STANDARDS OF GYRRHIC LAW
CXX-CXXI
WRITTEN BY GRAVEKEEPER AVASTAS
THE GOD IS DEAD. THE GOD'S DEATH FOUNDED THE UNIVERSE. REJOICE IN ITS DEATH, BUT RESPECT IT ALSO.
THE GOD IS NO MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE ANCESTORS. DO NOT BECOME ENTRAPPED, AS BARBARIANS DO, IN IDOLIZING THE GOD. IT IS SIMPLY A FOLLY.
GHENAS YUKOTH LETH
Pelitathi Dungeons
The dungeons were not a place where many chose to spend their time. The distant drip... drip... drip of the water being the all-penetrating noise that invaded Ghenas' mind, the company of the occasional rat all that gave him comfort. His meals, delivered regularly upon simple wooden boards, often ill-prepared for him, gave him his only available sustenance, though for the most part, he elected not to partake. He felt his form become ever weaker, the hairs on his chin and jawline growing longer, the occasional fly landing on his now-putrid form. Ghenas could not see what state he was in. His eyes had begun to adapt, slightly, but the darkness was never something one could simply penetrate, even when one had been there for a long time. Ghenas Leth had been in the dungeon for about three days. Despite the drip of the water, despite the company of rats, despite the regularity of meals, there was but one thing that drove Ghenas Yukoth Leth to continue. The thought of a crown of gold upon his head, a scepter in his right hand, and the head of Hamadas Yulekoth Naesh beneath his boot.
Yes, the man to whom Ghenas had not shown particular antipathy towards during many years of serving together at their King's leisure... That man had been so quick to turn on him. Ghenas was still not entirely sure whether it was the accusation of murder, or simply a petty wish for revenge, only disguised by that stoic, moralistic exterior that led Hamadas Naesh to call for Ghenas' imprisonment. He had done it so quickly, so unquestioningly... Did their rapport, even any small mutual respect, not deter him at all? Some Kyll fool sends a letter, and Hamadas Naesh, that martial-idiot, believes every word of it? Ghenas' stomach groaned. He was in need of food, and yet, he could hear the sound of the rats around him, their detestable screeches taunting him... But Ghenas was not angered by them. They were animals, scarce able to think past their most carnal desires. If bread and lettuce was what they desired, the laws of nature deemed it theirs. And poor Ghenas was left by the wayside.
No. Not poor. Never. Unfortunate for the time being, perhaps. But Ghenas Leth would not be downtrodden for long.
The clank of the lock on the door jolted Ghenas awake fully. Three clanks, then a woody groan, before the door creaked open, flooding the dungeons with torchlight. Ghenas clenched his jaw and put his arm feebly in front of his face. He heard one set of footsteps, followed by another set closing the door behind the first. The same pattern in reverse, creak, groan, three clanks. The footsteps slowed in front of Ghenas. Those padded soles, coupled with that pace. There was only one person it could be.
"Not here for a stroll then, I take it, Theras?"
Ghenas heard a loud sigh from the Seneschal, who placed the torch into a hole on the wall. Ghenas peered between his fingers, the pain beginning to subside, as the man stepped forward towards the cage bars. Theras Bestanoth Hais was wearing a red velvet coat... Not his usual Seneschal’s attire, perhaps, but certainly something he might wear around the castle on occasion. He must not have been working that day, meaning it was likely the weekend. Ghenas was glad that he had not lost track of time while interred in the dungeons. Theras leant up against the bars, arms crossed, one leg behind the other, and looked over Ghenas in the way that one might look over a dirty dog.
"Dungeon life getting to you?"
Ghenas smiled, as he leant back onto the dungeon wall, "Everything's great down here. I'd introduce you to the rats, though I'm sure you wouldn't like to hear A History of the Chaalesh recounted in squeaks..." Theras was visibly confused. Ghenas laughed, "I'm fine, thank you."
