Bonesplinter Ravine [M] Be the First to the Feast, Let's Choke on the Past

The brittle smile Hasdrubal wore—forced, fragile, like glass that might shatter at the slightest touch—did not escape Herod’s keen, watchful eyes. How amusing it was to see the boy still clinging to his defiance, still attempting to play the games he thought so clever. Herod’s lip curled ever so slightly, a shadow of a smile, for he knew all too well the dance of deception that Hasdrubal believed he was executing with finesse. Ah, yes, the tension in his shoulders, the stiffness in his gait—each movement betraying the frail mask he wore. Did the boy truly believe his meager façade could fool him? Did he not know that Herod had watched over him, shaped him, since his earliest days?

To dinner, then, Hasdrubal rasped, his voice tight with the weight of forced compliance. The strain of the words was palpable, a thin veneer of control wrapped around his despair. Herod let the faintest trace of amusement flicker across his features, an indulgent smile, the kind one might offer a child attempting to outwit his elder.

Good. Let him think himself in control. The old man had not exhausted his arsenal yet.

Each step brought them closer to the heart of the campsite, where the loyal creatures of Godsmouth awaited. The scent of the banquet lingered in the cool air—honeyed meats and fragrant wines, seasoned with spices from distant lands.

As they reached the clearing, the elder quickly called over one of his attendants, whispering something into their ear. After his command had been given, and the canine disappeared into the camp, Herod climbed a jagged outcropping, perching atop it. His gaze swept over the assembly—his ever-loyal disciples, the creatures who had bound themselves to the will of Godsmouth, to his will. As they realized his presence, they turned toward him as one, their eyes wide with reverence, their expressions expectant. The camp had fallen into a hush, the only sound the whispering breeze that stirred the forest around them.

Herod straightened, his figure towering in the dim light. My brothers and sisters, he called, his words rolling like thunder over the clearing, Our Prophet has awoken.

He paused, allowing the significance of the moment to settle into the hearts of his followers, watching as their gazes shifted to Hasdrubal, wide-eyed with awe and reverence. The murmurs of the crowd began to rise, a wave of whispered relief and joy that swept through them.

Herod allowed the moment to linger, then bowed his head, a gesture of solemnity, of reverence for the gods above. The crowd followed suit, their heads lowering in silent prayer.

When he lifted his head once more, his eyes gleamed with a cold, calculated fire. We thank the gods above for his safety, Herod declared, his voice resounding with the reverence of a priest. After he was attacked by those who would see him destroyed, he has been delivered safely back into our fold. We thank Elveera for her hard work in restoring him to his full health.

The crowd erupted into hushed exclamations, their praise rippling throughout the gathered mass. Herod let them stir for a moment before he raised a paw, commanding silence once again.

My friends, Herod continued, his voice softening, tonight, we praise the gods. Tonight, we feast.

The lion continued to watch the gathering for a lingering moment before climbing down from his perch, taking his place at the boy's side once again. Come, he murmured, I will show you to your place. A meal has been made especially for you.