Marked Ones: Advent of the Demon Prince

Deep in a densely packed forest, several people stood together outside of a log cabin. Once upon a time, this area was nothing but a few small houses surrounding a communal fire. Now, there were dozens of buildings and many people to fill them. A village was forming.

Though there were new buildings, the original source of the village and the buildings within it were unchanged. No one dared to replace them or encroach upon the former hunting camp, treating it as a village center of sorts.

The cabins themselves at the center were far less fancy or cozy as the new ones, but the village leadership still took up residence inside these lesser buildings. It was their right as leadership.

Inside one of the smallest of the three cabins was a frighteningly beautiful woman. Though her very visage would make men and women swoon, none dared approach her. One word and she could make someone vanish as though they had never existed. Even their families would forget that their loved one went missing. Not due to the loss of memory, but out of fear of reprisal.

Verona Fangorath was an illegitimate daughter of a snake-kin beastman from the country of Raleron. He had sired her with a human prostitute in Lelvern almost three decades ago. She grew up on the streets of the trade city, barely scraping by until she managed to get herself a job at the Merchant's Guild as cleaning staff, then worked her way up to receptionist.

Roughly ten years ago, she worked her way into the position as the Head of Acquisitions of the Arcadios branch of the guild. Her name and fame as a cunning and ruthless negotiator became well known in mercantile circles among merchant families of both common and noble blood.

That was when her father finally decided to show himself and accept her into the family as a legitimate daughter so her success would boost the prestige of his family.

Insulted though she was, she was also a clever merchant and accepted his offer even if it was only to have an extra leg up in negotiation tactics.

This same woman would spend a few days out of every month in one of the more rundown cabins in the center of this unmarked and unnamed village. She did so happily.

"Mistress Verona, good day to you."

"Lady Fangorath, a pleasure as always."

"By the Fire, may we be cleansed."

"Long may the flames be fanned."

Everything from common greetings to phrases of their holy sect greeted her every day she spent in this village. She accepted these greetings warmly and happily spent time among her fellow adherents.

Currently she and the other followers of The Flame had begun to gather for the daily ritual of lighting the communal fire at the center of the original camp. Today's bonfire was spectacularly large and would be more beautiful than ever. She had obtained through her trade routes a strange metal powder that would change the color of the fire to a brilliant gold, representing the radiance of godhood.

She slowly stepped to the small stage they constructed for their sermons. Slowly, but surely more of the residents and devotees poured in from the surrounding buildings and trees. When a sizable enough crowd finally started to form, she began the sermon.

"Welcome brothers and sisters of The Flame." Verona began. Her voice was commanding and deep for a woman. Even if the crowd were not already invested, her presence and tone would have commanded their attention. "I am once again leading us in our glorious lighting of the holy pyre.

"Though in our daily lives we experience different things, travel in different circles. We come from all walks, from beggars to nobles, from warriors to scholars; The Flame that burns within us all is but a piece of the One True Fire.

"One day The Flame shall consume all, and through its consumption we will all return to its warm embrace. Though the world is not ready for the truth, it is our duty to burn it into them. It is our duty to fan the flames of destruction. It is our duty to spread the truth to those who are unaware of the bliss we offer.

"May The Flame burn brightly in our souls and in our hearts." Verona slammed her left fist into her sternum before splaying her fingers outward, simulating the flame burning in the core of their being.

Everyone in the crowd imitated her actions simultaneously. Then a man passed her a flaming torch which Verona took and threw onto the pyre. The dried leaves and twigs at the heart of the construct lit first and began to rapidly grow into a roaring flame; the peak of which reached a dozen feet into the air.

Once the fire started to burn in earnest, she pulled a leather pouch out of her pocket and cast it into the heart of the fire. Slowly, the flames changed from the normal reds and oranges to a brilliant gold. This elicited a series of sighs and cries of devotion from the crowd as they witnessed the beauty before them.

"Golden flames represent the divinity of our god. By the righteous fire we will burn." Verona whispered to herself while shedding a tear.

Each of the devotees present then gathered and took turns sacrificing things into the fire. Some sacrificed food, some money, and others mementos of their lives and memories. Verona had long since burned her painful memories away in the pyre.

As one of the oldest devotees, she learned the truth of The Flames over eleven years ago. Which was just before she worked her way to the top. Verona gave everything to the fires of their god and in return she was granted what she needed to succeed. In a single year she worked her way from a receptionist to the Head of Acquisitions for the country.

Verona Fangorath became the youngest person in the position in the history of the guild and has the most amount of success. She no longer relies on the wisdom of The Flames to make her decisions within the guild, but she did use the guild to siphon off resources to feed to the cult.

Once things died down a little, she smiled as her direct subordinates took over managing the rest of the ceremony. Verona bowed and left her station to begin her meeting.