First Vengeance and the First Law
Before the Compact, when Maal Firstborn’s kingdom was new, before the Three Sisters emerged and Naryne became Queen of Souls, Maal decreed vengeance to be the first great crime.
Steely Eyed Maal sat then in judgment upon his great throne, as he does now. His grey court was particularly bustling one day long ago, and his servants had difficulty holding back the throng. Eventually, a man in blue and white came to stand before the Judge of Souls.
“Speak your name and tell of your life,” Maal’s Voice demanded. “I am Ceruill,” the man replied, “a simple bard who was in love.” Ceruill told Maal’s court of his life, often relying on song or poetry to capture important moments. He had been the minstrel in the palace of a great and powerful king, wherein he had fallen in love with the king’s daughter, Ophiel. Unfortunately for him, a neighboring prince named Faristel had also fallen in love with the princess and had petitioned her father for her hand in marriage. But the princess did not love Faristel. Ceruill’s songs and poems had won her heart long before, and when her father told her of Faristel’s proposal, she told her father of her abiding love for the court minstrel. The king had always loved Ceruill dearly, and decided he would allow his daughter to marry for love rather than riches and politics.
It was arranged, and Ceruill and Ophiel had the most magnificent marriage the kingdom had ever seen. But Faristel was consumed with jealous rage. How could this dotard of a king choose a lowborn minstrel for his daughter’s hand over a prince? He became increasingly convinced the entire affair was a wicked scheme, that Ceruill had cast the court under some sort of dire enchantment—an enchantment that would only be broken upon Ceruill’s death.
The night after the wedding, Faristel and five of his men-at-arms broke into the chambers of Ceruill and Ophiel as they slept in each other’s arms. Faristel bent down and woke Ceruill, whispering in his ear that he would save Ophiel and her father from the minstrel’s foul magic. And with that, he plunged a blade into the bard’s heart.
Ceruill’s tale told, Maal’s Voice bade him kneel for judgment. Maal the Judge pondered the story for some time and at last ordained, “Your heart has been rich with love, and you have brought beauty into this world. You shall abide in the fourth hall and be blessed.” Ceruill was led away to the fourth hall to live out eternity in joy, rather than be reborn. Of the next eight men to come before Steely Eyed Maal, four were guards from outside Ophiel’s chamber, and four were Faristel’s men-at arms. It became clear that moments after Ceruill died, Ophiel’s screams summoned the guards, resulting in a terrible, bloody battle.
Finally, Faristel came before Maal, his heart having been pierced by an arrow as he tried to escape. For his crimes, Maal sentenced Faristel to suffer for eternity in the third pit. And once this was done, Maal thought the tale done with.
For weeks after, more and more men came before Maal from Ophiel’s kingdom, and Faristel’s realm. When he discovered his son was dead, Faristel’s father declared war on Ophiel’s nation. More and more souls came before Maal, of those slain because Faristel had killed Ceruill. Eventually, Ophiel and her father both stood before the Judge of Souls. In her grief over Ceruill’s murder, Ophiel had hurled herself into a river. Upon learning of his daughter’s death, the king took his own life, out of misery. More of the king’s subjects came before Maal then, for without a ruler, the nation was soon torn to pieces by its neighbors, leaving blood and fire in their wake.
When all was done, some fifty thousand souls had stood before Maal, all killed in a chain of events that began with one murder. It became clear to the King of Souls that some sort of order must be brought to the mortal world to prevent this sort of catastrophe in the future, so he summoned before him the representatives of twelve great rulers. These wise men and women journeyed to the lands of the dead to stand before the throne of Judgment, whereupon Maal decreed: "Blood
“Blood for blood shall not be law, but lawlessness. Say to your people, ‘If you should kill my brother, then I will call upon my lord’s law for justice and shall not seek to avenge my brother’s death with my own hand.’ I declare this day that none shall have a right to vengeance, but all shall have a right to justice.”
The wise men and women bowed their heads, ready to take this decree to their lords, when Issama, the chamberlain of a great and powerful queen of the East, stepped forward. “Grave Lord Maal,” she cried out, “What if my lord is a tyrant and shall not give me justice? Am I to allow the foul murder of my brother to go unavenged?”
The other eleven cringed, ready for Maal to lash out in fury. Instead, he was silent for a great while. At last he spoke: “You are wise, Issama, and you shall sit at my left hand when your time has come. Yes, you will allow this foul murder to go unavenged, because on this day I, Lord Maal, judge and king of your mortal souls, swear this oath to my short-lived cousins: There will always be justice. Though you may not see it in your time, though you may not understand its workings, you must trust in me. There will always be justice, and no crime shall go unpunished. I will take a dark view of anyone who should doubt me, and who lets his sword drip with the blood of vengeance.”
With that, Maal was silent, and the mortal races knew his great law: A terrible and ancient doom lies upon any who avenges a crime done against him. All must trust in the law and know that justice will prevail. Over the years following this first edict, Maal summoned the servants of the twelve great rulers to give them laws several more times, in the end forming a great code from which the most perfect of mortal societies could blossom. But the rulers failed to live by the laws; they were eventually all destroyed by wars, and the laws of Maal were lost to antiquity. To this day, only the first law passed from Maal’s lips to mortal ears is remembered, and it is still powerfully difficult for mortal races to obey it.