The Seneschal rolled his eyes. Theras was not one to usually visit Ghenas Leth, even in official matters. It was usually a servant, or another member of the Council, often Olamas Kheyn, who would meet with him in Theras' stead. And it was for good reason. The two, despite deep family connections, did not get along. Though Theras was not as doggish or dull as the Naesh Clanlord, sticking with his honour until, Ghenas could only assume, he died of it, Hais was certainly still bound by a sense of morality. No, more than that. Ghenas could understand a moral code, he had one himself. This one, though, did things in the name of goodness without being a slave to it. He was fine with being a servant himself, if it meant other men could rule. He even seemed actively averse to the idea of ruling. Yes, Theras was an enigma in many ways. And this meeting was only more enigmatic.
"So, why are you here, Hais?"
Hais visibly shrugged, "Perhaps I want to beat a confession out of you. You are convicted of murder, aren't you Ghenas?"
Ghenas' mouth turned upwards at the sides in a knowing smile, "But you don't believe that, do you?"
Theras slowly shook his head, "In all the time we've known each other, you've advocated the unfair taxing of lords who disobey the King, the permission of piracy as long as it served your interests, the subjective reading of laws to benefit your Clan, but... Whenever it came to the idea of killing... Now, that's where you stopped."
Ghenas nodded. What the man said was true. In fact, he could not have put it better. The idea of resorting to murder when a smart word here or there would suffice... It was alien to him.
"So then," Ghenas responded, a level of overt sarcasm in his voice, "Why did I do that terrible deed?"
Theras pursed his lips, a conflicted expression on his face, evidently unsure whether to tell him or not. He appeared to make up his mind, before continuing, "Olamas and I are still not sure that you did it. Zavenas and Hamadas, however, are sure you did it to remove a contender to the throne..." He shook his head, "Well, that's what Hamadas thinks. Zavenas, in traditional fashion, simply accepts Clan Kyll's account, and gets angry at the very mention of your name."
Ah, Zavenas Balv. If loyalty to the Kyll Clan were valued, Zavenas would be the richest man in the Realm. Clans Balv and Kyll have been historic allies, but Zavenas takes that to the level of worship. When Tedas was still alive, Zavenas Balv could be counted as the staunchest ally in all matters of state and law. In fact, he worshipped the very ground that the King stood on. The King once told Ghenas that the man was a competent Steward once… If that could have been possible. The aged, fattened Clanlord acted for no-one’s interests but his own, and even that was done with a sluggish hesitancy born from a long-addled mind.
“I’ll admit,” Ghenas finally spoke, “Killing off the Kyll man would have removed the strongest contender to my rule,” Ghenas rocked his head from side to side, “A good strategy, for a fictitious Ghenas.”
Theras knelt on the dungeon floor, aiming to see at eye level with the imprisoned man, “So who did it?”
Once more, Ghenas felt his mouth curl into a smile, “A wise move, Seneschal, asking me for help in this.”
Once again, in response, Theras sighed, “Don’t make me regret it.”
Ghenas moved forwards in his cage, the aching in his bones causing each movement to be pained. He moved on three limbs, his left arm free while his right arm and two legs struggled to balance the man as he made his first proper movements in a long time. He sat directly opposite Theras, behind the steel bars. Theras noticeably screwed up his face in apparent disgust with the man in the cage. Good, Ghenas thought to himself, I have his full attention.
“See, not many men in the realm want to be King,” Ghenas spoke casually, “There’s me, of course, and the late Zireas Namiroth Kyll, though I’m sure if it were suicide there would be no-one - well, no-one sane at least - calling for my head. Then there’s Yukadas Tethoth Yti, though he’s too barbaric to realise that infiltrating a castle rather than simply torching it to the ground is a valid strategy. So, remembering of course that it’s not me, that means that it can’t have been anybody.”
Theras raised an eyebrow. He knew that Ghenas was playing coy, and did not appreciate playing word games. Ghenas took that as his cue to move onwards with the conversation.
“That is, no-one running just for King.”
And it was at that moment that Theras widened his eyes, the flame-light licking his face, the shadows dancing over the realisation present in each contour, the creases of thought accentuated by the darkness.
“Exactly. It has to be someone of Clan Kyll. Moreover, someone who thinks that, without a strong driving influence, they stand a chance of winning.”
Theras leaned in closer, shifting his body weight as he did so, “But who would stand to win the Clanlordship in Zireas’ stead?”
Ghenas leaned in to match, “I honestly don’t have a clue.”
Theras sat back, evidently disappointed. Ghenas sat back with him, looking at the plate of food sitting by his foot, now nearly gone thanks to the rodents around the dungeon.
