Mestartes, Chosen of the High House

Mestartes of Elair had always been a simple man. 

Oh, Mestartes, his father had told him once, you’re a good boy, a simple boy, just like me. To be simple is a good thing, my son, a simple man can grow up in a rich land like ours and be grateful, he can merely do his small part to help the rest of us and be satisfied with his place. He can live, marry, start a family, and keep that family safe and well-fed. These things– Family, friends, food, and fun– Will make a simple man happy, and a man who lives happily can go on to the next world in peace, with few regrets or unanswered questions of his simple life, for he knows he has fulfilled himself and lived well.

That was many years ago, long enough that Mestartes couldn’t remember how old he’d been. The little speech had been something of a reprimand, a way to deter him from the unknown after he’d been caught trying to get a glimpse into the High House, Elair’s strange tower, home to men of magic and mystery.

The admonition had been a soft one, other parents of Elair may have berated their children for so much as looking at the High House, but not a gentle soul like his father. His kind nature had been a stark contrast to his rugged appearance, like a chiseled statue whose fine features had eroded under centuries of wind and sun, his hands were hardened by calluses and ridged by the scars of hard labor. He was more worn than any farmer Mestartes had ever seen.

Back then, Mestartes had believed him, after all, everyone knew not to disturb those of the High House. They were upholding a sacred duty that no one should disrupt, even if no one would tell him what that duty was. His curiosity had simply gotten the better of him.

So as Mestartes aged, he stuck to being simple, he worked with his hands, tending their small farm and selling crops at the market, fishing with his friends off of the coastline, and otherwise leading a happy life. He did his part to support the small community of Elair and tried to keep from looking at the High House each time he passed the towering structure, which was exceedingly difficult, because it dominated the very center of the town square.

His curiosity never quite abated, however

The High House had a pull he could almost feel. It drew him like a moth to a flame, tall and ominous, it was a tower of solid gray rock, with a twirling, spire-like roof of a deep blue that reminded him of the ocean’s depths. It was completely devoid of windows and doors save for the large gate of imposing black stone. The High House was more like some ancient fortress than a home, as indomitable and ageless as a mountain. 

As Mestartes grew into his teenage years and drew closer to adulthood–a status one received at the mere age of sixteen in Elair–it became increasingly difficult for him to avert his eyes from the tower. It left him with too many questions. 

But every time he broached the topic with his father, he was met with a similar lecture.

How can I live a simple life and have no questions unanswered, as my dad always said, when there is a question right here before my eyes, and not a soul will give me an answer? He remembered thinking one day after being rebuffed by his father, Maybe if I found what it was about the place that was so important, I could let it go. 

One day, on his way back from the market, he passed by The High House and couldn’t quite resist its magnetic pull. He stopped on the street and stared, drinking in the domineering structure, such a far cry from the simple marketplace booths and the cheery streetside shops, with their bright colors and industrious merchants.

Then, the tower’s dark gate opened, the large twin door parting just enough to allow a tall figure to exit, but not enough to reveal anything inside.

The man was probably a good 6 or 7 years older than Mestartes, towering and broad, the man seemed a microcosm of the High House itself. He wore a dark blue sleeveless robe that displayed a powerful physique. However it was not his stature that caught Mestartes’ attention.

It was his eyes.

When the man turned and nodded curtly to Mestartes, he caught a glimpse of something unusual in the man’s stormy grey irises. They seemed to have a weight to them, a solemnity,

The eyes were laden with the heavy weight of responsibility, a responsibility the man could likely never tell anyone outside the House.

He seemed to carry the world on his shoulders.

Mestartes had seen Chosen of the High House a few times before, he had always been intrigued, with their dark robes and quick steps that suggested they had little time to waste; however, he had never seen one of them so close, so close that he could see it.

The responsibility. 

Everyone in Elair did their part, they went to work, took care of their own, were kind to one another, and made sure to support the community, but this was… different. The only responsibility of Elairians was to themselves and their families, that wasn’t a bad thing, it was, of course, best to be simple.

Right?

 That was when new questions arose that he could not answer, the day Mestartes had to wonder, what was it like to have a responsibility to those other than your immediate circle– a responsibility, perhaps, to the entire world?

What was it like to be something other than a simple man?

After that day, Mestartes found himself lingering in the market, watching the High House under the guise of browsing shops. He would ponder his questions for hours but would always circle back to the same idea:

I’ll never find the answers unless I go and discover them for myself.

After one stretch of contemplation, he returned to his simple home and was immediately confronted by his father, his weathered face rife with suspicion.