“Speak your name and tell of your life,” Maal’s Voice demanded. “I am Ceruill,” the man replied, “a simple bard who was in love.” Ceruill told Maal’s court of his life, often relying on song or poetry to capture important moments. He had been the minstrel in the palace of a great and powerful king, wherein he had fallen in love with the king’s daughter, Ophiel. Unfortunately for him, a neighboring prince named Faristel had also fallen in love with the princess and had petitioned her father for her hand in marriage. But the princess did not love Faristel. Ceruill’s songs and poems had won her heart long before, and when her father told her of Faristel’s proposal, she told her father of her abiding love for the court minstrel. The king had always loved Ceruill dearly, and decided he would allow his daughter to marry for love rather than riches and politics.
It was arranged, and Ceruill and Ophiel had the most magnificent marriage the kingdom had ever seen. But Faristel was consumed with jealous rage. How could this dotard of a king choose a lowborn minstrel for his daughter’s hand over a prince? He became increasingly convinced the entire affair was a wicked scheme, that Ceruill had cast the court under some sort of dire enchantment—an enchantment that would only be broken upon Ceruill’s death.
The night after the wedding, Faristel and five of his men-at-arms broke into the chambers of Ceruill and Ophiel as they slept in each other’s arms. Faristel bent down and woke Ceruill, whispering in his ear that he would save Ophiel and her father from the minstrel’s foul magic. And with that, he plunged a blade into the bard’s heart.
Ceruill’s tale told, Maal’s Voice bade him kneel for judgment. Maal the Judge pondered the story for some time and at last ordained, “Your heart has been rich with love, and you have brought beauty into this world. You shall abide in the fourth hall and be blessed.” Ceruill was led away to the fourth hall to live out eternity in joy, rather than be reborn. Of the next eight men to come before Steely Eyed Maal, four were guards from outside Ophiel’s chamber, and four were Faristel’s men-at arms. It became clear that moments after Ceruill died, Ophiel’s screams summoned the guards, resulting in a terrible, bloody battle.
Finally, Faristel came before Maal, his heart having been pierced by an arrow as he tried to escape. For his crimes, Maal sentenced Faristel to suffer for eternity in the third pit. And once this was done, Maal thought the tale done with.
For weeks after, more and more men came before Maal from Ophiel’s kingdom, and Faristel’s realm. When he discovered his son was dead, Faristel’s father declared war on Ophiel’s nation. More and more souls came before Maal, of those slain because Faristel had killed Ceruill. Eventually, Ophiel and her father both stood before the Judge of Souls. In her grief over Ceruill’s murder, Ophiel had hurled herself into a river. Upon learning of his daughter’s death, the king took his own life, out of misery. More of the king’s subjects came before Maal then, for without a ruler, the nation was soon torn to pieces by its neighbors, leaving blood and fire in their wake.
When all was done, some fifty thousand souls had stood before Maal, all killed in a chain of events that began with one murder. It became clear to the King of Souls that some sort of order must be brought to the mortal world to prevent this sort of catastrophe in the future, so he summoned before him the representatives of twelve great rulers. These wise men and women journeyed to the lands of the dead to stand before the throne of Judgment, whereupon Maal decreed: "Blood
“Blood for blood shall not be law, but lawlessness. Say to your people, ‘If you should kill my brother, then I will call upon my lord’s law for justice and shall not seek to avenge my brother’s death with my own hand.’ I declare this day that none shall have a right to vengeance, but all shall have a right to justice.”
The wise men and women bowed their heads, ready to take this decree to their lords, when Issama, the chamberlain of a great and powerful queen of the East, stepped forward. “Grave Lord Maal,” she cried out, “What if my lord is a tyrant and shall not give me justice? Am I to allow the foul murder of my brother to go unavenged?”
The other eleven cringed, ready for Maal to lash out in fury. Instead, he was silent for a great while. At last he spoke: “You are wise, Issama, and you shall sit at my left hand when your time has come. Yes, you will allow this foul murder to go unavenged, because on this day I, Lord Maal, judge and king of your mortal souls, swear this oath to my short-lived cousins: There will always be justice. Though you may not see it in your time, though you may not understand its workings, you must trust in me. There will always be justice, and no crime shall go unpunished. I will take a dark view of anyone who should doubt me, and who lets his sword drip with the blood of vengeance.”
With that, Maal was silent, and the mortal races knew his great law: A terrible and ancient doom lies upon any who avenges a crime done against him. All must trust in the law and know that justice will prevail. Over the years following this first edict, Maal summoned the servants of the twelve great rulers to give them laws several more times, in the end forming a great code from which the most perfect of mortal societies could blossom. But the rulers failed to live by the laws; they were eventually all destroyed by wars, and the laws of Maal were lost to antiquity. To this day, only the first law passed from Maal’s lips to mortal ears is remembered, and it is still powerfully difficult for mortal races to obey it.
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