“I should have guessed you wouldn’t know,” Theras said sullenly.
“I thought the election was as decided as you did. If Naesh had bothered to check my letters, he would have seen one expressly addressed to Zireas Kyll. I didn’t think I needed a knowledge of their internal Clan affairs.”
Theras sighed, “And Hamadas was so sure that Clan Kyll would bring about another honourable King… He would have staked his life on such a thing.”
Ghenas chuckled softly, the sound reverberating through the dungeon, “My dear Seneschal… There is no such thing as honour. Even less so honourable men.”
Theras gazed over, more confusion upon his face, “That’s not true, of course.”
“Oh, but it is,” Ghenas looked back to Theras, “Honour is where critical thought goes to die. What difference is the honour of a soldier on the battlefield to the honour of your Hamadas? Both serve something, both act a certain way because of invisible rules that govern their being…”
“Exactly,” Theras spoke up, “Honour can be shared by all. It’s universal.”
Ghenas smiled sadly, “And that is useful how? Honour is the eternal lie that idiots tell themselves to defend their actions. It has no discretion, it has no independent thought, it is but a set of rules that someone imagined would be ‘nice’, and they follow them until those rules kill them. If I chose men by honour, I could not tell whether I got the brightest man alive or a dullard. There’s your ‘universal honour’.”
Theras tried to laugh away the point, “You are far too cynical, Ghenas. Honour is to be merited… Not all men can uphold what honour demands.”
“Tell me, Theras,” Ghenas continued, “In a matter of secrecy, what would honour have me do?”
Theras lowered his eyebrows, “Whatever would yield justice. Whatever law and decency demand.”
“So in the matter of your infatuation with men, what should I do?”
Theras’ eyes shot back to Ghenas, who remained with a coy smile about his face. “How do you…”
“See, Theras Leth, I value information. It’s a great thing to be informed about your enemies, and indeed your allies,” In the midst of abortive objections from Theras, Ghenas held up a hand to stop him, “I understand, I have invaded your precious privacy in this regard. But were I an honourable man, I would have to tell someone, anyone about your state of being.”
“Were you an honourable man, you would never have endeavoured to find out, you snake!”
“I mean you no harm, Leth,” Ghenas spoke again, softly and calmly, “Merely to show you that honour is not everything. In fact, it is near-nothing. The best thing I can trust an honest man to do is not to try and surpass me, either for the sake of their precious ‘honour’, or for genuine lack of ability. You will see this in time.”
Theras pursed his lips once more, cheeks appearing to redden, even in the torchlight. He removed the torch from the wall, spinning around to glare at Ghenas once more.
“But to be honest, my lips are sealed on the subject. I value our talks too much to reveal something like that.”
Theras evidently considered responding to that, before seeming to relax somewhat, beginning to turn away, “I must write a message to Hamadas. He should not trust the Lords of Kyll…”
“Message? Is he away?”
Theras stopped for a second, sighed once more, and turned to leave for good. Knocking on the door, the locks clanked thrice, the groan of a bar being lifted and the creak of the door opening signalling that Theras was leaving. The same in reverse, the door closed, the bar dropped and the lock clanked thrice, and the dungeon was in complete darkness again.
ACOLYTE ANTADAS
Mausoleum of Kings
The young Acolyte carried various notes as he traversed the great hall of the Mausoleum of Kings, hurrying to the meeting he had with the High Council of the Order of Gravekeepers, where he would act as secretary. The job was not glamorous, but Antadas relished the opportunity to learn. After all, he still needed to prove that he was able to read and write, as he said he could. Antadas thought it was somewhat bureaucratic to have to prove oneself in that way, but if it was ultimately in the service of the Ancestors, he found it fulfilling. He, as should all Gyrrhic people, loved the Ancestors. Why others did not join the Gravekeepers, Antadas did not understand, as that had been his aim since being a young boy in his own village. Either way, this new opportunity would not present itself if he was late, so rushing across the massive hall, still trying to take in all of the wondrous artwork.
