Sometimes, when a race is powerful, it is worshiped, and looked up to by the thousands…
Other times it is hated, and its lessers seek out to enslave the race, or desecrate and destroy it. This was such with a certain subcategory of the elfin, the Kindling- a race with such renowned magic they seemed invincible, named after their God and creator, Kindle. Along with the hereditary trait of flaming red hair, they also were a religiously peaceful race. So when other magician races and even non-magical races attacked, they would only attempt to defend themselves, and never raised a hand against their enemies. Within less then a century, the already sparse numbers of the Kindling became miniscule, and- unable to find the race, everyone believed they had died out, and after a few decades, no one would believe that the Kindling were ever more than a myth. And so, they were forgotten by the world (save a few senile old men), but the Kindling never forgot what was done to their people.
And so our story starts, in the last city of the Kindling, Jasper, hidden deep in unmarked forests, where their great King is on his death bed, and the commoners are beginning to panic about which child of nobility is to rule next. By tradition, the eldest son is next in line for the throne, but when tradition was set, it is doubtful that they ever thought one of royal blood would turn out the way Kaspren had; a carrot head, one with absolutely no power to speak of- or such weak power that it is useless, nicknamed such because of the color of their hair. The carrot-orange strands that those the age of toddlers have, but toddler hair darkens to the normal red, while those carrot heads, (officially called Premics) never develop power, and so, their hair never darkens.
Meanwhile, the younger brother Ruemus, who legally cannot become King with Kaspren still alive, has such powerful magic that his hair is black with a bloody tint, and unlike his older brother, he is calm headed, rational, and as graceful as the most skilled actor, while Kaspren is clumsy, indecisive, and breaks under pressure. So the gripe began, stick to tradition, or pick the brother that wouldn’t rule haphazardly? With the King’s death drawing closer, everyone was desperate to find some sort of compromise to tradition, and finally, Ruemus took it upon himself to secure his position on the throne, and initiated his plan in secret on the sunset of a cool spring evening.
With the sun beginning to set beyond the trees, Kaspren watched as the shadows grew in the town from the window of his room in the only two story building in Jasper, the royal house. Pulling the silken blue robes around him tighter, he closed the window and brushed the bangs framing his statuesque face back in place. When his pointed ears picked up the sound of the door opening, he spun around to face his younger brother who had just closed the door behind him.
“Ruemus, is dinner ready?” asked Kaspren, wandering closer to his brother. Ruemus shrugged, muttering something under his breath. Frowning, the older prince leaned closer, trying to catch what the brother was saying. “Sorry, I can’t-“ he stopped when a finger was pressed onto the bridge of his nose.
“Sleep; as if death,” said Ruemus, his finger sparking slightly as he removed it from his brother’s skin. Knees buckling beneath him, Kaspren grabbed his brother’s shoulders, struggling to keep his dark brown eyes open. Completely collapsing, he was caught around the waist, then lifted from the ground and laid on his bed. Sight blurring, he could just barely make out the icy blue color of Ruemus’s eyes, but his voice was as sharp ever.
“Return, and your death will not be fake,” hissed the dark haired Kindling, and then watched as his brother groaned, and finally lost his struggle against the spell.
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