armor he pulled my spirit out of my dying body. He was trying to save me. But I’m sure if he had known the fate awaiting up, he would have let me go.”

“We? Is the Spirit in the Armor as well?”

“He was, for a long time. “The Metal Man paused. At first Draxum thought he was gathering his thoughts, but it occurred to him this was the first time anyone had spoken to him without the intent of hurting him, “We were two at first, we kept each other company. Shared stories and knowledge, and for a while I lost strength and he would be the one sharing stories, and courage. My strength returned eventually but he was no longer there. He might have given up his spirit in fear that mine would fade. Or maybe we are one now…. I have memories and knowledge I didn’t have before. But I suppose this is the end?”

Draxum couldn’t tell if the Spirit of Honey and Cutt was remorseful at that thought or perhaps relief. But when he looked at the beaten and battered suit of armor, he saw more than a trapped spirit (fusion or otherwise).

He saw an opportunity.

“If that is what you want, I can provide you a painless end,” he watched for the flicker in the Metal Mans eyes, even after so many years and no body the man still held a small amount of fear towards death, “Or I can offer you sanctuary, we can repair your body, and give you a home,”

“In exchange?”

“Your knowledge,” he extended his hand, “and your partnership.”

The Metal Man, the combined spirit of the Last True son of Cutt and Honey looked at his hands before extending one to him, “I offer you my services, My Baron.”

With that Draxum took his hand and pulled him to his feet. Immediately the Metal Man’s leg severed from the rest of his body and nearly collapsed had Draxum not ducked under his arm and caught him. At the time the one who would become Honeycutt would remember how grateful he was for Draxum’s mercy and his friendship for years to come.