He ascended a set of stairs between the Clan Hais and Clan Yti spires, the set which would take him up to the offices of the High Council. When he had gone far enough, he stopped, pushing on the door with his back. The door opened sharply, causing a short thud as it struck the wall next to it. Inside sat all of the high council, including Gravekeeper Hireas, Antadas' instructor. Hireas appeared somewhat bemused by the Acolyte's tardiness, but brushed it off with that trademark look of his which said, 'See me later'.
"Is this the Acolyte you spoke of, Hireas?"
Antadas looked over at the man speaking. The High Gravekeeper, Talaras, sitting on a chair, robes resplendent silver and gold, with black suns decorating the robes, the light of the sun roof causing the robes to appear to morph and change with every simple movement that the High Gravekeeper made. Of course, as a member of the Order of Gravekeepers, Antadas was not expected to bow in the presence of the High Gravekeeper, but his overall appearance, one of holiness and even perhaps a grandiose expectation of respect, made it difficult not to. Antadas resisted his urges - it had been a long process for Hireas to teach him not to bow to every shrine in the whole Mausoleum, and he did not want to prove that he was still too youthful and immature to finish his Gravekeeper training. However long that would be...
"Yes, this is Antadas. He's been here about a month thus far, High Gravekeeper."
"Are you enjoying your training, Antadas?"
Hireas nodded towards Antadas, who bowed his head slightly, "Yes, Your Holiness. I have learnt much."
The High Gravekeeper smiled, the reflection of his cloak shining onto his chin as he did so, "Good. It is a holy task, to learn with instruction. Through learning, we deepen our understanding of the world the Ancestors have left us, in custom, in composition and in their light."
"As it is said," one of the Council chimed in. The rest of the councillors, followed by Antadas, repeated.
"Be seated, Antadas," Hireas gestured gently towards a chair at the side of the Council room. This one had a desk next to it, with an inkpot and quill, with a large ream of parchment. Antadas soon noticed the presence of another Gravekeeper next to where he would be seated, his own ream of parchment, though without the desk which Antadas had. The Acolyte walked down towards the desk, sitting gently on the rather uncomfortable wooden chair. He could feel the eyes of the other Gravekeeper boring into his neck, and could only assume this one was either to rate his performance or write a separate set of notes as Antadas did. This man likely had more training, but Antadas would prove his ability soon enough.
"Let us begin," the High Gravekeeper struck a small bell with an even smaller metal gavel, "What is the state of the faith in this realm?"
"Your Holiness, our Gravekeepers have been interring some fairly high-class nobles, and indeed, attendance has gone up as a result. This will only bring holiness to the Ancestors and..."
"I'm sorry," another chimed in, this one hunched in his seat, old and appearing frail, with a trembling voice to match, "Are we going to ignore the sheer heretics that plague regional Mausoleums in this realm? Your Holiness, they have only been invigorated by the deaths of these nobles, and are organising in greater numbers than usual."
Antadas had not heard that word before. 'Heretics'. He tried spelling it out, feeling the heat of the other Gravekeeper looking over his paper. He heard the scratching of quill to parchment. He had done something wrong, evidently.
"A group of heretics is no issue to us," the first said, "They have been given the freedom to interpret the worship of the Ancestors however they wish."
"These 'Creatists', as they call themselves, do indeed pose a threat! Their worship of the God is eclipsing their duties as tenders of the graves. Why, in one village, they've stopped interring the dead entirely, with peasants having to walk to their Clan's Mausoleums to bury their Ancestors."
The gavel on the bell sounded, but yet again, Antadas was stuck on that word - 'Creatists'. He again tried spelling it, and again, the scratching of the quill sounded in his ear.
"We all respect the God, Talykas," the High Gravekeeper spoke softly, "Why do you fear these Gravekeepers so heavily?"
"With respect, Your Holiness, they are placing the worship of the God above that of the Ancestors," the second Gravekeeper spoke up, "Though the God should not be above of our own predecessors. If we let this go unchecked, they will become like barbarians inside our own nation! We cannot let things develop that far."
The High Gravekeeper thought for a moment, "I am sure it will pass in time... Though perhaps we should act on this. Talykas, you are free to send a number of Itinerants to these so-called 'heretics'. Perhaps, in time, we can find a way to reconcile their faith with ours."
"As you say, Your Holiness," Talykas spoke softly. Meanwhile, Antadas was still trying to work out the word 'heretic'. The scratching of quill on parchment would only continue throughout the meeting...
