Fall From Grace Part 1

Lord Kass dipped a clawed pinky finger into the boiling liquid, and clicked his tongue in frustration, “still too hot.”

Several slices of orange floated inside the hot stew of spices as the goblet of mulled fruit juice continued to sit untouched. A deep red ring stained the wood beneath it.

Bearing an aura of cruel authority, the large Darigan Eyrie sat at the head of an expansive wooden table. Upon it, many decorative plates of canapés lay adorned with crostini, layers of cream cheese, assorted fruits, Skeem, Dragato, and delicate garnishes. To his right, small bowls of hearty soups of varying temperatures, grilled Duoroot, black cherry pastry wraps and sliced Doughnutfruit — everyday food to most of Neopia, but to the famine-stricken Darigani it was a luxury set aside for only the highest of high class.

And Kass. Well, boosted by the support of his peers, he was now at the very top.

Today’s council meeting had gone swimmingly. After much deliberation and months of poisoning the public with waves of propaganda, essentially the entirety of the citadel council had pledged allegiance to him. All but one Grarrl General, of course, who had seethed in the corner the entire discussion, sending Kass the occasional stink-eye when he deemed necessary. But what was new?

Behind the seated Eyrie, a Darigan Acara finished rubbing hair oil into his mane. She replaced the dropper bottle with a vial of fragrant oil, and her focus shifted to his temples.

Kass leaned into the masseuse’s touch, and a piece of Duoroot fell prey to his beak as firm hands kneaded circles deep into his skull. After all the work he’d put into reinforcing his authoritarian regime, he needed this. He needed space. Quietude. Time to decompress.

But a hard knock at the door soon disrupted his moment of tranquility.

“Denied!” Kass called through a mouthful. 

He didn’t care for unexpected guests in the slightest, especially right now.

Against his orders, the door opened anyway, but the snarl Kass produced softened when he caught sight of the emerging neopian.

Into the room stepped an orange Grarrl, scales painted with sharp stripes, and outfitted in spike-plate armour.

“Well, look who it is,” the Eyrie said through a smarmy grin, “Galgarroth, it’s been some time since you’ve paid me a visit.”

The Grarrl closed the door behind him.

“After today’s meeting I certainly hope there’s no...” Kass eyed the hilt of a sword at the General’s hip, and the edges of his mouth drooped, “ill feelings towards me.”

Galgarroth wore a determined look, hand coming to rest upon the sword’s handle by his side.

There were, indeed, ill feelings.

Kass studied the old Grarrl before him, Acara fingers still deep in his scalp. Galgarroth hadn’t visited him in his private chambers, once lived in by the former Lord Darigan, since the Eyrie commenced his rule as Lord many moons ago. To appear to him personally like this, seemingly on his own accord, and to show up unannounced was... concerning to say the very least.

Kass lifted his goblet to his mouth with quiet trepidation, “if I knew you were coming, I would have—“

“What underhanded things did you do to persuade the council?”

The Acara’s hands froze, and the lavish yet humbly-sized room suddenly felt infinitesimal.

Kass’s goblet stilled. It’s not like he wasn’t expecting it, given the Grarrl’s obvious desire to unsheathe his sword, yet Kass, too, was momentarily stunned by the sudden, hostile change in mood. 

He released a strained chuckle, and let an unknown amount of time fill the void before trying again.

“It seems you’ve caught me in the middle of something, General,” Kass’s pupils flicked to the table’s contents then back as if to make a point, “might we postpone this til—“

But there was no placating the Grarrl.

“Answer me!” He glowered, his sharp teeth threatening to break the skin of his lower lip.

Kass considered the other through squinted eyes, his normally hardened resting face becoming harder still. When Galgarroth’s gaze remained unwavering, the Eyrie let out a weary sigh, then wordlessly tilted his beak towards the door. The Acara took the hint, hastily gathering up her belongings before hurrying out with an armful of massage tools and oils. 

As the heavy wooden door thudded shut behind her, Galgarroth leaned in, eyes still on the Eyrie, and begun securing the locks. All nine bolts consecutively snapped into place as Kass watched on, chewing at his inner cheek, and turning his goblet in apprehension.

He had hoped for a quiet night in to marinate in the fruits of his labour, like the kind that simmered gently in the mulled fruit juice at his fingertips. But this was to remain merely an analogy.

Clearly resigned to what would follow, Kass leaned back, supporting a cheek with his fist, “so it’s going to be like that, is it?”

