Ezekiel Tyrus: Origins

The honor guard marched through the city, heading up a somber procession. The march that everyone knew would come, but dreaded with all of their hearts. The citizens stood to either side of the street with heads bowed. Mothers hushed their lively children as the cheerless parade neared. Some, looking from windows, turned their heads away, trying not to let their anger and disappointment show. The only sound came as deep thrums from the heart of the colossal drums. The smells of the city: smoke, herbs, and dust took on a more dank and musky form.

One tear streaked and dirty face burst out of the street-side crowd and planted herself in front of the procession. The man at the head of the procession, Crios A'Tuana, the Heruin Grand-Master's Head enforcer of law, stalked slowly towards the girl, letting out a low chuckle. His laugh rose to hysteria as he took hold of her grimy shoulders and thrust her from the street and continued the march.

Ezekiel Tyrus Kingson crouched on the rooftop overlooking the march. His hands hovered over the handles of his swords. His father's kingdom had been taken by these men. He had to do something about it. The Grand-Master was a tyrannical dictator. Tyrus did not want life under that kind of being to be the fate of his people. A'Tuana wouldn't expect an attack from a kingdom that he had just taken over.

Tyrus stood, drawing his slightly curved blades. The sun glinted off of his silver chest plate. A'Tuana caught sight of the boy on the roof. His eyes widened with surprise and recognition. Tyrus raised his right hand above his head and shouted.

"For the true king of the Anamaer!"

Soldiers emerged from every shadow and crevice; soldiers wearing the red capes of the Anamear guard. A'Tuana surveyed the situation. He looked to Tyrus and spoke.

"You win, Tyrus. Of course you win. That is the way we meant it to happen."

A'Tuana's words came with a shiver to Tyrus. What did they mean? Why was he supposed to win?

A'Tuana began to laugh again.