*Year four hundred and five of the imperial lunar calendar, side branch of the Primal Expanse.*

It was another cold day in Schlechitz, autumn was close to slipping fully into winter. Already one could see snow in the eerie peak's beyond the woodlands'. Today would have been just another day for squire Thomas, but it was not. On any other day he practiced with the sword, studied, travelled or served his master, sir Hewitt. His master, sir Hewitt, was a knight renting his service to the city lord.

So his usual day to day routine, would entail severe amount's of training and even more studying, not including time his master required him for errands. Today however, was different. In his thirty-two year of living, Thomas had seen his fair share of executions. Both at home here in Schlechitz, abroad in neighbor cities and the like. They always drew crowds of various sizes, depending on the crime committed, but today was something else entirely.

Today the crowd was massive, far beyond measure. If Thomas had to make a rough guess, he would say there were at least four times Schlechitz native population. Every street, every square, rooftop and balcony was filled to the brim. The feeling was the same one got when one looked at dead fish in a barrel. Too crowded.

What also made today so special compared to an ordinary execution, was the mood of the crowd. It was somber, not spiteful nor hateful. They were all quiet, and barely a whisper could be heard. At the same time, the tension was close to solidifying. Especially around the execution stand. The poor sods standing guard there looked like they might keel over with the pressure. They were barely fifty armed men or so. In front of them stood a crowd that had to number countless thousands.

"Sigh... What a mess this is... Why on earth would the emperor order the death of an old beggar living in the streets? All he does is give advice to folks who need him..." Thomas sighed to himself. This whole ordeal was completely without sense. Though Thomas had never met the beggar, he had heard many tales of him over the years. Prophecy and the like. He didn't believe much in it himself.

"You were too young back then lad, the prophet is real enough, so is his skill. What you don't know however, is that he is mad. Truly mad, and you also do not know the price those who ask him must pay in return." A voice came from behind Thomas. It was a familiar voice indeed, his father.

Looking down from his perch atop a rather large stack crates, Thomas found himself looking into the stern and grave face of his father. His hair was starting to turn from gray to white now, his thick beard still carrying a streak of black in it. Yes, the former sergeant Renford still carried himself well, even if he had developed a rather impressive bulk over the years.

"Father, I never expected you to come here, you and mother never really come back to this place after you retired. How's mother?" Smiled Thomas. The smile was a genuine one, he really liked talking with his father. He had taught him much over the years, and their relationship was rather close compared to what other sons had with their fathers.

"I left your brother Jack in charge, it's about time he takes over the farm anyway. With you soon swearing your life long oath as a knight, I have to at least make sure someone can look after your mother when we grow older. Your other brothers and sisters says hello as well, shame you weren't there for the harvest this year. You missed a grand feast." His father smiled back up at him, with a slight humorous face to him now.

Then his face went stern again, his gaze turning towards the execution stand. A rather serious expression on his face. "No... You are right, I don't like coming back here anymore. But I had to go this time. The man who is about to die this day, will go down in history, and unlike what the young prince believes, his effect on the empire will not go away overnight... Rather, his death will make him a martyr. Like a throwing oil onto a burning candle, it will explode into something with the might to overthrow kingdoms..."

Thomas nearly jumped on his seat, quite startled by what his father said. "The imperial prince? I thought this order came directly from the emperor himself? And how will this one man dying turn everything upside down? What makes him so damn special anyway?" Thomas grunted.

"The emperor?" Sneered Renford, spitting at the ground. "You think that old idiot controls the empire anymore? He might not be dead, but it sure isn't him ruling anymore. He was a fool, sure, but he never ruled with a policy like this. The Emperor was experienced, he knew how to treat commoners..." Renford sighed, and continued. "He also knew what happens when you kill someone the people listen to... No, this is that foolish prince's doing... Him and his damn new cabinet of ministers. You should know all of this already son, but you read history books, never seeing the change that is happening right in front of you."

Thomas was quiet, thinking about what his father had just said, before asking again. "I can understand that, but why will the death of one old rambling man on the street effect the entire empire? What is it he stands for? Is he against nobility? Does he champion the cause of the poor? I don't see what there is about this man that could cause such a stir?" He asked exasperated.

