On Astral Tides: From Humble Freelancer To Astral Emperor

Side Thirty-Nine – Duke Formor

Dark purple and green lights flickered eerily in the large limestone cavern, casting dark shadows throughout the room, shrouding the immense figure that sat upon a black-iron throne at the back of the cave, leaving one half in inky darkness, the other half illuminated in sickly shades.

The towering figure, who even seated was topping five metres in height, let out a bellow of rage that shook the very walls of the chamber. He lashed out with one massive grey fist, and the rock wall caved under the impact, head-sized chunks of mottled stone tumbling to the floor to shatter loudly, dust and debris shaken loose from the ceiling, filling the air with choking pale dust.

“That insolent whelp.” Duke Formor, leader of the few giants and trolls that had not deserted the Seelie for their dark brethren, grated, his voice as deep and booming as the storm-tossed seas. His yellow eyes were glaring balefully at nothing, and his other hand twitched, fingers as thick as oak branches opening and closing fitfully, as if he was choking the life from someone.

“He dares come into my halls, my very castle, and accuse me of trying to slay his bitch of a little sister! To my face! Shaeraggo, you are not your father, you have no right to speak to your betters in such a manner!” His foot stomped down, shattering the floor.

Literally shaking with rage, the ornate robes he was wearing catching on the metal barbs of his throne and tearing, the iron scoring across the leathery ashen skin beneath, he let out another roar of fury, before taking a deep breath to forcibly calm himself.

“There is no proof. Grulgor is a fool, so I can say he was acting alone. But still… just how has he failed? The little runt is worthless, her spiritual League barely that of a pixie, her bloodlines conflicting. Better she be gone, rather than live in shame and ignominy, forever mocked by all but her own kin. Yes…” he paused, thinking. “… it was no attempt at murder, merely… dispensing mercy. That it would have gained me a favour from Duke Vulpatrius is merely my due for a good deed. Yes, none could fault me for my charity.” He rumbled a strange noise, and only his closest kin would know it was laughter. He stomped down again, and the floor caved in once more. His eyes changed from yellow to deep crimson, and the shattered rubble in front of him began to deform, melting, then bursting into violet flames, disintegrating.

With great force of effort he shut his eyes as the room began to burn apart, and when he opened them again they had returned to yellow, tears of black blood around his eye-sockets, giving him a ghoulish look. “I must not destroy the chamber again. Gorgulthane will be displeased if he has to restore it once more… still, it is… so very hard… not to be angry right now.” His massive muscles, tougher than any steel, surged under his skin, and he squeezed the armrests of his throne, the Fae metal distorting with a shrill scream. “Grulgor should have killed her with ease, or at least had the dignity to die if he failed, not… not to somehow be serving her, if that barking weasel was to be believed.”

Feeling the heat rising in his head, an affliction that caused him no end of torment, he wiped away more black tears, forcing down the pain and urge to destroy until he could think clearly again. “What to do, what to do. It seems that Shaeraggo is in no hurry to tell his father of this, or that useless Princeling would be at my door with all his armies. He does love his children so, even that half-blood trash. How it pained him when he was forced to send her away…”

Duke Vulpatrius had organised it, bribing her maids and attendants to help inflate her ego, drawing too much attention to herself. It was quite the brilliant plan, one that Duke Formor admitted he would be hard pressed to imitate.

All because that irresponsible fool could not keep his hands to himself. To think he would successfully court a member of the Night Parade, and aim to take her as his wife, no less. The Night Parade and the Seelie Court had a long and … curious… history indeed. There had been some traffic between them, certainly, but most of the Night Parade had more sympathies with… the other court.

No, there was no way that Shaetanao could be allowed to gain influence with the Parade. If Duke Vulpatrius and the rest of the leaders of their faction were to have any hope of overturning the pathetic leadership of that licentious imbecile, such ties would need to be severed. From both sides. Yes.

The little half-breed’s mother was pressured too, many in the Parade having similar concerns. No, the status-quo was satisfactory for now. We have some allies ourselves, as yet-unrevealed. Yes, best that she died. The plan was perfect. Grulgor, you oaf, fool, trash, I’ll have your head when you return!

Not realising his fury was unleashed Duke Formor destroyed his throne, virulent flames turning the room into a melted lava-filled hell. Once his fury was spent, hours later, he looked around in surprise.

Gorgulthane will not be pleased, not pleased at all…

With a pained sigh he shouted out in his booming voice. “Gorgulthane, Ferexulu, attend me!”

