The Death of Osohe
Once, Osohe Castle was a center for culture, trade, and power. It was, for a time (a mere moment in the scheme of things) something of a Utopia. But power and politics inevitably draw the attention of those who would do evil.
The deaths of the residents of Osohe Castle - from King to scullery maid - began with such a man.
He came into the castle gates under the guise of a travelling minstrel. A lute slung over his back, a piccolo tucked under his arm, and a jaunty feathered cap (coupled with the lackadaisical demeanor of guards who had never before faced threat) made his invasion simple. Nobody bothered to check that the piccolo wasn't even hollow and the lute sported a pair of tiny hinges and a latch.
Inside of that lute awaited the death of Osohe and the end of a prosperous era.
In the night, the intruder lifted the latch and slipped the contents of the mock instrument into the bed of Osohe's ruler. In the morning, the King was dead and the minstrel was gone. What happened to that man is largely unknown, though it it believed that he fathered a line of great theives that lives even today.
The death of the King was a mystery. The castle lamented his death with a fervor never before seen in Osohe. Word spread, and the country fell into mourning. The commerce, art, and culture that had once thrived ground to a sudden hault.
But Death did not. Over the next few weeks, other individuals in the castle died. Their deaths were painful yet swift. Those residents who had not yet succumbed fled for their lives, taking their families with them.
Within just a few weeks, Osohe was barren. Everyone had either fled or died.
Finally finding peace after weeks of having been nearly crushed by shoes, sleeping bodies, and scooting chairs, the tiny venomous snake that the minstrel-assassin had smuggled into the castle squirmed its way into a dark, damp crevase that led it down, down, down into the warm, wet dungeon that it would call home for centuries to come.
Once, Osohe Castle was a center for culture, trade, and power. It was, for a time (a mere moment in the scheme of things) something of a Utopia. But power and politics inevitably draw the attention of those who would do evil.
The deaths of the residents of Osohe Castle - from King to scullery maid - began with such a man.
He came into the castle gates under the guise of a travelling minstrel. A lute slung over his back, a piccolo tucked under his arm, and a jaunty feathered cap (coupled with the lackadaisical demeanor of guards who had never before faced threat) made his invasion simple. Nobody bothered to check that the piccolo wasn't even hollow and the lute sported a pair of tiny hinges and a latch.
Inside of that lute awaited the death of Osohe and the end of a prosperous era.
In the night, the intruder lifted the latch and slipped the contents of the mock instrument into the bed of Osohe's ruler. In the morning, the King was dead and the minstrel was gone. What happened to that man is largely unknown, though it it believed that he fathered a line of great theives that lives even today.
The death of the King was a mystery. The castle lamented his death with a fervor never before seen in Osohe. Word spread, and the country fell into mourning. The commerce, art, and culture that had once thrived ground to a sudden hault.
But Death did not. Over the next few weeks, other individuals in the castle died. Their deaths were painful yet swift. Those residents who had not yet succumbed fled for their lives, taking their families with them.
Within just a few weeks, Osohe was barren. Everyone had either fled or died.
Finally finding peace after weeks of having been nearly crushed by shoes, sleeping bodies, and scooting chairs, the tiny venomous snake that the minstrel-assassin had smuggled into the castle squirmed its way into a dark, damp crevase that led it down, down, down into the warm, wet dungeon that it would call home for centuries to come.