His father looked up at him sharply, and for the first time since he was a child, Thomas could detect a sliver of anger in his fathers eyes. A very dangerous anger at that, but it swiftly vanished, and his father looked back towards the execution podium, a tired look to him.

"You would not understand Thomas... It has nothing to do with any of that at all. It is all about his prophecy... and the bargain... That's why we are all here. You probably heard some rumors, but those are understatements. The truth about the man who is about to die here, is that he is a real prophet. But there is another side to it, one that only those who have met him knows..."

Thomas watched his father carefully as he said this. There was something in the way he said it, like he did not really want to be here at all, but had no choice in the matter. In the way his father stood, Thomas saw fear. Like a man afraid to face a difficult task that he has no say in choosing. He started to get worried now, and had wanted to ask more questions, but just then, a great hush rose through the crowd.

A great procession of armed men tried to make way through the crowds, among them Thomas noted, were several knights. Sir Hewitt with them. The crowds did not resist them, but there just were too many of them. The progress the procession made was slowed to a crawl, but eventually they made it through.

As they finally made it to the podium, the knights joined ranks with the ordinary soldiers, seemingly giving them a boost in confidence. Meanwhile, the ones escorted by the knights, made their way up onto the execution platform. There they sat down on a row of chairs to the side. Thomas could make out who most of them were.

From the left to right, sat; The lord of the city, Lord Craster. Next to him sat his eldest son and heir, the young Lord Galian. Then there was the local magistrate, Gandil Crest. After him was the bailiff, who most people thought of as the lords best hound. He was in quiet conversation with a man Thomas had never seen before. He did not look like anyone Thomas had seen in his lifetime, he was draped in a black robe with golden seams, and wore a feathered cap that looked quite stupid. To top it off, he had a very impressive mustache that looked like it took more grooming than a horse. He somewhat resembled a rooster trying to be a peacock.

They all sat in quiet conversation, looking quite content, all except for the last person, the high priest of the entire district, holy bishop Genicus. The bishop, which looked rather grim faced. The only ones he conferred with were the red-robed priests standing behind him. All in all, Thomas thought they made an impressive color pallet.

Eventually everyone quieted down again, even the fine gathering atop the podium. They were all waiting for the prophet himself to make his entrance, and nobody was disappointed. It had only been about ten minutes of waiting, when he arrived.

Thomas couldn't make him out at first, but then the crowd somehow parted like an ocean before a rock. He couldn't fathom how it happened, but there was suddenly an abundantly spacious alley in the middle of the crowd. There were no guards, nobody making the way, there were not even a guard in sight. Only a young looking man in travel worn red robes stood there.

One might wonder about how people knew it was him, he didn't even have an escort of guards, but nobody doubted who he was. Thomas was no exception, one look was all it took for Thomas to be captivated by him. His face looked ordinary enough, a bit thin and pale perhaps, but his eyes were nothing like that of the poor begging wretch he'd expected. Those were two torches, slightly yellow tinged like that of a sick person, but contained within, was a piercing gaze as penetrating as Thomas had ever seen. He found himself drawn into them even at this distance. It was as if the crowd was a ship in an ocean, and those eyes were two maelstroms threatening to sink them all to the bottom of the sea.

The prophet looked around him, and wherever his gaze fell, people stepped back, not daring to face his gaze. Eventually he turned towards the execution platform, and a sickening smile stretched across his face. He began humming an odd tune, as he made his way forward. Grinning at everyone he came across. It was as if he was a plague, that nobody wanted to touch or even get close to. Even when he stood before the platform a short while later, not one of the guards made any moves to halt his progress, they all stood widely aside for him to pass.

Thomas noticed that he had been holding his breath the entire time, from the moment the man sat his foot in the street. He drew a sharp gasping breath, trying to calm down. Eventually he managed to get hold of himself enough to look down at his father, what he saw there shocked him. His father, a man who had handled his fair share of monsters in the wild, and killers in the city, was shaking like a leaf clinging tightly to its branch in autumn. His face was all but drained of blood, and his eyes, showed a level of fear that Thomas did not think possible in a man like his father.