Within moments two giants had entered the scorched hall. The first was some eight metres tall, and covered in thick brown protrusions of stone, making him look more golem than living creature. As his murky eyes peered out across the devastation he sighed, a long exhalation that scattered molten stone like a storm. “Duke, I see you have let your Eyes of Incineration run free again.”

Before Duke Formor could answer the second figure spoke. He was another giant, though short, at barely four metres tall, and surprisingly handsome, looking like a well-appointed yet oversized gentleman, complete with long dark hair down to the floor and an outfit that was more foppish than functional. Holding up one large hand, on which glittered an array of shining rings, he smiled, even the air around him seeming to still to hear his words.

“Now you know Duke Formor was sorely provoked, Gorgu. Just do your thing and put everything back together. I shall take it on myself to soothe the master’s ire. To think, Grulgor let us down so badly. After this we should appoint a new leader for the trolls. He has lost our trust.”

“Do not call me Gorgu, half-blood.” Gorgulthane roared, but Ferexulu paid his anger no heed.

“Oh, it is merely a sign of affection.” Ferexulu chuckled melodiously. “Anyway, Duke Formor, it seems that we need to find another way to handle the problem child. Oh how I sympathise, it is hard, being of two bloodlines.” His smile grew brighter, and the lights flickered, flames starting to stretch in his direction.

“Now that Shaeraggo suspects us, I fail to see what we can do.” Duke Formor ground his teeth. The presence of Ferexulu, his seneschal and left hand, always soothed his rage, driving it down, but even so… If only I could go myself, and wring her neck. It would take but a second to grind her to bloody paste…. Alas, such would only spark a war between the Seelie, and their enemies would surely not let that pass without taking full advantage…

As Gorgulthane was repairing the room, red energies of earth spreading from him in a vast wave, regrowing stone out of the ruins, even the black-iron throne twisting back into shape, Ferexulu shrugged. Flourishing his arm, he gestured to something he had brought with him, a wood and black-iron box, the size of a mortal coffin.

Iron was poison to the true Fae, though those the court has accepted, such as us giants, trolls and more… they seldom fear it…

“What have you there?” he boomed, looking at the box, which was also wrapped with chains of brass and black iron, tightly bound. As his voice echoed the box shivered, and then the lid jumped as through struck, creeping up barely a millimetre before the chains prevented further movement. A series of banging thumps could be heard from within, rattling the chains, jogging a memory free from the Duke.

“Wait, Ferexulu. Is that… the spoils of war we received from our last conflict with the Unseelie?”

Gorgulthane was ignoring their conversation, concentrating on his work, but as his energies spread towards the box they were drawn in, leaving his grasp. Hastily he cut his connection, the ruby light flickering out. “Just what is in there?” he grated, as the box started to shake once more, this time more vigorously, chains straining.

“It is a little gift for our poor half-breed. As one myself, I do so appreciate the generosity you have shown her, my Lord Duke.” Ferexulu bowed graciously. “Since the weasel left, I have been investigating, and it looks like he is sending a caravan of treasures to her once they have been fully gathered in secret. It seems some sort of bargain was made, Oaths exchanged.”

“I see.” Duke Formor grinned, his anger forgotten. Yes, Ferexulu always improves my mood. His ability to root out secret doings that people wish to keep hidden is unrivalled. “I remember it now. Quite the… troublemaker. Subduing it took much effort. I can see we have wronged Shaeraggo and his precious sister…” he smiled balefully, slab-like teeth grinding together in amusement. “… we should apologise by offering tribute to her, compensation for Grulgor’s misconduct.”

“My thoughts exactly. I shall be sure to slip it into their treasure wagons before they depart. Expecting theft is wise, but who would believe someone would add to the tribute? Surely it shall pass unnoticed.”

“With this we can placate Duke Vulpatrius. And our hands will be clean. After all, none but our forces were present in the battle we subdued… it.”

“Maybe our honourable foxkin ally can place the blame for her end on Shaeraggo. After all, he has not told his father about her circumstances, and he was the one to send her these treasures.”

“Vulpatrius would find that amusing indeed. And any hope of that lustful vermin Shaetanao making further ties with the Night Parade with her mother… well, they would be doomed to death as well…”

Chuckling darkly, Duke Formor and Ferexulu enjoyed their plotting, while Gorgulthane worked, shaking his head at their schemes. Beside them, the box shook again, and from a tiny crack in the lid an eye could be seen peering out, wracked with madness…