The grieving uncle Reamus

In a large underground cavern

Windy Fir Woodlands

___________________________

Resting on an oaken table, deep underground in the heart of a winding network of caverns, tunnels, and underpasses sat a stout middle-aged man.

His considerably bulbous head and tiny squinted eyes bore him a great resemblance to naked mole rats while his elegant style and expensive garbs, although faded from one too many washes was proof of his once aristocratic status.

'Lord' Reamus sat in a chamber decorated with expensive furs, furniture, and beautiful tapestry while expensive-looking paintings hung from the walls.

Although they were a bit mismatched as if 'acquired' from different places, the unique arrangement gave this particular room a certain sense of aesthetics and exquisite flavour.

But despite the chamber's surprising elegance, the self-proclaimed lord didn't seem pleased, carrying on his visage a scowl of grief and rage.

*KNOCK*

*KNOCK*

"Come in..." 'Lord' Reamus called in a hoarse voice.

The door opened and in walked a tall muscular man dressed in faded tunics and leather armour. The new arrival bowed, addressing his leader.

"Lord Reamus, we have retrieved sir Vlad's body as per your command."

"Have you found out who killed him yet?" Lord Reamus asked in a monotonous voice. Although his eyes were clearly reflecting a deep urge for violence, he kept his composure as a leader in front of his subordinate.

"No my lord, we lost track of the murders. Someone in the group appears to have some experience in dealing with trackers." The bandit replied in a surprisingly gentlemanly and well-toned voice.

"Ai... Take me to see the body." Lord Reamus sighed walking out of his chamber.

"Yes my lord."

Walking up the torchlit chambers the middle-aged man recalled some painful memories.

Once a Baron under the Royal Family of Algrim, Reamus was certainly a man of high standing in the Algrim.

His days were relatively peaceful, well that was until the events of the Great Rebellion

On the seventh month of the year 220 S.T. He was among the many few who chose to betray Leonard during Hertalese first invasion of Algrim. Ambitious as he was during his prime he chose to place his lots with the invaders in preparation for the fall of the kingdom and hopefully, his own meteoric rise in power.

Unfortunately, though, man proposes, the author disposes. The invasion was a failure, Hertalese failed to capture the capital before the arrival of reinforcement.

Angered by the betrayal, King Leonard ordered the extermination of all families involved in the rebellion. His household and many others were exterminated.

Only himself and his nephew were able to escape with their lives during the chaos. In tears, he watched as his wives, children, sibling and fief was burnt down to the ground as a consequence for his ambitions.

He remembered looking down at his two-year-old nephew bleeding profusely from a gash to the forehead, too weak to utter a cry.

Days later he was robbing peasants at knifepoint to feed himself and the last living family he had left.

With the invasion at a definite closure and all hopes of a possible comeback and rise to glory dashed. the once-proud aristocrat soon turned to banditry eventually establishing his own marauding band in the forests north of the capital.

Over the years his small band had grown from a small group of petty thieves to a real plague that terrorized merchants and townsfolk throughout the kingdom.

But despite the success of his bandit group a constant regret constantly plagued his heart. The two-year-old child he cradled in his arms as he fled from his fief had grown up to become a tall strong man...

With mental defects.

Apparently, the head injury Vlad suffered during his childhood ruined his constitution rendering him unable to function as a normal person.

Burdened by the guilt, Lord Reamus did everything to give Vlad a life befitting his status as a highborn.

Assigning a dozen of some of his best men to protect the lumbering hulk and arming him with a weapon crafted by one of the greatest blacksmiths of the sanctuary of scrolls, it was obvious the bandit king cared for his nephew even more than some men did for their own sons.

All said it was obvious Lord Reamus was livid.

Utterly infuriated, he questioned the value of an elite force twelve that couldn't even defend against a group of a man and two weakling women.

If not for the fact that only the remaining bodyguards could recognize Vlad's murderer he would have long executed them for their incompetence.

Walking into an empty clearing on the surface Lord Reamus saw a considerably large steel Halberd lying next to an equally considerably sized corpse.

Pulling away the cloth wrappings sealing the corpse a putrid, decaying smell permeated the air.

But as if obvious to the smell he ran his index finger along the corpse's chest, the bluish decaying skin collapsing underneath his finger.

Gazing at the pair of unfocused eyes The uncle felt an emptiness deep within his core. Overridden with guilt his eyes teared up for a moment before they blinked and became clear again.

'Rest well buddy.' he muttered sliding close Vlad's open eyelids, which slowly snapped back open.

With a soft sigh, the stout bandit king stood with his hands clasped behind his back staring out at the clear sky above the yellowing forest canopy.

"Find them. Find the bastards that did this to my boy. Bring them to me..."

"Dead..."

"Or alive."

-

-

-

At the fringes of...

Windy Fir woodlands.

_____________________________

At a temporary campsite a few days away from the site of Vlad's death.

The royal duo sat down to have a breakfast of beef jerky and wild vegetables boiled in Aden's helmet.

Not the least concerned about the current status of her utensils the princess ate quietly watching Aden perform a routine massage on his injured wrist. After many days of observations, she had basically memorized the entire procedure and had witnessed the gruesome-looking injury transform into something less concerning.

A few minutes later, Iris and her mother had finished having their meal and waited for Aden to complete his routine treatment before they continued on their desperate journey out of harm's way.

A few hours later they reached a clearing when Aden raised his left hand telling them to stop. After spending so many days under the duke's protection, although she couldn't sense the threat, she completely trusted his judgement.

Watching Aden alight from his steed and pull out his dagger she retrieved her own weapon from its scabbard and prepared for a confrontation, guiding her mount to guard her mother's flank.

Although she barely had any experience in horseback fighting she at least knew the basics and would make a very dangerous opponent to an unsuspecting attacker.

After a few seconds of silent tension, three men walked out of the shrubs dressed in black garbs and cloaks. On their faces were oval white mask adorned with two spiralling peepholes.

They had no emblems, no marks distinctive features aside from their masks, but their appearance caused Aden's movements to stiffen and a wary expression to appear on his face.

Noticing, Iris reassessed the new arrivals. Looking at their distinctive plain unadorned masked the princess suddenly remembered something

"Are they..?"

Aden tightened his grip on the dagger in his hand, a subtle gleam of grievance flashing past his eyes.

"Yes, you assumed correctly princess."

With a resigned expression and a soft sigh he said.

"They are..."

"The Faceless."

--------------------------------------------------

A.N:

Fun fact

A person generally dies with their eyes partially open. If you try to close the eyes they will slowly open again. That is normal. It is only in the movies that the eyelids stay shut.