Chapter One:
Imperius Rex
One Outskirts of New Atlantis, The Twenty-Seventh of March, Nine Minutes to Twelve, Ante MeridiemSix Atlanteans and one half-breed travelled swiftly across the ocean bed, passing marine flora of all varieties, schools of fish and creatures oblivious to the building emotions of Namor. The amnesiac Prince led the patrolling guards at great speeds, and it was not long before the group began to be left behind.
"My Lord!" One of them called out after him, stopping to catch his breath. Namor did not stop nor even twitch at the despondent cry, focused too intently on the structures rising in the distance. They had just reached the outermost borders of the underwater city, and the prime location for the expansive shanty quarter that housed now thousands of famished and poor Atlanteans. The guards came to a halt at the first house as they realized Namor had swam too far and beyond sight behind the many hutches and shacks. They eyed each other, a growing worry mutual between them. It was obvious to see Namor's rage residing just below the surface as they had brought him up to date on important matters and Byrrah's actions.
One of them, a heavy set male with a long bristling beard, sighed. "I would not like to be Byrrah right now."
The grimace that settled onto his face mirrored onto his peers as they nodded and grunted.
The six stood silently for a moment, staring off towards the inner city where Namor has undoubtedly headed. A hag, shrivelled yet with fair and wise eyes, hobbled towards them. She raised a quivering finger that angled along their focused eyesight, inwards through the shanty quarter, and cracked open her lips with an inquisitive gaze.
"It cannot be! No! Forty-seven years, it has been - and with no sign! No word!" The hag began rambling audibly, until a man and what appeared to be a younger version of the woman approached. Her daughter reached out a hand to touch the wrinkled blue skin of the circumlocutory lady, yet at the impact she sprang up suddenly, eyes wide and gasping. The royal guards closest to her glanced at one another and moved slightly closer, but she flung her short hands out as wide as they would let her. "
Now?! When I am frail and barren? And he returns as fresh and virile as he ever was! Oh... how I lusted..." The hag turned to her daughter and her furious outburst quietened. Her eyes took upon the collected gaze they had before, and she turned and bowed to the guards.
"My apologies, sirs," She began to walk away, aided by the arms of her daughter and the young man with them, and she hummed a short melodic tune before softly singing, "Namor has come to kill the King..."
The Lady Dorma slept soundly on a luxurious couch in a large conservatory connecting to her estate. Thin white pillars joined the glass ceiling to the tiled floor, yet the windows were open to the waters and fish of all sizes darted in between each other and the pillars in their fascinating rhythms. The Lady dreamt of New Atlantis, bathed in the glow of the Sun. The Atlanteans ran free with each other in equality - their were no shanty quarters, no poverty, and people had no reason to break the law. Families played together on the vast swaying plains and the elderly congregated and laughed over their memories. It was an idyllic realm, a peaceful place. A place governed fairly and justly by -
"Namor." Came a gruff and menacing voice. Dorma squinted open one eye, and then the other, as she sat up at the realisation of what had been said.
"Here?" She gasped. She gathered the trailing tussels of her gown and stood with grace. She began to hurry towards the arch connecting to the main floor room when an inhumanely large hand pushed her back. Black, unseemly arm hair protruded from it even where it shouldn't - on his knuckles and palm, as well as his wrist and lower arm. A bulwarking metal chest-plate obscured the rest, it's reinforced insignia displaying the sign of the King.
"And where do you think you are going?" Teeth embedded with the remains of a meal expanded in a twisted grin.
"He is our liege lord, I must -"
"
Byrrah is our liege lord. Or did you forget who led us in the... how long has it been? Nearly fifty years?"
Dorma's eyes contracted and she twitched suddenly with a mix of bewilderment and anger. "We both know Byrrah boasts a pale imitation of the greatness Namor would have achieved."
"That kind of rebellious attitude would see a lesser woman killed!" Barked the royal militant. His eyes shone black like obsidian.
Dorma met his gaze but had to pull away quickly. The news had clearly delivered a negative response to him as opposed to her inside jubilation. Hope filled her as it hadn't for years, and more emotions besides. Respect, devotion, love... She twisted away from the hulking man blocking the arch and paced towards one of the couches. The man leered after her with a murderous glint in his eye.
"Namor can't do as he wants. I won't let him. Byrrah would not have appeared so weak before Destiny. Byrrah wouldn't have abandoned his supposedly beloved people-"
"
That's not true!" Dorma shrieked. Silence settled between the two, until a hard chuckle possessed the brutish Atlantean. Dorma focused upon the watery expanses out the nearest window, yet she still felt the penetrating stare of the man on her long, flowing hair. Time passed with only the simple background noise of New Atlantis occupying the space. Then the warlord spoke.
"I'm going to kill him, Dorma. It will be my greatest victory. It will be
Krang who disposes of your venerated Prince."
Huge men and children alike had to dive out of the way before him. Namor flew low through the avenues of New Atlantis, and he twisted through opulent archways and by towering halls on his quest towards the palace. Aided by his vestigial wings, the Prince acted with meticulous reflex, diving past pillars and the Atlanteans by the skin of his teeth. A boiling fury fuelled his barrage through the waters - a fury borne of tales told of a despicable and foolish monarch, uncontrollable in his stubbornness, and fleeting sights of a huge shanty area full of neglected citizens, and the decades of travesties Namor's half-brother would have assuredly perpetrated. All thoughts of the friendship himself and Byrrah had shared in their childhood had fled from Namor's mind, and only the imminent vengeance for his people and the King's mockery remained. The Sub-Mariner's face must have been fearsome to behold - lips pulled taut in a snarling frown, eyes almost diseased with anger.
A burly Atlantean positioned on a corner sprang to life at the site of the Prince, diving towards him with an outstretched grasp. Namor thought of pushing past him, but in truth he knew not his way around the enormous city and perhaps he could discern the location of Byrrah from this man. The Atlantean, adorned in a surfeit of glinting bronze armour, murmured quickly to himself as Namor stopped before him. It appeared that the presumable guardsman had not expected a docile response to his accosting.
Well, at least I am surprising Byrrah. The news of his homecoming must have travelled briskly into the city and into the weak King's ears. This guardsman before him was wearing the accoutrements of one of the royal elite guard, suggesting that Byrrah desired to stop him before the two came into close proximity. Of course, he would have expected Namor to barge directly into the palace courtyard, so that would be wear the bulk of the royal force was. This guardsman was likely just an outrider - one less trusted to man the primary defence against the Prince. One more likely to divulge the information he needed. Namor was not a fool, and though the need to confront Byrrah raged around his mind, he was an expert of strategy and strategy was what he would employ.
The denizens of the street, which appeared to be mostly comprised of courthouses and business offices, departed the scene quickly. Namor knew one of the many would reveal his location to a more formidable foe soon enough, so force and brevity were required. Namor moved towards the large guard with unbelievable speed, grabbing the armour-clad man by the throat and slamming him against a marble wall. The point of impact dented, and slight lines of a shock wave spread with cracks along the wall.
"Na...Namo-"
"Silence. I need the location of a peasant. Divulge all the
specific information you can." Namor spoke with a riled tone. To let him speak, Namor receded his excessive grip on the man's throat. The guard's bulging eyes returned to normal. He opened his mouth to speak but instead lay still, a look of panic frozen on his features. "He is an information gatherer."
"I - I don't-"
"The
Whisperer.
Vashti!"
Member
