A Young Prince

[Marcus Arterialis]

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Agloria
Palace of the King, City of Randu


The Blood-Prince of Agloria stood on his balcony, staring off at the capital city. He brought his drink up to his lips, taking a sip before twisting on his heel and walking back into his room. The morning light shone in behind him as his curtains stayed open after he passed. Marcus set his drink down and slowly walked to his closet. The Prince was not very fashionable, if truth be told. His most common outfits were his military uniforms, as his profession was that of nearly every male in House Arterialis since its conception; a general. With sudden haste, the Prince pulled one of his many uniforms down from his closet. Quickly, he disrobed and adorned the dress uniform, taking care to button every button and straighten every trinket. The young man fixed his hair, then looked in the mirror. To his royal eye, he could see nothing out of place. Pleased, he turned for the exit of his room. He grinned as he always did at one of his many bodyguards, Alic. "Is anything out of place, my friend?" To which Alic replied, " The collar's crooked." Making a face, Marcus fixed the collar, appreciating the grizzled bodyguard's honesty. "It's always something, isn't it?" The Prince asked as he pushed his door open and exited, with Alic and two other guards following.

Marcus entered his family's private dining hall, where his two younger sisters, little brother, and mother were already located, having begun their meal without him. "Your father is already upon his throne, Marcus." She did not attempt to hide the agitation in her voice. She just doesn't understand the severity of the problems of the state, Marcus thought. He grabbed a piece of fruit from the table and patted his mother's shoulder as he passed. "Thank you, mother. I shall join him. Enjoy your breakfast." He didn't see it on her face, but he could sense her continued agitation.

Having finished his breakfast before entering the throne room, he tossed it into a trash bin before pushing the doors open. His father looked up at the sound of the door opening, and little expression upon the recognition of his first born son. His graying hair showing from beneath his old crown. He brought his gaze back down to one of his advisers. His face looked tired, worn down. Curious, Marcus approached the throne. The men were speaking low, their voices stressed. Furrowing his brow, he asked, "What is the matter, father?" Without looking at his son, the King replied, "Another karking war, Marcus. Not a year since the last." Another war! Marcus was undeniably excited, he wasn't able to participate enough to his liking in the previous war, as he spent months sent away, honing his abilities with the force. "A war, father. Countless wars have been fought in our history. You know it's how men are distinguished." The King shook his head before barking out his response, "It's how men are killed, Marcus. Another general pestering me for glory in exchange for thousands of my people dead."

His father didn't understand the people either, sometimes, Marcus thought. He'd always been sour, which Marcus attributed to the fact that the King was not force sensitive, the first in four generations of Kings. He knew it bugged him, it was one of his insecurities. Even still, the King wore the ancestral lightsaber of House Arterialis. But also unlike his peers, the man was not a warrior. Even though he knew his father hated to go into this war, but this war would make or break Marcus' reign once he became King. He had finished the required training for a male of his status to undergo in order to lead the Army. This was his time to show his competency.

 

[Marcus Arterialis]

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Three weeks later
Agloria
Camp outside of the city of Dunsback, seat of the House Martilis.

The Young Heir strode confidently through the camp, with Alic to his left flank and three of his other bodyguards following behind. While the Captain of the Guard was bestowed upon his father's most trusted bodyguard, Alic was without a doubt in charge of the group of men that kept the Heir safe. Alic himself was of House Martilis, a cousin to the current head of the House. Alic had served in the Army, as most noblemen did in some capacity. He was, however, granted a low post if truth be told. He was a distant relative of a House that held but a modest city, hardly not a town. Nevertheless, Alic was stationed in Dunsback, his birthplace as essentially the second in command of the city guard. He distinguished himself once the city was sieged and the commander perished in the fighting. Taking control, Alic was able to lead his unit against the besiegers, pushing them back against the city walls they had already breached and slaughtered or forced their retreat. it was here when Marcus' grandfather realized the potential in Alic Martilis, and granted him a commanding position. Time after time, he proved his loyalty and expertise at just a young age, and was appointed to defend the Prince Marcus when he was just sixty-two years old, just a little over a quarter of the average lifespan of an Aglorian. For as long as Marcus could remember, Alic was at the Heir's side. Teaching, protecting, and being his closest friend.

Marcus pulled open the flaps of the command tent, and found Torril Martilis, the head of House Martilis. Torril was hunched over a holotable when Marcus and his entourage entered. He gave a respectful nod and said, "My Prince." Marcus returned the nod and replied, "Lord Martilis," He paused for a moment, "I was told you had bad news for me." Again, Torril nodded. This time more slowly, with frustration clearly being expressed. "Aye. They've taken Gabury. Which means they mean serious business. Reports say they've continued to move North. They take a few more towns and they're at my doorstep, Marcus." The Lord leaned forward, speaking in a lower tone, "I won't have that."

"What of the Southern assault? Have they broken through?" He retorted, already knowing the answer. Torril spat, then continued, "Blasted Corsina can't lead a karking squad, let alone an entire field army." Torril then shook his head, and took a seat. "Here's what we'll do, Marcus. We'll march South to the river. Camp there, wait for them to cross. When they do, our starfighters come in and blast their front lines, bombers drop on their logistics train, and I lead the frontal assault. Alic will lead your detachment, teaching you the ropes of generalship." Marcus bit the inside of his cheek as he thought for a second, then said aloud, "How many men will I lead, Torril?" Without hesitation, the Lord replied, "Fifteen hundred, well trained and experienced." Marcus thought about arguing, but fifteen hundred was enough for his training wheels, so to speak. "I've started the men on deconstructing the camp. We'll be moving out by nightfall."

For as long as Marcus could remember, Alic was by his side. Teaching, protecting, and being probably the Heir's closest friend.