“Son, you have been gone for an awfully long time. You’ve been coming home late for days now. I know you, son, a curious mind and keen intellectual, you are, even if you don’t realize it. What has your attention?” His father said calmly, always so articulate, more than any Elairian farmer ought to be.

Mestartes knew that his father was on to him, despite his feigned ignorance. The truth was written all over his face, so Mestartes answered honestly.

“Dad, I can’t seem to stay away from the High House, the tower and its people just interest me so, they seem so… I can’t find the word–strong, maybe– I wish I knew what it is they do, that it makes them so strong; like they’ve been carrying the world on their shoulders.” Mestartes said, lowering his head.

For a brief moment, his father froze, with a look of… was that… fear on his face? Then his father smiled weakly, and Mestartes wasn’t sure if he’d seen anything strange at all.

Placing a rough hand on Mestartes' shoulder, he said, “I know I’ve always urged you to live a simple and happy life, son, and not to consider higher matters too strongly,” He sighed wearily, as if he’d known this moment would come. “ But I’d be a liar if I said I hadn’t been in a similar state of mind, once. There is nothing wrong with being curious, but in this, you must heed my warning, stay away from the High House, and stick to what you know. It is no place for ordinary men, it is not even a place for the Chosen. Theirs is a fate no man should seek, their duty is sacred, and their sacrifice great.” His father said.

Mestartes eyes lit up despite the grim nature of the proclamation, “So you know what they do! Can you tell me? Why is it such a big secret?”

“Son did you not hear a single word I just said? The High House is dangerous, more dangerous than you could possibly know, and if you start– look, son, I should have told you this years ago, it was wrong of me to conceal it from you, but when I was around your age, I was almost Chosen.”

Mestartes felt a terrible chill, his excitement evaporating.

He didn’t betray his anger at the revelation, he simply asked, “Really?”

“Yes, son. When I was your age I too was curious about the tower, but my parents forbade me to even look at it, so I investigated in secret, Eventually, I was… noticed… by one of the Chosen, an important man within the tower. You see, being Chosen isn’t something that happens magically, when Chosen leave the High House, they keep an eye out for young people like you and I” His father said.

“So they just take anyone who pays any real mind to the tower instead of avoiding it like most people?” Mestartes said incredulously.

“Not at all. They look for a certain kind of individual, people who they believe have the wits and wherewithal to handle their harsh life, if they suspect you can, they will speak to you directly to see if you truly seem up to the task.”

“So, what happened to you? Did you have what it takes?”

His father paused just briefly, considering, “Yes, I was up to their recruitment standards, and they took me into the tower as an apprentice of sorts, it wa–”

“What did you have to do?” Mestartes interrupted

“ I cannot speak of The Duty, son, though I did not complete my apprenticeship, I am still forbidden to speak anything of it, and I wouldn’t dare even if I could.” His father said solemnly.

“Is it truly that important, then?” Mestartes asked.

“Indeed, my son, it cannot be overstated. I learned very quickly that it was not the life I desired. That weight you mentioned-that the Chosen seem to carry- is real, and though it makes them appear strong for shouldering it, the burden will eventually crush them until there is little of them left, that is the fate of a Chosen.”

His father sighed, looking down.

“ I did not wish to break, as they would, and so I got out before my apprenticeship was complete.” He raised his head, gaze piercing Mestartes, “Leave this alone, Mestartes, I implore you, and live your life to its fullest outside of that tower.

Mestartes conceded, telling his father he would leave ideas of the High House behind, and despite his newfound resentment towards his father for lying to him for so many years, he meant it. 

But that very same night a realization crept into his mind as he tossed and turned.

 They keep an eye out for young people like you and I to recruit, his father had said. Mestartes couldn’t shake that last piece, like you and I, it could only mean one thing, his father believed him among those the Chosen might try to recruit.

After learning the truth about his father, he couldn’t shake the idea, nor the questions. He was drawn to the knowledge and responsibility the Chosen held, and if he had the chance to learn of it, to count himself among those who would sacrifice their simple lives for something greater, he didn’t think he could go without at least chancing the opportunity.

So that night, he snuck out and went to the square in the dead of night to watch the High House, hoping that a Chosen might take notice. He continued this practice for the next three nights until sure enough, he came.

The man who carried the world on his shoulders. 

Soon the muscular Chosen offered Mestartes an apprenticeship in the High House, it was sudden and happened just as his father described it, the Chosen almost seemed to interrogate him, as if probing for traits he sought.

When he first received his chance, he wasn’t sure what to do, he had to accept, but what what about his father? How would he react when he found that Mestartes had gone against his greatest wish?

