Main Story - Book 1, Chapter 1: Coronation Day

    Griffith Maschera had not been looking forward to his crowning ceremony. Ever since his mother - the queen - perished by the hand of a mysterious murderer, the Spirit kingdom of Looma has been in near-constant unrest, leaving him to pick up the pieces. Timid little Ghasquerade, the one who’d been terrified of leaving home for as long as he could remember, would be the one to inherit a kingdom tearing itself apart at the seams… there wasn’t much for him to look forward to besides mounting pressure from far-flung family and inevitable political turmoil.
    It was his destiny to take the throne, however. For all intents and purposes, he was the only one fit to inherit it. His younger sister, Florella, would be a prime candidate, but Spirit society frowns upon cross-breeds like her, half-masklin and half-tulid. If she were to take the throne, it would spawn a century more of unrest, and she’d… well, Ghasquerade didn’t want to consider what would happen to her. Besides, the kingdom needed a safe choice right now, and that’s exactly what he was, nothing more.
    Safe.
    Ghasquerade’s father, Fantasmasq, was far too busy in the days leading up to the crowning ceremony to listen to his anxieties. In order to even begin the process of crowning his son as leader, the king is always required to meet with the Duke of each Looman region first. They then discuss how the transition will be made, any possible changes to the chain of command, any backups that may exist in the event of the heir being unable to rule, et cetera. Normally this process is quick and painless, the meetings start and end like clockwork, and the crowning ceremony goes on without a hitch. This time, however, was different; the ruling king wasn’t exactly popular with the Dukes. One of his children was a crossbreed, after all. Often was the king accused of “muddying” the royal bloodline by copulating with a race that’s so, in the words of his council, “dirty.” Of course, the king never took it much to heart, his wife and child meant too much to him, but it meant he’d be stuck litigating the politics right up until Coronation Day, much to his son’s dismay.

 

    As Ghasquerade made the final preparations, he considered the kingdom he’d be inheriting. Looma was large and beautiful, of course, but it was equally bogged by restrictive traditions and customs that meant he would be ruling a society that rejected his own flesh and blood… could he even manage it? Could he even bear to look at the kingdom that raised him, knowing what they thought of his own sister? These thoughts swirled in his mind up until - and during - the crowning ceremony, as he walked down the aisle, and reached his hands out towards the crown his father held before him. 
    Moonlight shone through the beautiful stained glass windows of Fort Masq, depicting the Fall of Infinitus and subsequent forming of the barrier surrounding Spirit Sanctuary. The windows were framed by stylized visages of the Great Dragons, carved out of opalescent fluubium and inlaid betwixt walls of mixed trapstone brick. Tiles forged in various shades lay in repeating patterns meant to resemble the masks of renowned royalty, stony reflections that have been weathered by years of marriages, balls, sermons, and passings of the crown. At the end of this hall lied Ghasquerade’s future as prince of Looma. He would, one day, come to rule not only Spirit Sanctuary itself, but every region under the King’s jurisdiction, and this… well, this was the first step towards that.

 

    But not a moment before his hands could reach out towards his destiny, the sound of broken glass echoed throughout the chamber. Almost before the shards could even rattle to the ground, a shadow flashed across Ghasquerade’s vision as he witnessed a cloaked figure swipe the crown out from right in front of him. Royal guards clamored to stop the thief, but they appeared too fast for the armor-clad guardsmen to keep up, jumping from pillar to pillar to avoid capture. As the figure reached the other side of the chamber, about to break through the window opposing the one through which they made their entrance, they paused for a moment on its sill and looked down towards the terrified half-prince. Ghasquerade saw, then, a face - no, mask - that shook him to his core. Staring back at him with glowing eyes, scars that ran down his face, and a tilted mask that resembled a crow’s beak… it was the spitting image of someone known only to his mind’s eye, impressed upon it by the myriad of stories recounted to him by his father.
    Corvill, the exiled half-king and Ghasquerade’s uncle, had returned.