Driven by envy and pride, Aemon will stop at nothing to take back what is rightfully his. First born of the twins, he should have received the title of King-designate, but in a twist of fate – his younger brother did.
Unable to reason logically, he decides to execute an nefarious plot to take over the Kingdom of Grandelione and gain his rightful place as heir to the throne. His moral judgement severed by the unjust deeds of his family spur him on, in a quest to spread malignant fear through the realm where crime and destruction follow.
Eliana shrank back as Aemon’s cruel, dark moody eyes scanned the room for her. The trace of a pink scar on his jagged jaw stood out like the peak of an impassable volcano. His thin lips were like a slash in the earth waiting to burn the unwary. He moved mechanically, but somehow his movement showed a burning intensity. THE HALFLING
Aemon held his glass of Balvenie scotch in the dim smokiness of the troll bar and surveyed the pitiful customers in the mirror, thankful that this troll toilet didn’t only serve watered down beer in dirty glasses. As he tossed back the glass and reached for the bottle, the tattooed barman had the audacity to put his hand in the way.
“Dat’s your fifth one pal. Mebbe you should slow down?”
Aemon grinned at the man. “Maybe you should forget I, and this bottle, even exist.”
“What da ‘ell you talkin’ about?”
Aemon snapped his fingers and the barman’s face went cow-stupid, and he walked off, leaving Aemon alone with his thoughts. The fire that slid down his throat to his belly reminded him of the hatred that burned within him.
“I AM FIRST-BORN! I am King by right and law. That ridiculous sham of a competition was concocted by our stupid father to steal what is rightfully mine. You were always the special one. The golden child. Well, brother, I have one thing to thank the old stick for. He did show me what you need to be a King. You have to fight for what you want. To take what you want. So I trained. In combat and in magic that would curl your toes.”
… Caelian walked through the debris of burnt tables and chairs, to stand square on to his brother. “Look at me, brother,” he pleaded. It was too late. In one fluid motion Aemon slipped off his chair and his long steely fingers wrapped around Caelian’s throat. THE HALFLING
Aemon’s affinity is fire.
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