The Hellish Hirsute Horror (Part 5): The Kingdom of Yavamar

The sprawling Kingdom of Yavamar was among the eldest and most formidable realms in the known world, tracing its lineage back over two millennia to the first great human empires. Its regal bloodline flowed from a long dynasty of ancestral chieftains turned kings and queens, each more powerful and noble than the last.

At the center of their vast domain lay the impregnable Citadel Argonath - a massive fortified city carved into the side of an immense rocky plateau. Its gleaming spires of granite and basalt towered defiantly over the surrounding forests and valleys, proclaiming the monarchy's strength to any who dared threaten their rule.

The founding house that ruled over all Yavamar was the venerable Tarnvok clan. For generations, their royal bloodline had been blessed with a wide spectrum of extraordinary abilities passed down from parent to child. Mastery over the elements, telekinetic talents, and mystic sorcery were but a few of the supernatural gifts that flowed through their royal veins.

It was these amazing powers that originally allowed their ancient ancestors to unite the scattered tribes into a fledgling kingdom, then steadily expand their reign across the breadth of the realms over thousands of years.

At the head of the current generation sat King Varthaman Tarnvok, an imposing figure with the height and physique of a battle-hardened warrior. His shoulder-length dark hair had started graying at the temples, but his muscled frame still rippled with strength honed over years of combat training.

Varthaman was a formidable practitioner of the family's elemental alchematry talents. With but a few arcane gestures, he could conjure gouts of elemental forces from pure alchemy - streaks of flame, concussive shockwaves, or petrifying stone darts that responded to his merest thoughts. Any who drew steel against the Tarnvok throne soon learned the futility of opposing Yavamar's protectors.

His wife, Queen Aylara, was a vision of elegant and deadly beauty. The lithe, raven-tressed sorceress was a prodigy of mystic magics beyond mortal ken, able to bend reality and manipulate the elemental forces at her whim. Her skills at casting illusions and deceit were unparalleled, ensuring no conspiracy or treachery would ever breach the sanctity of the Tarnvok dynasty so long as her watchful gaze stood vigilant.

Varthaman and Aylara had two sons who would one day inherit the throne - the twins, Dravn and Kalrex. The royal heirs were barely 15 summers old, but already their command over their innate powers far exceeded that of most trained sorcerers and mages. Dravn was a virile, golden-haired youth who could telepathically influence and control any mind, causing immense pain or confusion in those foolish enough to challenge a future ruler.

Meanwhile, his younger twin Kalrex was an emotionless, pensive boy - already a master of scrying the souls and glimpsing the hidden motivations of all around him. His piercing violet stare could lay bare even the most warded psyche. Any shadow of disloyalty or deceit within the Royal Citadel never escaped his unblinking focus for long.

With such prodigious magical gifts safeguarding the kingdom, the people of Yavamar enjoyed a stability and prosperity unlike any their ancestors could have fathomed. Or so they believed...

For unbeknownst to the ruling Tarnvok family, a dire shadow had haunted their very bloodline since antiquity - an umbral curse seeded in the most ancient days of their clan's founding during those first, primordial struggles for power.

It was Kreznic, the malign Demon Beard, who had first imparted to the prehistoric Tarnvok tribe their burgeoning supernatural gifts over two millennia ago. What they believed to be blessings from the gods were merely mystical abilities leeched from the entity's own endless font of primordial forces - albeit a pale dilution of its true potency.

But the ancient evil's "boon" came at a cost. With each generation, a fraction of the descendants' souls became more and more enmeshed within Kreznic's indomitable curse of the Demon Beard. The Tarnvoks were slowly transforming into mere magical constructs whose very essences - past, present and future - were destined to be subsumed by the fiend.

With each passing century since its return from the slumbering darkness, the entity's claim over their bloodline strengthened. It was only a matter of time before their souls belonged to it entirely, and their cherished kingdom would tear itself asunder under its unstoppable thrall.

...

It was under this grave pall that Ronin, Zane and Akari sought an audience with the King and his court. Their arrival at the granite citadel's towering gates threw the vigilant sentries into an outright panic. Three disheveled, unkempt strangers with bizarre powers were not granted easy entry to Argonath's innermost sanctum.

After lengthy interrogation by Aylara's circle of mystical advisors, it was determined that the trio bore no ill intent - only urgent tidings that threatened the safety of the entire realm. They were grudgingly allowed into the gleaming throne chamber to make their frantic pleas.

"Your Majesties," Ronin began, unable to fully conceal the disbelief at their majestic surroundings, "we come bearing a grave warning about an ancient evil that has awakened and threatens your kingdom..."

For the next tense hour, the three friends recounted the horrors they'd witnessed at the gnarled hands of Kreznic and his unnatural whiskers-demons. The king and queen listened in stunned silence as they detailed the nightmare of the deadly follicles brought to malevolent life and the utter devastation they could unleash.

"And this...Kreznic...you claim is merely the prelude?" King Varthaman asked gravelly, his voice tinged with reproach. "What proof have you that this warlock - older and more sinister than any we've dealt with before - has not yet begun his onslaught against my kingdom?"

"Your majesty, I swear on my honor that all we've told you is the honest truth!" Akari pleaded, sweat beading upon his brow under the intimidating gazes of the royal family. "We don't even know where this Kreznic came from or how he gained command over such dark powers. Our only desire is to stop him from wreaking any more havoc against your people!"

The three youths were about to be summarily dismissed before Wren, the ancient white-haired sage, suddenly strode into the hall unannounced. His footsteps were halting and pained from the weight of ages upon him, but his booming voice still rang with clarity.

"King Varthaman Tarnvok, you and your heirs would do well to heed the grave tidings these young men bring," Wren admonished with a steely glint in his eye as he appraised each of them in turn. "For the fiend you dismiss so easily is Kreznic - The Demon Beard. The primordial evil from which your very bloodline first gained its power...and its curse."

A deathly hush fell over all assembled within the throne room as the full gravity of Wren's ominous words caused them to pale. The three questers felt a chill run down their spines, instantly realizing the truth behind the aged soothsayer's dark pronouncement.

"Explain yourself, sage," Aylara commanded, her delicate features turned hard as granite in the face of such provocations against her beloved family.

Wren could only shake his wizened head with a solemn weight few beings still living could comprehend.

"It is a grim chronicle few mortals know...of how the seed of your bloodline's gift was first imparted by a force predating humanity itself. And now, after slumbering for a thousand lifetimes, it has returned to claim its unholy due..."  

To be continued in Part 6...