He turned back to the platform, where the man known as the prophet now stood. The man did not look at all uncomfortable with what was about to happen, in fact, he looked like he was enjoying himself. He stood for a while, facing the crowd, watching them. Then he turned towards the noble gathering, fixing them with his piercing gaze. Not even one among them had the guts to face him for long. It was as if he was the master of the place, not them. Before this man, they were like children caught doing something naughty.

Finally. The man looked towards a guard standing on the platform for a long while, until the guard started shivering all over. His spear rattling like a straw of grass in a windy field. The guard then ran down from the platform and a moment later, came back with a chair, which he placed behind the prophet. He then bowed stiffly, and scurried back to his place. Normally, such behavior would have been reprimanded or even laughed at, after all, the man was a criminal. Now though, nobody was laughing. Nobody thought it inappropriate at all. The city's lord might have twitched slightly, but that was all the reaction he gave.

At last, the man known as the prophet, sat down on his chair. Leaning back, he closed his eyes with a content smile on his face. Everyone began to breathe again, as if they had all been holding their breath the entire time. People were still quiet, only whispering, but now the man with the fancy robes and mustache, stood up.

He did not look quite as puffed up as he had been a few moments ago. Still, the man had a slightly sour expression on his face. Like he had tried to eat a ripe apple, only to find the taste bitter. In fact, it was as if he had just realized that the man they were about to execute was no ordinary beggar after all. That sending him there was no vacation after all.

At first, he hesitated, but eventually, steeled himself and walked next to the prophet, looking down at him. Then he began speaking. "I am an envoy sent by his reverent majesty Emperor Douja Dawn the second, ruler of the seven provinces and nine regions of Dawn. I am here in Everlasting, in Schlechitz, today to oversee the execution of the traitor known as the Mad Prophet. You have conspired against his majesty the emperor, spreading false rumors and twisting the minds of his majesty's subjects' in four provinces alone. You have therefore been charged with high treason, and will be executed as such. It is on the orders of his majesty that I do this, and I do so in his name. How do you plead?"

The envoy looked slightly out of breath after his tirade, but still managed to look the part of an envoy. The prophet himself though, didn't even look at him. He only sat back, eyes closed, smiling all the while.

"Did you not hear me? I asked you, how do you plead!?" The envoy, now red faced, nearly shouted at the seated man.

This time it had an effect, the prophet's eyes opened and his piercing gaze bore down on the envoy like a tidal wave. The effect was immediate, the poor envoy staggered back, recoiling as if struck. His face now pale as sheet, unlike his tomato red complexion earlier.

"Tell me envoy of the Emperor... What is causing you such haste? Are you afraid of me?" The prophet's voice rang out across the square.

Thomas shrank in on himself when he heard that voice, such a terrible voice could not come from a human. Like rusty nails scraping against stone. He managed a quick look at his father, who was now holding his hands over his ears, tears streaming down his face. His fear now turned into panic. Thomas suddenly had the notion that this was not the first time his father met the prophet...

Everyone in the crowd, noble, knight, common guard or even peasant, recoiled from the terrible voice. The envoy however, had an even worse reaction. He actually fell flat on his ass, and scrambled back. All professional pride and facade forgotten. That same look of terror that Thomas's father had shown earlier, was now on the face of the envoy. All the others on the platform had similar reactions, except the bishop and his priests. Their mouths were agape as they looked at the prophet, their eyes filled with something other than fear. What that was, nobody could really tell.

"I have no wish to extend this moment before my death for too long. You have summoned me, and here I am. Before I die, I wish to speak to those who are here now... You all know why you are here. I called you here, there are those here among you who does not know me, and have no history with me. You will not need to do anything, but the rest of you.... You must honor the promise that was made, the bargain that was struck." The prophet turned towards the crowd now, his gaze burning with a mad blaze.