He didn’t have to wait long to find out. 

A few days later he returned home to his father standing just beyond the doorway, his expression foreboding.

He knows. Mestartes thought, How?

His father took a deep breath, “I see you have chosen to go against my wishes, Mestartes.”

There was no point in lying, “I’m so sorry, dad, I have to know what it's like, if I try to convince myself otherwise, I’ll never be satisfied. Unanswered questions, like you’ve always said.”

His father nodded, looking… pained, “That may very well be the case, child, and that is why I, too, must apologize.”

“Why are you sorry, dad? I should have consulted you, I–”

“Because I cannot allow this to happen. Though the blame falls upon me, I simply cannot let you throw your life away! A tear came to his father's eye, rolling down his weathered cheek, “I am sorry… because I know you truly wished for this, I see it in your eyes.”

Mestartes’ took a step forward, confused, “What–”

His father’s eyes came ablaze with blue light, and the air became heavy with power.

“I cannot allow this, for your own safety, being a Chosen destroyed me, and I was among their best. My son will not suffer the same fate. I am going to make you forget, and you can go back… back to being a simple man, and I will handle the rest.” His voice quavered slightly.

Mestartes had so many questions, he opened his mouth to–

 His father snapped his hand forward, baleful blue smoke bleeding from his fingertips, he seized Mestartes and the magic wormed into him, a sense of numbness leeched into his body and mind.

Tired… he was so tired, he…wanted… to sleep…to forget.

He came to, staring at the ceiling, his father was kneeling beside him, soft tears wetting the floor below.

“I couldn’t do it, by the High House I couldn’t do it.” He wept, and it broke Mestartes’ heart.

That was 3 years ago. A distant memory for Mestartes, Chosen of the High House. He had learned his father was a true Chosen all along, and their rumored magic was real. Beyond that, Mestartes never learned his father’s story, nor how he escaped his Duty.

Mestartes stood side by side with the other Chosen, heart pounding as he awaited the latest Reckoning. He could sense him watching them, just beyond the veil.

The Beast King

The god was powerful, immensely so, and sealed right under the noses of Elair’s townsfolk, Mesartes understood now why the High House was so secretive, the truth would have inspired a panic.

If the Beast King broke free, he would visit his wrath upon this world and others beyond it. Daily, he summoned his horrors to seize the Apex of the tower and escape his bonds, and daily, the Chosen defeated them. But the enemy was growing stronger, and Mestartes had to wonder, How long can we hold them back?

It began.

A pillar of light burst forward from nothing at the center of the room, and the first monster stepped forth, a bluish abomination with the head of an Eagle. 

The Chosen fought, surging forth to perform their sacred duty. It was a particularly terrible reckoning, perhaps the worst Mestartes had ever faced, monstrosity and Chosen alike fought and screamed and died in a whirlwind of blood and magic.

. When the pillar of light finally burned away, Mestartes fell to his knees.

We can’t keep this up much longer. He thought, but knew he would hold regardless.

The pillar of light suddenly reignited, brighter than ever before.

Chosen… a growl of a voice whispered in his mind, and before Mestartes could react, the world exploded.

He couldn’t see, his mind and body were on fire, he couldn’t think, couldn’t…

His Majesty’s servants have fallen out of practice, it seems. The voice whispered, if they failed to kill such pitiful prey. 

Mestartes tried to summon his powers, tried to call upon the tower’s blessing, but was too weak.

No matter, I will teach them again…now… a vessel, It growled.

A presence carved into his mind, examining his very being, Hmm, I have little time, and this one is strong, for prey. Perhaps it will do, for now.

Agony, savage and terrible like the jaws of a wolf, ripped through his body, boiling his blood and dominating his very soul, whatever this demon was, it was taking Mestartes’ body for itself.

Responsibility, he thought dimly, all that talk of protecting the world, of waging the war no one else could, all for nothing. 

But then Mestartes realized something, he could still think, even as he felt control of his body slip away.

And if he could think, he could resist.

Mestartes was no longer a simple man, in the 3 years since that day back home, Mestartes had learned many things and answered many questions.

Despite all of that, he never quite found the responsibility that had drawn him so, it was only now, deprived even of his own body, he discovered what he sought.

Responsibility, it was everything he ever wanted, and it came with an incredible cost. 

He would live in agony, trapped inside his own flesh, if it meant fulfilling his new Duty and protecting the world.

Mestartes would pay responsibility’s price.

He would not allow the evil to break his mind.

He would rage, resist, and regain control.

He would stop the Beast King and his army even if it cost him his very soul.