The final lock clicked into place, “I would just prefer to talk in private.”

The Grarrl settled back into his foreboding posture which prompted another uneasy chuckle from the Eyrie.

“Talk?” His gaze once again fell on the Grarrl’s weapon, “seems you want to do more than that, General.”

“How did you get the council on your side?”

Kass heaved an exaggerated sigh.

“Tell me!”

Galgarroth stomped a foot, only to be met with an insincere smile.

“Whatever could you mean, General?” 

“Don’t feign ignorance! I’ve had it with you and your facetious attitude!”

From the time he assumed Lordship, Kass exuded a certain chauvinism, which, considering the political climate, was tolerable to some degree, but it was his increasingly vainglorious swagger that had the Grarrl in a constant state of vexation. The Eyrie had always been fond of stirring the pot, especially when Galgarroth was around, and it was high time somebody confiscated his spoon.

And that somebody took a heavy step forward, “you used blackmail, didn’t you?”

Spoon confiscated, Kass lost his grin, and a profound silence replaced it.

“I heard from the chairman. You threatened to damage his reputation. And not just him, countless others have claimed the same abuse. The judge — you threatened the Gnorbu with his life. They told me you hung him from the parapets,” the Grarrl pointed an accusing finger, ”upside-down.”

Kass eyed the General for several heartbeats before dropping his gaze elsewhere.

“You bribed the diplomat, brutally slandered our artillery officer when he stood up to you,” Galgarroth paused in thought, “and Vex...” 

The Eyrie had threatened to take away the warden’s sight unless he begged him for mercy, and swore fealty to him.

“The Mynci was conspiring with Meridell,“ Kass said simply through a mouthful of Skeem fruit, “he’s lucky I didn’t eradicate him on the spot.”

Galgarroth’s frown intensified, “so it’s true. You admit to acts of corruption and coercion against your own kind.”

Eyrie eyes rolled.

“And what if I do?” He traced a claw around his goblet’s rim, eyes cold and uncaring, “what exactly do you intend to do about it?”

There was a fleeting silence before the Grarrl’s dominant hand came to curl around his weapon’s handle.

“Expose you, and your iniquities...”

A click, then Kass watched as the full length of a sword revealed itself from the General’s scabbard, and came to point directly at his head.

“And...” the Grarrl faltered for a beat, letting out a sharp exhale, then his voice, along with his resolve, intensified. 

“And relieve you of your position as Lord.”

A deep frown creased the forehead of the winged neopian, and a brief silence soon followed.

‘Relieve’, in this instance, was a loaded word. It was bad enough that his night of reprieve was ruined. Now, Kass had found himself in the company of the pointed end of a recently sharpened sword, its owner waxing poetic with an appetite for social justice, and this gave him pause.

“Relieve me?” The Eyrie raised his beak, his face pulled taut by an uneasy grin, “now, now, General. We both know what happens to dissenters who turn on their Lord.”

Indeed, only the previous week did a “spineless traitor” plunge from the citadel’s heights, sent forth by a single brutal kick, and forced to the ground by gravity’s inescapable pull.

“While I can only fathom how badly you long to puncture my throat with those needle-sharp teeth of yours,” his hand then went to support his beak as he leant forward, “are you absolutely certain you want to do this?”

Galgarroth’s breath quickened as his sword glistened under the low light, and, for a fleeting moment, a wave of uncertainty crossed his face. But his look of resolve returned as quickly as it left.

“Unlike the rest of the council you’ve coerced into surrender, I refuse to submit to your false Lordship so readily. I am Lord Darigan’s second-in-command, and my allegiance belongs solely to him. Even in his passing, I believe the citadel is his, and his alone, and I will fight for it to remain that way. I am prepared to do whatever it takes to save this kingdom before you single-handedly bring about its ruin. And I will personally ensure you atone for the atrocities you—”

“I don’t have time for this. Look, General. If you intend to kill me...” 

The Eyrie rose from his chair, and looked the Grarrl dead in the eye. 

“Then do it.”

Kass, now risen to his full height, made Galgarroth appear small in comparison, but what the Grarrl lost in height, he made up for in bulk. Only a two metre gap and a sword separated them now, the hulking Eyrie vastly aware of the latter. 

Multiple beads of sweat had collected on the General’s forehead. Digging his heels in, he reasserted his threatening pose towards the looming avian, standing his ground, yet remained still. 

Kass ground his teeth.

“DO IT!” He roared.

