1. Bestowment

  Winter year 1252 of the Crixian lord. Morganius Naravas a 1.80 metre youth, a youth with brown short hair, a son of a baronet, a temporary position bestowed upon his father Clearchus for defending his village against Turanian raiders. Turan was a behemoth of an empire of the Kena religion, a religion that taxed disbelievers and believed in its own supremacy, largely confined in one state, (although not always) it had successfully swallowed up what had been Mikelian lands. The Mikelian Empire was a ramshackle empire that had perpetual civil wars, which was partly why the Turanians had grown so much at their expense. Mikel was a Crixian nation of the eastern rite so called ‘true rite,’ whereas Unanet and Kosor belonged to the ‘faithful rite.’ Unanet was a powerful kingdom to the west, Kosor a small island nation that had decided that the ‘faithful rite’ was more beneficial. Morganius was influenced by his grandfather. An old man who chirped on about the old gods, his parents greatly discouraged him.

  “You will never get anywhere in life listening to that old man!” Clearchus said, “even he accepted baptism, he only got away once talking about paganism by claiming he was crazy.”

  A wooden house, with a crackling fire that attempted to keep the elements at bay with the crackling of carbonic matter.

  “Mikel is sick because of the constant power struggles, they fight for the top position, not to make the country better! That is why Turan can take advantage. They have their own sicknesses, they kill their own brothers to prevent succession crises, but it works does it not! A Republi-”

  “Enough,” his mother said, “the Emperor is chosen by god.”

  “God does a lot of choosing,” the grandfather said.

  “Enough of your blasphemy!” Storane said, “don’t infect Morganius with your nonsense, a Republic, next you’ll say pigs should choose government.”

  Storane was a devout Crixian and a monarchist, and she believed the doctrine, Crixian or Kena, they believed monarchs were chosen by their god, and that to defy this was ungodly. Eochar the grandfather was extremely unorthodox in many ways, but nonetheless listened to his son and wife. Clearchus did not know what to believe, and so he went about his day as he normally would. Due to Clearchus being a Baronet, he earned 5 silver coins every month bestowed by the Mikelian Imperial government, he was respected in his village. It all happened so quickly, first it was a child, begging for food, Morganius gave him food, then a woman was drowning in the river, and Morganius was the first to fish him out; next an old man was yet again begging, and yet again Morganius gave money to the man to help him, and even put him inside his house to keep warm.

  “It’s cold this time of year, don’t stay in the cold,”

  “Goodness me, what are you doing?” His mother said, “get this guy out.”

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  “It’s winter, it’s not exactly the best time of year to be in the cold.”

  The old man smiled, and disappeared, leaving everyone in the Naravas household confused. It would only be in the night as Morganius slept that all became clear.

  “You have a good character Morganius, I am the goddess of ice, and I came in many forms to see your character.”

  The woman had silvery hair, sharp cold blue eyes, staring deep into Morganius’s soul.

  “Right?” Morganius said.

  “I have tested your kindness, but you need to test your determination and strength. Go to this location, if you survive, you will have the power I bestow upon you.”

  Morganius woke up the next morning, and rushed out of his house. His mother tried to stop him, but he only briefly stopped.

  “The future depends on the actions of today,” Morganius said, saying something quite pithy for a parting goodbye, “so I must go.”

  “What? Where?” Storane asked.

  She furrowed her brows and tried her best to understand what her son said; but he fled out the door, and off he went into the wild. He didn’t bring much, and perhaps that was for the best. It took him a day, but he arrived into a forest and then into a cave, scrambling around not seeing much but mice and spiders. He drank cave water and eventually stumbled into the coldest part of the room, a place unnaturally cold, a skeleton began hacking at Morganius, and he held the unnatural arm and smashed it against the wall, and then another came and tried to hack him against the wall. The near death experience had Morganius exhaling as he drank a vial that the cold was emanating from, and then proceeded to destroy the skeletons with ice shards emanating from his hands.

  “You have done well,” the goddess said, “I’m sorry I had to guard my creation, but first I had to see if you are worthy.”

  “Right…” Morganius said breathlessly, “I should get back to my parents.”

  “Remember the old gods young one, or you can be a follower of the monotheists, you choose what you want to do. It is your life after all,” she said.

  Morganius stood there agape, and looked at the animated skeletons.

  What unholy magic was that? How did she do that?

  “That I have not given you, young one…” the goddess laughed, disappearing into the ether.

  Magic did exist, but it was not so sophisticated, and not so numerous. Mages were often just glorified builders or growers of food, or perhaps they could light candles. Morganius fled back to his home, where his confused parents looked at him with much confusion in their eyes.

  “What on earth were you doing?” Clearchus his father asked.

  “Father give me three of your retainers,”

  “You want troops now?” Clearchus laughed.

  “I am being serious,” Morganius said, “I will take the fight to the Turanians.”

  “It’s winter, don’t be stupid,” Storane said, “you’re just going to get yourself killed.”

  “I’m not,” Morganius assured her, “that I know.”

  Where is this confidence coming from? Both parents thought.

  “Two,” Clearchus said, “I am only a Baronet remember, but that entitles me to at least 10 men, just pick something small, and come back ok?”

  “Alright,” Morganius said, a lie in his heart, but he agreed for sake of calming his parents.

  His grandfather looked at him with astonishment. When his parents went away, his grandfather confronted him.

  “You have been blessed with something great, the gods have chosen you to bring them back into prominence,” he said with astonishment.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Morganius said.

  “You will,” the grandfather said, he turned around to see if anyone was looking and gave him a book, “it demolishes the Crixian theology, read it if you have time.”

  ‘Against the Crixians,’ it was titled.

  A book of heathenry for sure. I could be killed for sure for reading something like this.

  And off he went, his destiny already irrevocably changed.

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