SOROR LUDOS — The Game of Brotherhood
Chapter I: The Children of Meril
The year was 545, and dark clouds gathered over the Kingdom of Vamelot. From distant lands came whispers of invasion, of threats swelling at the borders. Upon his throne, King Harry brooded. How was he to preserve his realm against the storm that drew ever nearer?
The answer came in the form of a woman wrapped in shadow and mystery: the sorceress Meril. Some claimed she carried knowledge from beyond the reach of time itself. Others swore she could speak to the very shades of the dead. Whatever the truth, she was a woman of unfathomable wisdom and power.
The King gave her a command.
"Forge for me not soldiers, but weapons—creatures who will guard the generations to come."
Meril bowed her head and accepted, though unease stirred within her breast.
"To twist the soul of man with power… that is a perilous game," she murmured.
For months she prepared, until at last eighteen children were gathered from across the kingdom. They were the forgotten: orphans, the abandoned, the lost. Belonging to no one, they now belonged to the crown.
Some were silent, others consumed by rage. A few still clung to childhood, dreaming only of play. Upon each of them Meril laid her spells—probing their minds, testing their spirits, reshaping their bodies with enchantments born of shadow and fire.
But every spell carries its price.
Eight of the children withered beneath the weight. Their bodies failed, their spirits shattered, and one by one they slipped into silence, lost to the dark.
Ten endured. Ten survived. Ten "successes."
Meril hid them away within an orphanage, disguised as ordinary children among their kind. Yet ordinary they were not.
Unaware of their hidden gifts, they grew up side by side. They shared meals, whispered secrets beneath the blankets, dried one another's tears. They called each other brother and sister—and truly, they became a family.
Until the day everything changed.
The year was 561.
On a bitter morning, the orphanage echoed with screams.
Thirteen children lay slaughtered, their blood staining the cold stone floors.
The only survivors were ten. Meril's ten.
When word reached the palace, King Harry's fury blazed.
"I thought they would protect us. Instead, they bring calamity. Let them be executed!"
Meril held her tongue. The command was final. Yet her choice was her own.
By night she spirited the children away, hiding them in a village woven of spells, a place that existed on no map. To the King she spoke a lie:
"They are dead, Your Majesty."
In that secret haven, she offered the children a gift—or perhaps a curse.
"Choose the house you wish to call your own," she said.
When each had chosen, she wove upon them a spell unlike any other. At once they felt it stir within them—the echo of their souls, the very essence of their minds, awakening.
But her gift carried a voice, etched deep into their thoughts. Cold, clear, inexorable, it whispered:
"Each of you bears a power born of your soul.
But speak of it to no one.
For among you walks the cursed—perhaps more than one.
Find them before they find you.
If you fail, you will all perish."
The children recoiled. Could such words be true? They were siblings. They had grown together, laughed and wept together. Were they truly to turn against one another?
Meril lifted her gaze to the sky and gave her final decree.
"And every night… you shall cast your votes.
The one who bears the greatest number… shall die."
Thus began the Soror Ludos.