Information

Jequirity

The Riftborn Warador
Owner: vorpalwyrm

Age: 2 years, 9 months

Born: July 3rd, 2023

Adopted: 2 years, 9 months ago

Adopted: July 3rd, 2023

Nominate Pet for Spotlight

Statistics

• Level: 6
   
• Strength: 14
   
• Defense: 13
   
• Speed: 10
   
• Health: 10
   
• HP: 10/10
   
• Intelligence: 18
   
• Books Read: 12
• Food Eaten: 32
• Job: Towel Folder

all that's left in this world is decay.

"Your Majesty."

The king looks down, his ancient eyes crossing the young face that practically glows with life in a place of rot and decay and sickness. Not even the immortal doctor has that life to him anymore, the Lich briefly thinks, his great form towering over the small, living human before him. His hands are busy with his own work; papers shuffle on the table as he ties to begin. He's the same age his heir would be—if they're even still alive.

In a lot of ways, the jester reminds him of them; their voracity for information, their joyfulness in spite of all of the bad in the world, their love for things beyond their control. The one thing that he lacks, however, is the ability to bend the dead to their whims, as the king used to even as a much younger, more human version of himself. He sighs contentedly at the memories, aware of how his eyes must have glossed over when he thought back to them.

"Yes, Edward?" he simply replies, glancing down at the minuscule body which came to speak with him.

"Doctor Gossey— Er, Cedric asked me to speak with you about something," Edward replies swiftly. "It has to do with the matter of heir since. . . ."

Edward trails off, removing his cap and lowering his head. The king knows where this is going, and he sighs again, heavy with regret and sadness. He'd hoped that his original heir would be found swiftly, yet here they were nearly a generation later, with the king's enemies at his throat and his power waning. He'd hoped it was a good sign, that they were still alive and his power was growing within them. Yet no reports of stronger-than-normal necromancers had yet managed to surface that weren't hoaxes, nor did the traces of humanity he'd put into the original crop up in the ones that weren't. It was all for naught, he supposes. Hoping and praying to the goddess Ona had given him nothing; he needs another person to take over once he dies. Whether through assassination or natural death.

For a long moment, he sits. The jingling of bells fills his ears as Edward fidgets with his cap, shuffling anxiously. He'd been merely a child when he was taken in and given a job, given the benefits of a court member, learned to read and write and found himself saved from the brink of death by an unexpected hand that was once so cold and frightening. The passing of the king is terrifying for everyone. But to Edward, it's been far worse; losing his only parental figure all over again.

"I understand that it is no comfort to you to gain power," the king begins, his voice echoing in the large hallway, "but return with news of my heir to Doctor Gossey. Inform no one else, and ensure this news reaches only his ears and those of the attendant with him."

Edward looks up hesitantly. After a painfully silent moment, he nods loyally, his messy blond hair loosening from its place and falling into his eyes. "Yes, sire."

"My heir is to be you, Edward. I will pass this crown to my most trusted, and my most loyal; the one who kept me humble when others could not."

Edward's breath hitches in response, and he nods once again, pulling on his cap before hurrying away into the large, dark, gaping maw of the castle halls.

And the king waits alone for his end, for he knows it is nearer than anyone previously thought.

---

News of the king's death spreads fast; news of the new ruler does not.

Edward sits upon a throne of bones far too big for his frame, his hand gripping weakly to the bejeweled scepter and the ill-fitting crown carefully placed upon his head, watching as those who surround him thrum in his own silence. Not a party, not a joyous occasion, but a mourning and a disdain for the former king and his dying moments' decision. The rumors begin to fly, talk of the jester who lied about his status as heir. And, while the good doctor did not take kindly to the news, he knew the king best and understands his choice.

Yet he does not stop his search for the true heir.

Good on him, Edward thinks, because he knows deep down that this position is not something he can handle. Perhaps the missing heir would know better than him what to do. Yet, how could they? They were but a mere babe when they disappeared, and while he had known a child necromancer when he was a boy, told the king of him, they had never found such a sorcerer in the Outer Nest, at least not by the name he had given. He hopes the young boy had only made it out of that place; it was nowhere for a child to live, and it wouldn't make sense, either—how could the heir be so close, yet his own father never found him out there?

No, for now, Edward is the king. Despite his lack of experience and lack of confidence in his leadership ability.

His first decree is a manhunt; to find the killer of the former king. To hunt them down and bring his head to him. The way the subjects scramble to appease him, to give him what he so wants, to gain his approval sends a thrill up his back into his mind and into his stomach, filling him like a banquet that never ended once he had the first taste. He hadn't experienced hunger like his days on the street since Gossey had picked him up while on a search for the heir when he was a child. But once he had the first taste of something like this, it's quick to fade, leaving his stomach feeling suddenly empty.

