The lonely man stood and watched with fear
As the flashbulb danced, as the flame came near
Leering in the cloud of which he foolishly made
A face of pure cruelty began to fade
With a grin so wide as to swallow the stars
The man did weep from the pain in his heart
The lights din left, a new weapon unfurls
“Now I am become death; the destroyer of worlds”
Chapter 1: Flashbulb
The sun bore down, heat pressing into my skin. Beads of sweat rolled off my brow, sinking into the grass. Overhead, a blue sky, scattered with clouds, stretched endlessly. A cool breeze swept past, stirring something deep inside me—peace. Real peace. The kind I hadn’t felt in years. For the first time in ages I felt at ease, without any concerns. Then, like a snapped thread, it was gone. A chill ran down my spine, my heart pounded.
“Where… am I?”
I pushed myself up, but my arm wobbled and collapsed beneath me, sending me back to the ground.
“Damn. What the hell is wrong with me?”
I tried getting up again, and that time managed to rise, though only to my knees.
“What the hell happened? W-where am I?”
I grew considerably stressed, nothing made sense. I tried rising to stand again, but it was useless. I was just too weak, so I sat back down instead.
“Looks like I'm not going anywhere right now. Might as well enjoy the weather, and gather my bearings.”
I sat there, soaking in the sunlight and the wind upon my face. My hair reflected the rays, it looked like the flashing of gold. My clothes had been dirtied. Covered with grass stains and the soil of the earth from laying down. My tan slacks, along with my sweater vest, were gifts from my mother back before my last tour in Brazil. She would probably have chewed me out for letting them get all stained like that. The dark brown holster on my side snugly fit my pistol, it had seen better days but could still do its job. I was relieved it was still there as I rubbed my fingers against its rough outer hide.
“Wherever this is, it’s beautiful.”
I stared at the sky, letting my thoughts drift with the clouds. Maybe it was heaven? No. What kind of fool god would let me through the gates?
I was like that for a long while, and without realizing it, began to drift into unconsciousness again. I felt the thud of my head on the ground, but did not react, I was too tired to do anything. The scent of the grass filled me with a feeling of comfort, the breeze was a slow and constant cooling like a fan blowing in a barracks.
It had been several hours, I assumed, when I finally woke up from that slumber. The sun-rays had been replaced with long shadows cast upon the nearby trees. An orange hue had painted over the once ocean blue sky, and the previously puffy white clouds were then a cotton candy pink. I needed to get up, but had noticed that my body was even weaker than before, and as I attempted to sit up, found myself unable to do so. So I Just laid there, watching the sky pass me by, and the beginning twinkle of the stars started to reveal themselves. A short time passed but soon I heard some rustling coming from somewhere nearby. I looked around, moving my head to the best of my ability, I thumbed the brass button of my holster, and my eyes finally focused on a small bush not too far from where I lay.
“Who’s there?”
I croaked, in a whispering voice, barely audible. My throat hurt, it was unusually dry, like I hadn't drank in days.
“I said who's there?!”
The pain shot through my throat like stabbing needles, I winced. My yell startled whatever was in the bush, the rustling stopped for a moment and some time passed. It felt like hours, but it was only a brief moment of silence. The rustling was replaced with twig snaps, and soon, something new came into my view.
She stepped into the clearing, bathed in the last golden light of the sun. A pine-green dress swayed around her knees, her chestnut hair curling in the breeze. Her lips—deep crimson—tilted into something unreadable. But her eyes... they were something else. Green, brilliant, shimmering like fireflies on water. Otherworldly. The head of flowing hair, coming down to her waist, was bouncy and finely cared for. But what caught my eye immediately was her ears. They were pointed and long, like an elf in some fairy tale. But she was very much real.
I was absolutely mesmerized by her beauty, and her standing there in the evening breeze showered by the last rays of the setting sun, made her look like a forest goddess.
“Are you alright?”
I snapped out of my fascination, and blinked a few times to make sure I was not hallucinating. I blankly stared up at her with a more conscious vision.
“W-what was that?” I asked.
“I asked if you were alright, you seem hurt”.
I looked down at my body, and tried to move my legs to sit up like earlier, and found no change in my condition.
“Something's wrong with my legs," I admitted. "I can’t move them. They feel... numb."
She walked over, and knelt down to examine my limbs. Her touch was gentle and warm, she pressed and prodded my legs, my arms and lastly my chest. Wasn't too thrilled with having a stranger poke me, but she wasn't armed from what I could see, so would have been a minimum threat had she been one.
"It looks like you've been poisoned—paralysis, most likely."
My eyes widened, “Am I going to die from this?”
The panic in my voice was evident, but I was trying to keep at least some control over my fear. She was not perturbed by my question in the slightest, she simply looked at me. She had a thoughtful smile and her eyes were soft but focused,
“No, you wont die from this, even if it was untreated.”
I let out a sigh of relief, only to then be torn from it with her next sentence,
“though after eighteen full hours you would be permanently paralyzed”.
I looked at her incredulously, hoping that what she had just said was imagined.