Outside the Meeting
Antadas was the last to leave, having already given the parchment he wrote on to the other Gravekeeper, who looked over it solemnly. It was not certain if this one ever smiled, though he did grunt somewhat approvingly as he saw it, pushing past Antadas to exit quickly. Antadas, still collecting his effects, exited slower, finally pulling the door open to see Hireas standing in deep meditation.
Antadas softly spoke, trying in vain to be as unnoticeable as possible while also respecting the older man, "Hello, Gravekeeper."
Hireas looked over to the Acolyte, a somewhat less than enthused look upon his face, "Are you often this tardy, Acolyte?"
Antadas shook his head quickly, trying to dispel any notion that he would be again in future. Hireas nodded, "Good. Tardiness is a violation of duty. To be tardy is one step away from not performing duties at all. Remember that."
"Yes, Gravekeeper," Antadas apologetically replied.
"However, that said, Gravekeeper Tzolakas was pleased by your work, which, despite a number of spelling errors, which shall improve in time, surpassed most other Acolytes your age."
Antadas cautiously looked up towards the Gravekeeper, hoping this was good news he was being given.
"Relax, Acolyte. You have done well."
The young Acolyte smiled, feeling free to show some measure of pride in his own work. Hireas continued, "Moreover, you have made a good impression on the High Gravekeeper. No doubt, your trials will be short and you will wear the tower and shovel as we do."
"Thank you, Gravekeeper Hireas," Antadas responded. The elder man bowed his head, smiling softly.
"Now I believe Gravekeeper Yarodas has some tasks for you. Off you go."
Antadas took his leave of the man, carrying his papers and equipment as he went. He had done well, he thought. If Hireas thought so, it must have been true.
HAMADAS YULEKOTH NAESH
Enroute to Castle Kyll
The incessant snoring of the Steward as the carriage rocked back and forth was almost as bad as the rest of it. Thankfully, the road was fairly smooth, having been present for many generations of Gyrrhic folk, almost as old as the nation itself, but stopping every few miles to feed and water the horses, or to let out the Steward for his own bowel movements, meant that the journey up until that point, a long and tiresome one even before the stopping, had been protracted beyond necessary levels. Despite miles of beautiful Gyrrhic countryside beyond that point, Hamadas could only think of continuing the journey towards the Soresant Bay, the home of Clan Kyll.
Hamadas knew little of Castle Kyll beyond what King Tedas had told him - that it was a beautiful city, right on the inside of a warm-weather bay, surrounded by cliffs and rolling hills and fields. Certainly, as the cooler climate up north gave way to a warmer southerly climate, and as the blue and gold banners of Clan Kyll replaced the purple and gold Kaes ones further North, he could see what the ageing King had meant.
A large bump in the road woke up Balv from his slumber. The one thing worse than the snoring was the talking. Balv was an old man, growing more senile as time went on. Hamadas did not appreciate the way in which he spoke to people who were not himself - greedy, pompous and losing grip on reality.
"Oh, Naesh, I didn't notice you there," Balv spluttered as he groggily awoke.
"I've been in here for days, Steward," Hamadas replied, trying his best to remain calm and collected.
The Steward paused for a moment, "Oh, yes... Of course. Anyway, how long until we are there?"
Thankfully, the answer was, "Not long. We have entered their territory, and will soon be in Kyll Castle."
"Ah, yes... Alright," Balv seemed to settle down again, though before he could do so fully, he noticed a sight which he had not seen before, "Ah! That's the Northern Tower! We're close, I'm sure of it!"
Naesh looked around. Indeed, there was a tower there. He forgot somewhat that Balv had indeed spent some time around Kyll, being in a closely allied clan, and probably would recognise the towers and roads around there better than the roads of Pelitathi. And indeed, cresting a hill, the carriage came into sight of the massive walls of Clan Kyll, far more utilitarian than those of some other cities nearby.
They approached, and would soon be inside the walls.
Kyll Mausoleum
Hamadas stood in front of the shrine to Zireas Namiroth Kyll. It had not been fully completed yet, the bust still not done, and the etching yet to go in, and was deep underground. He had not been a Clanlord, more was the pity, so he did not get interred in the tall spire of the mausoleum, instead remaining under the ground, in dark and winding halls, away from the sun, with every other Clan member interred here.
