Before the kingdom had an established monarchy, the five eldest settlers ruled as an oligarchy. The founders governed these days with a firm hand, with magnanimity and justice ensuring a productive peace for the region's inhabitants. The small city flourished; rewards were given in exact proportion to hard work and innovation, and the evolving economy attracted newcomers from distant lands. The elders were contented with the seeds that they let grow.

However, some seeds bear poisonous fruit, and a facade virtue can mask horrendous depravity.

As merchants and crafters continued to earn their livings, a plain-faced traveler who'd heard of the city's success plotted in the shadows. Waiting. Listening. Watching. Through great effort, the traveler worked his way into the private service of the aging council of elders.

Days bled into months, months leaked into years, and the traveler gained the implicit trust of the entire council, becoming an adviser with vast knowledge of the city's inner workings. The now adviser's confidence in the elders' wisdom waxed full.

One dark evening, the council led him into the city's cathedral.

To his surprise, a hidden area under the altar led to twisting series of small tunnels, terminating in a cylindrical, dimly lit expanse painstakingly carved out of the hard rock. Adorning themselves in robes, the elders took their places on five points around the perimeter of the chamber. In deep, inhuman tones, the elders began chanting in unison. Though their guttural sounds bore no resemblance to any language, the adviser understood that they were filled with malice.

The intensity of the chanting increased, sounds danced around the room and the torches burst into a horrifying shade of crimson. At once, the chanting stopped, and a loathsome, hissing voice echoed clearly through the walls:

"I am waiting."

The most prominent elder opened his cloak, revealing an entranced young man held with an inescapable grasp. Without speaking, the elder procured a knife and three gold coins. In a series swift motions, the young man's throat was cut, and the knife was plunged into each of his hands. As the red liquid quietly flowed out of the victim's fresh wounds, the elder inserted one gold piece into each bit of torn flesh. The remaining elders ignominiously dragged their sacrifice into the center of the room.

At once, the hideous voice returned. "Your sacrifice is... acceptable. Your city will prosper."

In the days following, life continued as it had, with none of the elders mentioning the ritual. Horrified by what he had witnessed, the adviser resolved to terminate the blood-stained oath by any means. It would be easy.

One by one the council members succumbed to an unknown ailment. Slowly their fingers and toes lost sensation, then their arms and legs. They took solace in the fact that their trusted adviser cared so greatly for their well-being; dressing them, bathing them, even preparing their meals. The terror that they felt when he dragged their limp bodies into the cathedral and under the altar was indescribable.

Each elder was laid on a point around the room. Their frightened eyes followed their adviser as he walked to the center of the chamber and began to chant. A voice echoed from the shadows.

"The five are present, but they did not summon me. Do you wish to covenant with the darkness, foreigner?"

Expressionless, the adviser responded. "You will revoke the oath kept by the five, and grant me the divine right to rule this land as a sovereign."

Sinister laughter filled the chamber. "Very well. Begin."

Without hesitation, the adviser brandished a knife, maintaining unwavering eye contact with each of the elders as he ripped and slashed them into unrecognizable pieces.

And so it was that the city became a kingdom, the king's rule being the result of an evil irony. Some claim that the chamber still exists, though none know how to find it.