"Blood begets blood, and now it is time for the harvest. You all know what to do, and what happens if you do not do as you were told. Even if most of you do what you do out of fear, I know some of you have other thoughts. You shall act upon them, you know what I want, in return, I shall be what you want me to be... That is all. Let us get this over with... Executioner step forward." With that speech, the prophet stood up from his chair and walked towards the execution block.

Nobody said a word. The envoy on the ground, still did not dare move. The nobles did not move. Neither did the priests, neither did the bishop who had a lost look on his face. Deep in thought, as if he had a tough choice to make. Meanwhile, the crowd beneath the podium looked uneasy, the same look someone accused have after being sentenced to prison.

The prophet then kneeled down before the headman's block, waiting, an expectant smile on his face. That smile gradually turned to one of impatience, then exasperation as time went by. As it turned out, the executioner had run away. The prophet looked around at the people on the podium, nobody meeting his eyes. With a final grunt of dissatisfaction, he pointed his finger at the bishop.

"You, bishop, you shall do the deed. Get a sword, and cut my head off. Don't worry, nobody shall harm you, and no curse will haunt you for it. In fact, it is a great deed you are about to begin. You shall have your reward in the future, mark my words. Well, get up man!" The impatient prophet barked.

The bishop looked thunderstruck, and quite reluctant as he got up. Which shocked many. A bishop executing people? Nobody could think of anything like this happening in the long history of the empire. Probably it would never happen again either.

Slowly, the bishop walked next to the prophet. He looked quite frightened, but also somewhat calm, as if he had accepted his fate. Nobody tried to stop him either, as he picked up the long sword beside the block. He looked down at it for a long while, then back at the waiting prophet, who by now, had placed his head down at the block. A satisfied smirk on his face.

Everything seemed to come to a halt, as the bishop raised the sword above his head. Even the world seemed to freeze for a moment. Then the bishop swung his sword downwards in an arc. The swoosh of the blade meeting air, was changed to the sickening crunch of metal meeting bone, and flesh. It was again followed by the metallic smell of blood. Everyone seemed to let their breath go again. The mad prophet was dead, leaving behind a stunned crowd, and a bloodied bishop.

The bishop looked down at the sword for a moment, then nodded to the priests waiting by the chairs. They all came forward, one picking up the head of the prophet, placing it in a box. The others wrapping the prophets body in a cloth of linen, before carrying him away. Leaving only the bloodied bishop behind.

The bishop faced the crowds."This criminals body shall be handled by the church. His remains buried in a hidden place, where nobody has knowledge off, deep beneath the earth." He then turned towards the others at the podium. "Gentlemen, I wish you a good day, may the light of the Emperor shine upon you." Then he just walked away after the procession of priests, bloodied and with the still dripping sword gripped in one hand.

After this, nobody spoke a word or even moved for a long while. Finally, the dumbstruck high gentlemen of the podium began their march away with their guards. Leaving behind a silent crowd. It wasn't until they too finally left, that people slowly began to move away from the square.

Thomas saw his father leaving, a heavy expression on his face, and made to follow, but was halted. His father had turned back towards him now, his expression grim. Eyes full of determination.

"Boy, this is where we part. Where I go now, and what I am about to do, you can have no part in. I want you to go back home and take care of your mother and your siblings. Can you do that for me?" Asked his father.

"I will, but what is it you must do father? And why can't you tell me?!" Replied Thomas.

His father looked back at him for a long while. Then he spoke, while turning away. "I made a bargain I did not know about, years ago, long before you were born. What I must do, you cannot know. All I can say is that the chances of me coming back are slim at best. Regardless, the chances of me coming back are better than the chances we will all have if I refuse to honor the bargain. Go now. I love you son." Then he stalked away, vanishing in the crowds.

That was the last Thomas ever saw of his father. Later, he often wondered if his father had taken part in the events that came to pass. The first bloody slaughter of the red moon, where thousands upon thousands died in a horrifying slaughter without any resemblance to war. It was this slaughter, where blood flowed more often than water in the streets, which lead to the first rebellion where the entire Imperial lineage of Dawn was slaughtered and replaced.

An event that would later be known to historians as the First Purge of Dawn....