[centre][h3][b]Laxion Hosarusson[/b][/h3]
[img]https://s32.postimg.org/xz3aev8mt/LAXION.png[/img]
[sub][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYKAysA3J6k]Komm, süßer Tod, komm selge Ruh[/url][/sub][/centre]

[i]It's raining, it's pouring,
The old man is snoring.
He went to bed, and bumped his head
And couldn't wake up in the morning.[/i]

As the wagon rolled onward, the battering of the rain seemed to be singing. It was singing a song Laxion had not heard in years. He remembered clearly those days, so long ago now, when he would walk the streets of Crimsamara on a rainy day and the children would be running about in the rain and singing their hearts out. Rain was good. Rain was joy. Rain was a blessing. If these were not such sombre times, he would have taken heart at such generous weather. For rain came down from the heavens, by the will of [b]The One[/b] (Glorified Be His Name), and it quenched the thirst of the parched earth and it caused to sprout therefrom plants and trees and fruits aplenty, and all manner of food for man and animal alike.

But these were sombre times.

Laxion turned his head slightly and his ears picked up the tune more clearly. He looked at the driver next to him and realised that it was not the battering of the rain which had caused him to imagine the song, for the driver's mouth was opening and closing as he whispered the song to himself. Laxion stared with a sudden despondence at the sight. He turned his eyes away and watched the muddy road ahead. The walls and gates of Riadan rose up before them, and bitterly cold, almost spiteful, winds carried rain and spittle from the huge lake at whose coast the capital of the Grand Kingdom stood. Lake Riadan was the source of the Eskar River, which was wide enough that sea-faring ships could travel upriver till they arrived at the capital city's port. Andalujan expertise had contributed greatly to the improvement of the Grand Kingdom's naval prowess in recent years, though from what Laxion had seen in the Grand IHEL there were a great many advancements which had been constrained to the books, and by the Little Basileus' command nothing was to be said of them to the world outside the Institute. When asked why the Little Basileus would do such a thing, Laxion had scoffed and responded with one word; 'politics!' 

The donkey's ears had completely flattened against the sides of its head by this point. Laxion turned in his seat and looked around the edge of the covered wagon to the one behind, which was also endeavouring over the muddy road. The old scholar had not managed to fit all the chests he was bringing along in one wagon, so he had brought along another. The chests were largely full of books, but there were also herbs, powders, various concoctions he had gathered over the decades in small phials, and other things he deemed of some importance. His thirteen year-old student and adoptive son, Torinus, sat beside the driver. He too appeared to be in deep contemplation, and the rain bludgeoning his fiery red hair, though it did not dampen its passionate heat, gave him a very dejected look. The boy was sharper than a razor, nothing short of a genius. Laxion had come upon him some five years back arguing with the Magnificent Library's librarian. He wished to enter, it appeared, but the librarian would not allow a boy in unaccompanied. Laxion had taken pity on the boy and taken him along with him. And they had not parted since, for he was - as Laxion had been when Hosarus found him - an orphan.

As the wagon made its way through Riadan's main gates, Laxion allowed himself to admire the capital city. It had been decades since last he laid eyes upon this place, and the rain gave it a certain lustre and purity. For a few seconds, it was as though this were not the dark heart of all the vices of the earth; what blood-curdling crimes, what petrifying sins, what terrible trespasses and great transgressions, were known to man and not to this city's walls? The wagons continued and soon were passing through the inner-city gate, and straight through the Paragon Path. Crowds had gathered either side of the path and there was a moment of utter silence as the donkey (followed by another!) made its way through the near-hallowed place. Laxion looked from side to side, and he could not help but feel that he was not getting many friendly glances. His eye did however meet more than a few awestruck eyes. When one had dwelled upon this terrestrial plane more than nine decades, news naturally spread of this miraculous achievement. And the works of Laxion Hosarusson were not so paltry as to not have turned heads even among the wider citizenry.
'Tha's the one that wro' some book, righ'?' he heard a lone voice ask.
'He's written hundreds of books! He's completely shattered the ideas o-'
'A'right mate, keep yer pants on!'
'But don't you understand the sig...' and the wagon passed by the arguing pair so that Laxion could hear no more. Other than that however, his arrival was not met with any great level of cheer or excitement. If anything, he seemed to have disappointed them.
'Who's that cute little boy?' some silly girl giggled somewhere. He looked around and soon spotted a group of some four girls looking at the wagon behind him, no doubt eyeing Torinus. Why, the shamelessness of it! 