The Grarrl reapplied his grip, his heart pounding, though he couldn’t hide the fact that his intentions were waning with each rise and fall of his chest.

After what felt like a lifetime, Galgarroth’s resolve dwindled, and he slowly, begrudgingly, lowered his weapon. When the tip of the sword finally came to rest on the floor, Kass smiled.

“A wise decision.”

He straightened, a renewed sense of calm overcoming him as he turned to face the table’s spread of bite-sized rations once more.

“I can’t have my oldest and most dearest colleague thrown to rot in the dungeons now, can I? Yes, we’re perpetually at each other’s throats, and, honestly, the mere thought of you tends to induce a sensation akin to bile reflux...”

To suggest that the two weren’t exactly chummy was putting it rather mildly. It was common knowledge that Lord Darigan’s two generals had always been each other’s anathema. Galgarroth was the bane of Kass’s existence, and the Grarrl detested his feathered bydweller just as much in return. The two Generals were close only by way of living arrangements, yet sibling-like rivalry was only part of the reason they hated each other so. 

During his reign, Lord Darigan had appointed the Grarrl as his second-in-command, despite Kass believing he himself was destined for the role. And while he claimed otherwise, the Eyrie had never entirely gotten over it. Their mutual animosity only became more toxic once the Grarrl had begun spreading rumours that Kass was an unsuitable leader as he was “troubled”, often “quick to anger”, and “displayed caliginous tendencies.”

But, up until now, he had never gone as far as to threaten the Eyrie with his life.

Kass dipped a finger into his goblet again, this time resulting in a satisfactory hum. He nonchalantly licked the liquid from his claw even as the Grarrl’s fierce demeanour burgeoned.

“...but to think that you’ve been personally contemplating my demise,” a pained look crossed his face, whether or not it was genuine was up for debate, “it hurts. Right here.”

A purple hand indicated the slight concave in the Eyrie’s chest.

Galgarroth continued to observe him intently, his pupils dilating as Kass brought the goblet up to his beak.

“Although,” he swivelled it, “deep down, I knew you wouldn’t do it. Your moral compass is a mess,” he chuckled into the dark red liquid as the Grarrl’s face darkened still, “you simply just don’t have it in you. You’ve always lacked the capacity to—“

The taste of spiced winter fruits did not reach his tongue, however.

Suddenly, the goblet ricocheted off of the far wall.

Scarlet eyes widened — Kass’s hand was empty.

In the split second his drink left his grasp, Kass spun towards the Grarrl who was readying another blow. The next strike came fast. Kass leapt backwards, the sword missing his flank by but a hair. It glided smoothly through the empty space between them, then landed, becoming wedged in one of the large barrels that amassed in the room — a torrent of fermented fruits gushed from within it.

Kass gave the Grarrl a wide berth before letting out an anxious laugh.

“You almost had me there,” he breathed, albeit shakily, and flexed and unflexed his nearly severed hand.

He then considered the spilt goblet at his feet with genuine remorse, “tsk, I was looking forward to that.”

Grunting, Galgarroth pushed a foot against the barrel in an attempt to extricate his sword.

“I knew it’d some day come to this,” Kass sighed wistfully, more to himself than to the Grarrl, as he watched the before-mentioned struggling to find purchase on the slippery sword, “a crying shame, really. I always considered you an older brother.”

“Oh, spare me your lies, Kass!” Galgarroth growled through gritted teeth, “your emotional manipulation won’t work on me. It never did, and it never will.”

An especially desperate growl, then his sword was finally released.

He turned to his former comrade, “we both know the hatred you harbour for me is immeasurable. And I assure you,” he held up his dripping sword, and the Eyrie frowned, “the feelings are mutual.”

Sword now freed, Galgarroth reassessed his surroundings. To his right, on a mahogany vanity, rested Naralus, Kass’s poison-tipped dagger.

Both sets of eyes spied the blade, but it was in the Grarrl’s grasp well before Kass could even anticipate a strategy. The dagger’s pointed tip now faced towards him as Galgarroth began closing in, slowly filling the gap between them.

Kass raised a pair of cautioning hands, “now, this is not in the least bit fair, is it?”

Each step Galgarroth took forward prompted Kass to take a step back.

“Trithduril’s being polished, and you’ve got your sword,” he gestured accordingly, “and now Naralus too.”

The wooden floorboards creaked under their weight.

“You’ve left me no choice but to...”

The heat from the fireplace on his left caught his attention.

“Improvise!”

