CrimsonKing

"I am the king of destruction."

The King of Obsidians had been overthrown; his position usurped. The throne of Seloe, the crown he was destined to wear since birth, had been stolen from him. Perhaps.. He was too weak a king to wear it? What kind of worthy ruler gets overthrown?

Maybe he needed something more. More strength. More magic. Fleeing from the lands he once ruled, Crimson disguised himself as a commoner, careful to hide his many eyes, and set out on a journey to retake his crown. It was surprising how easily dragons passed him by - it took some getting used to.

He traveled for many moons, alone, and hungry, but determined. He practiced the magic his late father had taught him, twisted magic, trying to remember the spells and incantations whispered behind the back of his mother. He perfected the use of his claws and daggers, unassuming on the exterior but very, very capable of defending himself when threatened.

Just as his resolve was beginning to diminish, Crimson hit a lead. In a small, unassuming fishing village on the coast of a rather distant kingdom, a rumor was spreading: the Scepter of Sangria had been stolen. Robbers, bandits perhaps, had broken into the trophy hall that Crimson’s father had constructed before his passing, and raided it. They were in and out too quickly to be caught by the Guard, and left behind a single calling card: a charred white feather. The same kind of feather that had been left behind at the scene of Crimson’s father’s death.

“The phoenix is after me.” The king had said, walking with his young son toward the Hall of Glory.

Crimson, a naive prince, hadn’t paid much attention. He wished he had.

“They are after my blood.” King Jack explained, standing in front of the Scepter’s case. “To fill the goblet so that it may grant them knowledge.”

This piqued the young dragon's interest. “Knowledge? Why would anyone want knowledge?”

“Knowledge of the dark arts, my son. Forbidden knowledge of forbidden magic.”

If the Phoenix - an anarchist group out for royal blood, Crimson had later found out, had the Scepter of Sangria, that could only mean one thing. They were after him next.

Crimson made himself easy to find. He let an accent slip here, flashing an eye on his neck there. Before he knew it, there was a charred feather on the floor of his hotel room, and he was bound and gagged in an old dungeon.

It wasn’t long before the ceremony began - Crimson’s captors were eager to shed his blood. The goblet was brought forth, and as soon as Crimson caught sight of it, he let decades of rage boil over. He tore a scale from his flesh, breaking free from the simple ropes and chains that had hoped to hold him down, and spilled his blood into the stolen Scepter, close to overflowing. The change was instantaneous. The Phoenix was laid to waste under the rage of the forsaken king - he took to his new power like a fish to water. It fit like a glove

Next, Crimson was going to get his Kingdom back.

Sangria Harvest Goblet

Apparel

A goblet of grape vineyards to celebrate a bountiful harvest!

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