The young man woke with a startle sweating cold and shivering. 2 years, 2 years had passed since his mom's suicide where he had found her in the morning hanging from a noose in his own closet. Why she had chosen just his closet he had not understood until just a few months ago, when he realised how horrid his own father had treated her. His father, Rushark Narsug, king of the Rekutins and ruler of the lands of the swamps.
His ancestors had turned this lush land into a swamp filled with poison and bogs to stave off potential intruders and the only habitable lands there was was filled with small huts that made it look like there was only living a handful of people in each town, however, that couldn’t be further from the truth.
The towns stretched for miles and miles in underground tunnels far underneath the bogs and murky poison filled waters above, giant cities connected through countless of paths and the biggest city lying in the middle of the huge land, reaching up to 2km in the air with giant pillars, houses and staircases where the richest lived on the bottom floor and the poorest at the top.
The multiple factions of the hierarchy was split up into 5 different sections, each one requiring a Rekutin to own a certain amount of coin, goods, land or slaves. The richest of the rich lived their entire lives without ever going up to the surface at times, living solely on the money and wealth their family had gathered through generations.
The young prince got out of his bed looking over to the closet where his mother had died, a closet he never had opened or used since. He gave a soft sigh as he ventured into the bathroom and looked himself in the mirror. His face had the same looks like his mother save for some Rekutin heritage, soft skin with blue eyes and red lips as well as green eyebrows and unkempt green hair.
Rekutins had since millenias been mixing their blood with other races, more often than not throu unwilling processes, to create the perfect being. Rushark had thought that his two sons would been the pinnacle of success albeit he had not imagined his plans to be so wrong. Wacky was in his father's eyes as big of a failure as his brother was, seeing how he had no physical strength and his skin made him more prone to damage than hard scales. Surely wacky had scales too, however that was just on his torso and his feet as well as he wore a long, mobile tail reaching almost his whole body in length.
He did however have an advantage few Rekutins were born with and even fewer mages was born as, he was a rune mage. A rune mage, a certain special spellcaster able to utilize any and all magics there ever was, is and will be, by simply using runes to summon the power of the magic. He however lacked the training as he got reminded day by day by his trainers that “rune mages are a myth and nothing more” as they believed he had been reading too many books again. In their minds, he assumed, they thought he was a weak fire mage and couldn't believe their grand leader, the pinnacle of millenias of selective breeding, could produce such failures of sons even though he had even imbued the two sons when they were in the mother's womb to make sure they grew strong, skilled and, in their mind, most importantly that they were full blood Rekutins.
His mind was true in that fact, his trainers did think very poorly on him and usually more often than not, he was used as a punching bag by his brother in training, much to both brothers dismay and dislike. He sigh, spotting a few blue marks on his arms and face before he washed his face off, this being the norm for him for the last year, training in order to become stronger was all their father wanted. Wacky however did not want that.
He wanted to be a fair ruler, a ruler of diplomacy, a ruler to be looked upon for his greatness in leading his kin to a new era of prosperity by peace. His father however already had his own plans in mind, preparing multiple wars and tactics against other races. These however could not be launched. Not until he knew his heirs was strong enough to last, strong enough to fight.
Wacky sighed yet again as he grabbed a wound cream and slowly applied it on the bruises and marks. Even if they were brothers, even if they did not want to fight, were they caught holding back they were forced to fight even stronger enemies and more often than not it would be against the general of war, Worax, who led the Rekutin armies under Rushark. A stronger, but dumber, brute would be hard to find.
However if it was not worax they would fight it usually ended up being one of the other generals. lisho, the general of magic, was not usually one a Rekutin would like to fight in any circumstances. His magic was water and ice and thus could easily render any weapon or enemy stuck within seconds, with exception of a few stronger people.
Then there was wrax, the middle of the 3 generals. He was was the tactician of the army generals. Fighting and training against him was near to impossible in its own right as well, where one could easily fight and repel hundreds if not thousands of Rekutins, wrax was another story altogether. By using his intellectual power, he was able to not only avoid but also see weaknesses in his opponents attacks and defences. Fighting against him required a smarter intellect and a keener eye.
Wacky sighed as he finished up washing “... Another day with the idiots.” He said out loudly as he began drying himself off.