Kass grabbed the fireplace poker from its stand, and rushed at Galgarroth. With it came a cloud of ash, immediately blinding the Grarrl. Coughing and spluttering, he held his sword out in blind resignation, and somehow managed to block the brunt of an opening forward thrust from his feathered attacker.

The pair thrusted, parried and riposted. Galgarroth’s breath came short and sharp as he tried to match the Eyrie’s speed. Kass countered again and again, the persistent force causing the Grarrl to stagger.

“Seems you’ve lost your edge, old man.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Galgarroth lunged at him, but Kass parried.

“Oh, please. You’ve never stood a chance against me. Not even in our salad days.”

Galgarroth barely dodged the end of the burning stick, then extended his sword in retaliation, but instead of piercing Eyrie flesh, he unintentionally ran its full length through a nearby shelf and its contents. Miscellaneous pottery crashed to the floor.

Kass leapt backwards, his wings carrying him onto the table. This created distance, but it didn’t stop the barrage of handmade plates and cups that followed.

“Come now. That’s no way to treat your Lord.”

“You are NOT my Lord! You are a fraud,” the Grarrl picked up a fruit bowl and launched it, “an usurper! Nothing but a blight on Darigan’s name!” Another bowl, “you’ve forced our nation into labour! And for what?” A mug hurtled through the air, “people working day and night creating munitions for a supposed war that Meridell hasn’t even started!”

A cup. A pitcher. A plate.

“Darigan trained you to be a soldier,” he barked, then slowed his assault, seemingly out of breath, “NOT a savage warlord!”

Kass deflected the onslaught (of both protests and dinnerware) with mild difficulty until he caught sight of the Grarrl straining to lift a a giant vase.

Kass’s ears flattened, despite himself, “don’t do it, Galgarroth.”

In spite of his advice, the vase went hurtling towards him. He held up a protective arm, and it shattered against him, the force pushing him off of the table.

He chuckled bitterly from the floor, “see, now you’re just destroying his personal possessions,” he shook his arm of the pain, “that was Darigan’s favourite vase.”

His focus then shifted to the table, his claws digging into the splintered wood.

“If you were truly loyal to him, you’d respect his...” 

Eyrie muscles locked, and the weight of the table wrenched a harsh cry from him as the table flipped. 

“STUFF!”

With little finesse, Galgarroth somehow managed to avoid the brunt of the furniture, but failed to dodge the shower of plates, knives, and various neopian cuisine that came with it. And before he could recover, Kass struck him from behind.

No sooner than he attempted to block did his cheek come to meet with the timber flooring. Pocketing Naralus, the Grarrl rolled onto his belly, stretching to reach for his dropped sword, but received a swift kick in the ribs instead.

Kass gazed down his beak at the General, a cruel look brandishing his face. Galgarroth shifted in time to glimpse a quick flash of green saturate the Eyrie’s eyes, and his shadow up the wall appeared to contort, and sharpen.

“I know—” Galgarroth coughed, hugging his ribs, “I know you’re haunted by the same demons that he was. And if you continue down this path,” he swallowed thickly, “you will fall from grace just as Darigan did before you.”

The Eyrie’s jaw tightened.

“I am nothing like Darigan,” he snarled down at him, “he was weak, so they deserted him. I... I am worthy. No, more than worthy,“ he gave a conspiratorial smile, ”I am destined.”

A hand dug into his uniform below his mane, “and I will not fail them.”

He revealed the formidable amulet, adorned with ancient feathers and bones, bound by dark magic and Eyrie blood — both his, and many a Eyrie before him. He wrapped the charm round his hand, and let it dangle for a moment. It glowed an abhorrent green, its crystal’s radiance reducing the scarlet of his eyes to a muddy brown. He watched it with Kougra-like precision.

Galgarroth met the charm’s sinister glow with a squint, but it was not for the first time. 

The General had been introduced to it when the citadel was in a state of limbo — the time of uncertainty not too long after Lord Darigan’s demise, and the days before Kass’s usurpation. While patrolling the corridors of the castle, he had overheard a hushed conversation between Morguss and an unknown entity.

“He just needs a little push,” Morguss had said, her voice low and raspy.

Then, the General heard three distinct voices say all at once, “do not underestimate our power, Moehog.”

It was the chorus of voices he swore he had heard echoing through the castle in the weeks leading up to Lord Darigan’s downfall. Peering through a cavity in the wooden door revealed a glowing green mist, and the charm hanging from the hands of Morguss. Its cold brilliance stung his eyes.

“We are more like a shove.”