His focus was disturbed by the sound of footsteps. They slowed as they came closer to Hamadas. The Banner-Caller looked up – it was a man in monochromatic robes, plain, with little decoration. The man paused, before speaking.
“Apologies, I did not expect anyone else to be here,” He seemed somewhat troubled. It was to be expected, he had just lost a notable family member.
“No, I am at fault, I came here on a whim,” Hamadas looked back at the makeshift shrine, “Did you know him?”
“I think everyone in the realm knew Zireas. He was… Influential. Honourable too. And a great steward. You?”
Hamadas smiled sadly, “Not as well as I’d have liked to. Hamadas Yulekoth Naesh,” he said, holding out a hand. The other man took his forearm in his hand, introducing himself in kind.
“Desas Tedoth Kyll. So you’re the man that Tedas spoke of in his letters?”
Hamadas smiled at the mention of the King, “He wrote of me?”
“Aye, he spoke of you more than once. ‘Most honourable man in the realm’, he said,” Desas’ eyebrows furrowed, “You’re the hero of the Battle of Broken Horns, right? Defeating the Steel Legion led by Horvath?”
Hamadas chuckled softly, “Not many remember that. You’ve done your research,” Hamadas thought back to it, “I simply did my duty. No-one else would have done differently.”
The other man cocked his head, “And yet you have never engaged in any other campaigns there. Why is that name, ‘The Last Great Excursion’, so final?”
Hamadas looked towards the man; his nostalgia had become memory of violence and death. “The Karpacians are good fighters. They did their duty just as I did. The difference is that they paid the price for it. I didn’t. But I knew, if I continued, I would meet the same fate. But they were honourable in defeat, so I could do naught else but be honourable in victory.”
The other man nodded, “Honour, then. Tedas was right.”
Hamadas nodded, “He seemed to be right in many more things than even I gave him credit for,” Hamadas glanced back over to the shrine, “So, a whole clan of people who had all but chosen a Clanlord. Do you know who is running now?”
Desas sighed, “Well, if you are a friend to Clan Kyll, then I see no reason not to tell you that I am.”
Hamadas looked over the man. He seemed decent. Of course, he had been asked by Clan Kyll to come and give an endorsement of some candidate once they had all come forward. This one appeared honourable enough. Perhaps he was to be considered, “Well, it’s no secret that I’m looking for someone honourable and just to give my endorsement. I will consider you, definitely.”
Desas grinned, “Truly? You honour me more than I could have guessed.”
Hamadas gestured for the man to remain quiet. Another worshipper was being led by a Gravekeeper through the area, and he did not want to disturb them, “I make no promises on who I will choose. But I will definitely consider you.”
Desas straightened up, evidently enthused by the Banner-Caller’s words. Hamadas patted him on the shoulder, before speaking, “I should be helping the Steward unpack. I will leave you to your prayers.”
“Thank you, Banner-Caller,” Desas replied. Hamadas turned away and walked back up to the surface, happy to have met a friendly face in this new city.
DESAS TEDOTH KYLL
The Banner-Caller left. Desas was alone in the Mausoleum, save for the odd traveller and worshipper come to see off dead ancestors. Finally, in the shimmering light of the torches, a friendly face. Arantas Tedoth Kyll, Chief Diplomat of the Clan.
“It’s as if the Ancestors really do shine on you here, Arantas,” Desas spoke to his friend.
“Perhaps they really do,” Arantas responded, “How did our Naesh friend take to your introduction?”
“Well. Perhaps he is honourable. There is value in having honourable people around, and certainly in terms of military strategy, he has great experience there,” Desas smiled at the thought, “Thank you for the tip, by the way. I should have realised he’d come straight here.”
“Any time, friend,” Arantas responded, “I just hope you made a good enough impression. If you don’t get the votes, then this whole affair will have been for nothing. It might have been as if we left Zireas ali-“
“SHHH!” Desas put his hand over Arantas’ mouth, “We’re not out of the woods yet. If someone finds out, it could end my campaign – not just for King, even for Clanlord.”
Arantas rolled his eyes, “Desas, there is no-one here to listen but the dead.”
