The City of Candles, many had called Callberg by this name endearingly, Over half of its" revenue was at one time produced by the production of wax and molds bought by many surrounding holds. With walls high enough that one might not see the castle towers even when riding over the Mountain that bordered her and the easily accessible Twin hawk river nearby many had took to calling it the Stronghold. From atop her imposing walls the guards had long ago begun the tradition of dripping wax over the outer wall and through the decades that wax had accumulated into large deposits of white mounds lining the ledges and down the outer wall making the walls seem taller, marvelous to see from a distance. From afar many might see the imposing wall topped in wax as a giant candle only adding to legends surrounding the Castle of Candles.
But many had, when gathered inside their homes, far from the wandering eyes and intruding ears of Duncan's, the castle's lord, guard referred to the folk sung castle as the wax prison. In the last thirty years the commoners had been barred from the castle completely, the death of their lord's oldest son to the plague allegedly driving him insane by some accounts. As the city gates were closed and entry or exit strictly forbidden the city that once had stood as a marvel to many began to fall into disarray and self destruction.
Famine spread for monthss as did the loss of near any source of clean and unpolluted water source driving the now anxious and feuding survivors of the self imposed embargo to conflicts and riots. Many who made attempts to force their way into the keep had been put to the spear and mounted on pikes to exemplify the severity of disobeying the rules of their lord. While others simply turned to raiding and cruel desecration of their once bright city. It didn't take long for the light that once had been so warm and welcome inside the keep to burn out and be replaced by the chaos of a world cruel and befitting of such a shrewd name as the wax prison.
The embargo had been put into place months ago, the few common survivors that hadn't managed a way out of the city at the start had all likely died out by now. Many of their relatives had been calling out at the neighboring holds and keeps for assistance since this had begun but besides the promise of an eventual investigation they received no reprieve to the fear they felt for their brothers and sisters still trapped inside the castle's walls. But justice can come in many forms and it would seem one such poor withered and emancipated soul had found their welcoming call to bring about justice.
With a price paid in coin, sacrifice and eternal labors the soul was able to find one willing to bring about the retribution he called for. The blade had drank the blood of the contractor, the contract would be fulfilled without fail.
From atop the castle's walls, those tall and near impenetrable walls, the corridors and tunnels dug and burrowed through the wax layers for troop patrol and transport were now filled with corpses of guards both frail and withered. Each slain before they likely knew what had occurred or what sort of monster traversed their tunnels. Slit throats, broken necks and impaled they laid over wax and cobble in crumbled piles of lifeless flesh left in a masterful depiction of the art of murder. Take the lord's orphans in as tribute to the faith. If they weren't orphans already? Make them. The plan were simple and direct. And the embodiment of war was ripe for the job.
From the tunnels mouth the force of nature could look onto the castle and observe each coming and going of the deflated guard. He could note the course of the few errant remaining and the even fewer knights struggling to still move about in their heavy and cumbersome armor. What drove these men to still follow this maniac under such abhorrent conditions" As he started down the ramp he was sure he would eventually find that answer inside the castle.
But many had, when gathered inside their homes, far from the wandering eyes and intruding ears of Duncan's, the castle's lord, guard referred to the folk sung castle as the wax prison. In the last thirty years the commoners had been barred from the castle completely, the death of their lord's oldest son to the plague allegedly driving him insane by some accounts. As the city gates were closed and entry or exit strictly forbidden the city that once had stood as a marvel to many began to fall into disarray and self destruction.
Famine spread for monthss as did the loss of near any source of clean and unpolluted water source driving the now anxious and feuding survivors of the self imposed embargo to conflicts and riots. Many who made attempts to force their way into the keep had been put to the spear and mounted on pikes to exemplify the severity of disobeying the rules of their lord. While others simply turned to raiding and cruel desecration of their once bright city. It didn't take long for the light that once had been so warm and welcome inside the keep to burn out and be replaced by the chaos of a world cruel and befitting of such a shrewd name as the wax prison.
The embargo had been put into place months ago, the few common survivors that hadn't managed a way out of the city at the start had all likely died out by now. Many of their relatives had been calling out at the neighboring holds and keeps for assistance since this had begun but besides the promise of an eventual investigation they received no reprieve to the fear they felt for their brothers and sisters still trapped inside the castle's walls. But justice can come in many forms and it would seem one such poor withered and emancipated soul had found their welcoming call to bring about justice.
With a price paid in coin, sacrifice and eternal labors the soul was able to find one willing to bring about the retribution he called for. The blade had drank the blood of the contractor, the contract would be fulfilled without fail.
From atop the castle's walls, those tall and near impenetrable walls, the corridors and tunnels dug and burrowed through the wax layers for troop patrol and transport were now filled with corpses of guards both frail and withered. Each slain before they likely knew what had occurred or what sort of monster traversed their tunnels. Slit throats, broken necks and impaled they laid over wax and cobble in crumbled piles of lifeless flesh left in a masterful depiction of the art of murder. Take the lord's orphans in as tribute to the faith. If they weren't orphans already? Make them. The plan were simple and direct. And the embodiment of war was ripe for the job.
From the tunnels mouth the force of nature could look onto the castle and observe each coming and going of the deflated guard. He could note the course of the few errant remaining and the even fewer knights struggling to still move about in their heavy and cumbersome armor. What drove these men to still follow this maniac under such abhorrent conditions" As he started down the ramp he was sure he would eventually find that answer inside the castle.