"Uncle Kosh, what is the Blood Throne?" Asked the small child sitting at his side as they quietly fished together. -- Anon Guest
Kosh looked twice at the little Hellkin 'nibling[1]' sharing the riverbank with him. He hadn't thought he was that far from Trispire and he certainly wasn't outside of what used to be his kingdom. Hells, since he retired to the title of Baronet of Arachis, he didn't need to wear any kind of insignia. He avoided it as much as he could. So it was no surprise that this tiny child had no idea who he was.
If he was honest with himself -and he was not a dishonest Teufel- he preferred anonymity. Nevertheless, the people should know how their home polity worked. "What do they teach you in school, little one?"
"I don't go to school yet, but I heard about the Blood Throne. It sounds yucky. And scary."
"It's even scarier for the person who has to sit in it," said Kosh. "It's not as yucky or scary to look at. It looks like a weird old wood chair with a rock in its back. At least until the rightful ruler sits there." He smirked. No, he could not help himself. Delia would likely scold him later. "The closer the ass to the right of the throne, the brighter and redder the shine of the stone."
The kid slowly gasped as Kosh twitched his fishing pole. "You swore," they said.
"I'm old enough to be allowed," he smirked. "It was a very popular way to say it when I was as small as you."
"You were never as small as me," challenged the kid.
"All grownups had to come from somewhere." He paused the conversation to reel in a fat sturgeon. A quick, yet intensive process readied it for later cooking. "Any other questions?"
"Two," said the child. "Why's it called the Blood Throne?"
"One reason is the blood-red light it casts when the true ruler sits. Another for the bloodline of Whitekeep. The old Warlock of yore wanted to make sure his heirs were really his, given that his firstborn looked a lot like this," he gestured at himself. His hair was all grey, but the idea remained the same.
"Oh. I thought it needed blood to give its power."
"Hm! The blood tends to stay in the rightful heirs, all the same. Ach, it might have stopped a lot of trouble if the ruler had to shed blood as often as they proved they had the right kind." Nice to think about. It may have stopped an enormous amount of his own father's horseshit. Or it may have made for even more horseshit. There truly was no changing history. "Good enough an answer?"
"Mm-hm," nodded the child.
"And the second question?"
"Can you catch a fish for me?"
"I'll see what I can do," he checked his lure and the child's before they both cast into the waters. "I know a little magic, but not enough to get a fish on a hook."
"Pity," sighed the kid.
[1] Nibling: The gender-neutral variant of "niece/nephew". Hellkin have a long history of broken familial relationships. Thus, any Hellkin is an assumed relative until further notice. Roughly equivalent ages are 'siblings', older ones are 'uncles/aunties/untys" etc. Really older Hellkin become 'grandparentals'.
[Photo by Jack Dong on Unsplash]
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