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“Fool!”
Xalior heard the unmistakable sound of a rope slashing a body. He crept around the tall pillars of the castle and into the servant corridor, where the annoyingly-familiar jester was being beaten shamelessly.
“F-Forgive me, milord-” The jester whimpered, only for the man to aggressively yank off his colourful costume to reveal a horribly scarred back- extremely pale, yet splattered with crimson. The man looked like a ghost; Xalior could tell from his eyes that he was begging for death. Though, as he was the King’s favourite jester, he would not receive it.
Xalior hid themselves as the lord dragged the fool (who was far taller than him despite his skinny frame) and led him down into the dungeon. Even after the pair were out of sight, Xalior could still hear the poor boy’s screams.
Boy.
Barely a man. And as he was undeniably tall for his age, Xalior couldn’t shake the image of his bones almost tearing out of his chest. The familiar chest.
Xalior couldn’t help but feel that they had seen the boy before, but from where? They subconsciously stroked the stolen stone in their satchel. They had gone to extremely great lengths to steal the Soul of Goralgon, and they were extremely proud of it.
Goralgon.
That was where they had seen the fool. The human form of Goralgon. But sans his appearance and voice, the boy had nothing else in common with the ruler of Goralga.
They continued to stroke the stone, before stopping abruptly.
Everyone in Goralga had come from somewhere, and Xalior had always assumed that the great and powerful Goralgon was an exception. The boy screamed again, and the voice was ever-familiar.
Apparently not.
Xalior knew what they had to do.