Malav

Malav turned the long slender black staff in his hands. It was not the blade of his father nor the double headed axe of his grandfather. It was an insult. The gods had cursed him with a monstrous appearance and now they mocked him openly.

The blind priest stood straight and calm waiting for him to accept or reject the divine gift. If he refused it, he would be refusing his birthright, the horned crown, if he accepted it he would live his life and rule with this insult displayed openly by his side. The look he cast at the priest would have made a man of stone flinch.

He growled out his answer, “I accept this insult as I have accepted all that the gods have deigned to throw in my direction.”

He turned and stalked from the divine audience chamber, gripping the staff in his wrathful hand. As he reached the doors he paused to pull his hood back over his head, the cloth covered his face, making his view slightly hazy but more importantly preventing others from seeing his face, from staring. The Black Prince loathed being stared at.

As he paused, he heard the priest clearing his throat and calling across the chamber. “There is more, your highness. The staff will bring you choices. The first you will find in Anykrocath, the city of the goddess of song. This staff…”

Malav did not bother to listen. He stepped from the Chamber and let the man’s words die in the air, unheard.