The End of House Blair

03/22/2025

A bleak silence rang through the fort at Motihari.

People from the Hovels trickled across a rigid, metal drawbridge and underneath a raised portcullis into the dirt courtyard. There they gathered to witness the end of House Blair. Shivering despite the soaking summer heat, they stood together like reeds on a river bank, the plain winds twisting and crooning, and bending their heads to Fate.

Prince Yarvin, bedecked in the dark cloth of the Order of Enlightenment, sat on a wooden throne. His fiendish scion, Peter, stood at his right, eyes dripping with vengeance as he gazed upon the prisoner kneeling before them both.

Yarvin looked beyond the last of House Blair, the one called George, and flicked his forefinger, obsidian nail glinting in the light of the moon.

His executioner, Carlyle, bent axe to chest in salute, elbow flexing outward towards the prince as his lips spoke the words:

He has touched our lips, and our sins are atoned.

George closed his eyes, and the axe blade sang through the fort at Motihari.