The Perplexity of Kinsfolk

Conflict and conquest. A life of atrocity and intermission. Orson stepped forth after his father fell to the hands of his foes, and took the rightful place of kingship, being the soul heir to the throne of the hollowed kingdom. A once greyscale palace stood before his very visage in the form of a glamorous kingdom, illuminated with the light of a thousand suns since the early modern period of England. Whilst most palaces lay above the ground on the elevated terra firma, the hollowed kingdom lay in sanctitude below the surface near enough to the crust so oxygen was available, but far enough away to the point where no enemies of the kingdom were aware of their positioning. For years now, the hullabaloo of humanity lay above the ground, scorning the surface, whilst the grotto dwellers remained in solitariness and tranquility; however, this was all subject to change, due to an unexpected and quite frankly unwelcome visitor arriving upon the threshold of the principality. 

Orson’s last remaining relative had stood as still as stone in the shadows for eons, appearing only when the call of the wild beckoned his bane; henceforth a possible battle was approaching on the horizon due to the reappearance of such an itinerant. Orson’s uncle was not well known to the community of Hollovia, however years ago there was an attempt of reconnection between the pair, as Osvaldo attempted to create a sense of avuncularity, to no prevail however, as Orson’s father, the king at the time, had a flair of negligence, banishing Osvaldo from the kingdom, due to past quarrels between the brothers.

“Osvaldo, I am sure that my father before me made it clear how unwanted your presence was in this sanctuary of solitude.” Orson stated, attempting to assert power and dominance over the shadow of a man that stood before his eyes. A chuckle could be heard northbound, erupting from Osvaldo’s mouth and scattering across the tunnel; “You really thought your dear old father could banish me? No. I am a deity in this mortal realm, my sheer presence quakes the tectonic plates of this lifeline, my bones were forged from the foundations of the known universe. You hear me? I AM A GOD AMONGST MORTALS!” The last line bellowing from his chest and ricocheting across the desolate courtyards of the dominion. ”If you are as you say you are, then you must be a rather pitiful god, as not a soul in this palatinate has heard of your name.” A weak insult, but one strong enough to incur the man’s wrath. 

Orson perched proudly upon his father’s ruby throne of carmine as his uncle glared daggers at him before declaring an act of warfare, only to be greeted with a neglectful glance and an unwelcome smirk upon Orson’s face. “That was not an invitation boy. This war has been incoming for centuries, and now that the most powerful man of Hollovia has fallen to my disciples wrath, I believe it is time for a small initiation of global warfare.” Upon hearing the words of patricide, Orson spiraled into a fit of rage as he leapt down from the throne and lacerated his uncle’s face with his weapon of fame, the battle-axe of brutality. “And so it begins.” Osvaldo stated, a lonesome scar of scarlet dripping crimson from his forehead, smile on his face and antagonism in his eyes. It was now evident that a battle was approaching, a battle to scorn the nations.

As the kingdom devolved into bangarang, the city crumbled and quaked, the forges began construction of weapons of mass destruction and deterioration, and the training grounds prepared soldiers for the possibility of bloodshed and brutality. Orson glanced around at the pandemonium with a single streak of sweat strolling down his cheek, however his integrity was not yet in shambles as he had a kingdom to protect, a home to protect, and a life to protect. Besides his now deceased father, Orson did not have many loyal friends in Hollovia, however he did have Auralius, the chief blacksmith and most true-blue denizen of all of Hollovia, (besides Orson of course) he had lived within the forgeries for longer than anyone had lived, his beard was a white as a marshmallow and his mind was as old as time, yet his willingness and ingenuity still remained young and spree.

 “It appears a war is at hand old friend.” Orson spoke with upmost respect, for his position as king was a new one, and that of which not many were too cheerful with. “In all of my time walking this beautiful planet, not once have I seen conflict uproar so suddenly.” Despite the negativity from the kingdom of Hollovia, Auralius spoke with a hint of humour and a dash of jubilation, as he longed for a chance to forge weapons, weapons beyond the imagination of any mortal cerebrum for it he would watch the world go up in flames, as long as his forgeries lay intact. “So, you long for the weapons only the gods mortal may lay their eyes upon?” A wee smile encroached upon his bazoo as he spoke the words he wished to speak decades ago. “All of them. We need all of them if we wish to win this war, Osvaldo has reined the realm of tenebrosity for eons and we have no idea the strength of his capabilities.” Unfortunate, but true for the mere name Osvaldo translates to ‘God’s power’, and regrettably he remains religious towards one particular god, the ancient Greek’s knew him as the deity of death, Thanatos himself.

As an army of pure wit would not cut it for a war, a true army was required, and that of which was granted with immediate action to the hands of Orson, for despite his ephemeral time ruling as king, the people of Hollovia were not willing for Osvaldo to take over, henceforth the battle would commence upon the dawn of the 2^nd day of November, coincidently being the Mexican day of the dead, a coincidence too scary to have an impact. As the sun arose in the East of the land, its apricity shunned the flesh and bones of all participants in the act of bloodshed as the star’s autumnal glaze brought upon the upcoming warfare to shun the nations for centuries to come. Despite being outnumbered, the people of Hollovia stood with pride and integrity, for when the place they had come to love and know for so long was under pilgrimage, an essential necessity for violence was required, and as both leaders commanded their fleets, all hell broke lose. 

Whilst the gruesome details of the war remained too foul to be put into words, few may still be written about the individual war between uncle and nephew for its brutality lay distinguishable for the mortal eyes. Orson’s axe made an attempt to return to its once slashed scar upon Osvaldo’s face, nevertheless to no prevail for Osvaldo had learned, and he learned more than any anthropoid could possibly imagine, pulling out an ancient tome with Greek letters imbedded upon the binding. After muttering an antediluvian incantation, a grotesque hand flew out of the ground to grab Orson, however his rapid reflex speed was too much for a blind spot was recognized in that of Osvaldo’s lower chest and henceforth blade intertwined with flesh, slashing and smashing before Osvaldo amalgamated with the ground, only to lay there for eternity as a symbol of victory for all of Hollovia, as Osvaldo entered the realm of tenebrosity he once called his own.