In time, this hunger begins to grow.

---

Gossey returns in ten days' time when he finds what he foolishly assumes is the scent of the heir.

His arm is around the shoulders of a young necromancer with their hood up, ragged cloak trailing behind them and leaving mud on the pristine floors of the palace, the dust of dead and ash coming off of them practically in clouds and dried blood sticking to their hands as the sign of their profession. Edward sneers at the very scent of them, earthy and sickly-sweet like rot, assuming he's not found them after all, but the fool who had killed the former king. To apologize for his ignorance on the matter of the heir, he's brought them back, not only alive, but as a gift for the new king to do with as he pleases; not that he'll do much with them. At most they'll be killed by someone else's hand, but he has absolutely no qualm with torturing them for their indiscretion against the throne. It's what a treacherous killer deserves, after all.

"Look upon this face," Gossey starts his speech, turning the black cloth-encased figure to face the court, "and see that they are the one and only—"

Edward languidly sits forward on his throne, watching with smug satisfaction on his face as their hood is ripped away and a mass of deep red hair falls out from under it. The same shade of red as the few locks that still desperately clung to the skull of the great Lich he'd spoken to on his last day. The same shade as the tapestries and paintings depicting him as a human.

"—our true heir; Micah Flybane."

The room erupts into whispers and pointing. Everything around Thomas is spinning, and when the figure turns around, his eyes shoot open wider than even he thought possible. His face blanches, bugs crawl through his arms, ice flows through him. The crown topples from his head and the scepter falls from his grasp.

"Thomas?" he asks, hands reaching briefly outward. Toward the face he recognized once as a child, now all grown up and staring back at him with those deep brown eyes. Toward the face he'd once recommended as a candidate for the futile hunt for the heir.

The face winces at the name, but returns with a nervous smile and a laugh. "Micah, now. Good to see you again, though, Troll."

---

it's a thankless job.

jequirity - aka rosary pea, a highly toxic plant with red-and-black seeds.

Edward is part of a project that started unintentionally, all beginning on AI Dungeon.

As an artist and writer, and considering the state of things in the world, I now understand how that can sound bad. I was more playing with it as a way to see how it functioned and using it as a game. Over time, I've moved most of the story away from anything ai generated, but there are still traces of it here and there, if you're familiar with it. I see it more as me playing with a procedurally generated choose-your-own adventure game rather than making a full-fledged story.

Edward, as you might have guessed, is a power-hungry former jester who was corrupted only by his lack of experience with leadership and was actually quite normal before he rose in power. He was never trained to take the role of ruler, and as such did what he liked while leaving those in true political power to do his dirty work. He still serves as a powerless figurehead whilst Micah is training under the three advisors that the king had, all the while juggling the weight of everyone else's expectations and the worry that they'll falter under the scrutiny of the court. His loss of control over the people of the kingdom eventually drives him to try to kill Micah in order to regain power, including an attempt to poison them with powdered rosary peas; as is referenced in the pet name.

He and Micah, as is probably obvious by their interaction at the end of the short story, have a personal history and knew each other long before Micah changed their name. Troll is not an insult so much as it is childhood nickname—the first time they met, he was hiding under a bridge from a group of vampires, which have a sort of "rule" over Outer Nest. It's often used as a feeding ground for them, and as a result a mass population lives there. Many children are orphans or grow up with very little as jobs for humans are few and resources stretched far between. There isn't necessarily much better in primarily human settlements, but they are typically safer and better for children to grow up in, which is why the king was quick to remove Edward from there when Dr. Gossey brought up finding a young boy there.

Stories of evil advisors and jesters have always fascinated me, and while my brother and I have since done more research on historical jesters and know much more about their role, what the court jesters wore in contrast to street jesters, and the like, I decided ultimately that I prefer the look of a street jester for Edward himself. Considering the dark fantasy nature of their universe, where dead walk among the living and some treat them as cattle, I think I'm allowed that little bit of whimsy within the eternally dark world of Rosenholm.

After reading the supposed origin of the Warador, I was reminded of this story and immediately had to make something honoring this character with it. I would have kept him common, but the pose of the Riftborn Warador spoke much more to me when it came down to portraying Edward's character arc and personality within the storyline, which still remains unfinished. It will all come together eventually, as I work at it.

For now, Edward is alone in this existence on Subeta. Perhaps, at some point in the future there will be matching ones for Micah, Gossey, Advisor Eris, and so on? Time will tell. And so will my pet slots.

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