Ignoring the crowd completely, Laxion allowed his eyes to move over the statues of the Paragons. His eyes settled upon a particularly large and elevated one which professed to be a representation of [b]The One[/b] (Glorified Be His Name). Laxion frowned and muttered a little prayer for forgiveness.
'Forgive them, oh Great One, they know not what they do.'
While depictions of the Paragons was tolerated back in Andaluja, any depiction of Sindoras was highly prohibited and taboo. And of course, it was completely wrong! The idea that [b]The One[/b] (Glorified Be His Name) was nothing but [i]a man[/i] was laughable. But the history of mankind proved beyond doubt that even the greatest truths were susceptible to corruption. They passed by an incomplete statue, and Laxion immediately recognised the resemblance of the late King Andèris. It seemed that already he had been declared a Paragon, and more worthy a Paragon there could not be, for he had - and on this all Sindorian priests and scholars were largely agreed - reached the status of Perfecti in life. Laxion muttered a little prayer that [b]The One[/b] (Glorified Be His Name) find him worthy and make his judgment and passage to the Celestial Planes swift and easy.

Soon enough they had arrived in the castle keep and a stable boy helped him from from the wagon. Torinus soon joined him and the stable boy informed him that they had been expected, and a guide would lead them to the king. Laxion thanked him and soon found himself following a young man not six years older than Torinus. Were it not considered rude, Laxion would have requested some time to change from his travel-clothing and make himself more presentable to the king, but it appeared that custom dictated that he pay his respects to the king first and foremost. With Torinus at his side, he stepped into the throne room and allowed himself to register the grandeur of the place. He had read much about it, he had even had the privilege of accessing its plans in the archives in Crimsamara, but seeing it with his eyes in reality was completely different. His eyes at last moved to the throne, and the young king who sat thereon. Beside him was an older man - undoubtedly the late king's brother - and to the side was a younger man, armoured and just as wet as Laxion and Torinus. 

Laxion stepped forward until he was stood some five strides from the throne. Rather than getting on his knees, he bowed deeply. (For Sindorians bent the knee for none other than [b]The One[/b] (Glorified Be His Name)!)
'Laxian Hosarusson, my liege,' he said respectfully, 'and my son, Torinus.'
Torinus looked at the king for a few seconds, a boyish smile spreading across his face. He was sure that he and the king would hit it off when they got the chance to talk a bit! He caught Laxion's angry glare and quickly bowed his head in respect.
'Uh, my lord. Thank you,' he stuttered, before realising that he had not given a reason for thanking him, 'for...for having us.'
'The passing of your father has opened a wound in the hearts of the people, my liege, and even as I departed from Crimsamara there seemed to be a shroud of misery upon the place. Know that he meant much to our people. He was a good king, a kind king, generous and wise. You stand upon the shoulders of giants, my liege, and it is my firmest belief that you will see better and go further due to it. I have left the quiet joy of my study, my liege, that I may serve you as best I can. I hope I will be worthy of this trust, and that you yourself will find in us some worth - however small,' he raised his head and looked at the young king once again. Then Torinus spoke up again, to Laxion's surprise.
'You'll be a great king!' he said rather louder than was necessary, 'uh, my lor- my liege.'

Laxion sighed and felt himself die a little on the inside. Torinus was certainly acting far more stupid than he was. Whatever it was, he would have to have a word with him later. Bowing one last time, Laxion made his way to the side and stood by the pillar on other side of the aisle from the wet knight. Torinus quickly joined him there and glanced at the boy-king often, that boyish smile back on his face.