“So i’m going to be like this fore-”
She burst out laughing, but not in a mocking tone, it was gay and amused.
“No, no nothing like that, you still have plenty of time before that happens.”
She stood up and brushed herself off.
“I’m going to get my father and brother, they will help treat you.”
I locked eyes with her, and nodded.
“Thank you, um-” I paused, “What's your name?”
She smiled before turning to walk away, never answering my question. As she walked back into the forest, I laid there looking up at the sky again, the stars were more numerous now than before, and every shining light in that black void reminded me of those gorgeous green eyes which that woman had.
“Man, what a day” I muttered to myself.
It was a strange one—I woke up in a clearing, weak and disoriented, and met a beautiful woman who never even gave her name. I thought that maybe it really was some kind of heaven, but the thought of the paralysis poison made me second guess this in the next moment. If only I had some smokes on me, it would have been a nearly perfect day.
I passed out some time later, and woke back up in a bed. As I surveyed my surroundings, what I saw was a well kempt room. A bookcase on the opposite side of it, neatly ordered and with all of its many tomes straightened. Thick fur blankets covered me, trapping warmth against my aching body. My head sank into a feather-stuffed pillow—softer than anything I'd felt in a long while. There was a fireplace near the bookcase which was lit, and on the above mantle sat several picture frames, whos pictures within were too distant to see from where I was. And beside me, a bedside table, a chair, and an old man staring down at me.
This last sight caused me to jump back, and in my panic banged my head against the headboard. As I did so, The man became wide eyed, and put up his hands placatingly.
“Please, please” he began, “settle down, you're safe”.
I regained control over my fight or flight response, and complied for the moment. I took in the man’s appearance, he was elderly but had a youthful energy about him. His face bore relatively few wrinkles despite his age, and was brilliantly emotive. His eyes were a dim grass green not unlike those of the woman I had met before but not as radiant nor as soft. His were colder, but not in an unkind manner, more like that of a man whose struggles had left him somber over the course of his history. His dark brown tunic made him look like a monk as he sat there, it went all the way down to his ankles, and both the collar and cuffs were gilded in silver thread, and like the woman before, he also had pointed ears.
“You were brought here to be treated the other day, I would not be surprised if you remember nothing.” the old man placed his hands in his lap and continued speaking, “you have been resting for about half a week now.”
I nodded. It all made sense now. This had to be her father—his age, his presence, his quiet authority. Matched that of a parent not necessarily a doctor.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“My and my family's home,” he replied quite courteously.
“It’s very organized”
the old man laughed, “That would be my daughters doing. She hates clutter.”
I smiled, and then stopped. I realized that I had not introduced myself or thanked him and his family for helping me yet, normally I wouldn’t be so rude, but the suddenness of my recent situation had caused a lapse in judgment. manners were important, not just in politeness but also in good first appearance, and gaining trust.
“I need to apologize”, I burst out suddenly.
“For what?” the old man, startled by my tone, jumped back a little in his chair.
“I haven't even thanked you for saving me yet, and I'm just sitting here asking questions.”
The old man regained his composure, and smiled warmly.
“You must be awfully good natured if that was your response to such a small lapse in manners. I think you and I will get along. But for now,”
he stood up and walked over to the old fireplace, its flames burning low but still bore use.
“Let me make you and I something to drink.”
I laid there, slightly embarrassed by my outburst and even more so for my own rudeness. It occurred to me that I would have to introduce myself to him by name, but I knew nothing about the area, and what's worse I didn't even know if I was still in the Free Territories let alone the Americas. It would be a gamble to go around using my real name, I could be among friends or enemies, though I had no doubt in my mind that the old man was a good person at least. I decided to think of a pseudonym to use, my first thought was to just pick a random name, but realized quickly that it would be a lot harder to remember just some random first name. My second and eventually successful idea was to pick a historical name, one belonging to some relatively old public figure political or otherwise. I figured that if I picked one distant enough, it could pass, so I began quickly analyzing my own knowledge in a panic. Ayn? No. How about Murray? That would be too on the nose. After a few more tries I gave up for the time being, and looked over to the old man. He was placing a hand fashioned kettle on a spit over the fireplace, it was an oddly crude set-up but I figured that if it worked then who am I to judge. To his left was the bookcase, I eyed the books, trying to read the spines. I couldn't understand anything, they were in some other language, it resembled some bastardized variant of Cuneiform and Arabic, so I was completely at a loss. Just then, a glimmer caught my eye. I spied above the bookcase and saw that on top of the piece were several vials and jars filled with liquids. A blue one, another filled with a crimson red sludge, and lastly a bottle with some dark yellowish fluid. This last one looked like it was just yellow water with sparkles in it, this had been the one that caught my eye it seemed. That's when it hit me, my mind wandered back to pseudonyms and my brain put the bottle and names together almost on its own.
“Goldwater” I said aloud without realizing it, and the man turned back to me.
“What was that young man?”
I snapped back to the immediate present and turned to him, embarrassed slightly by my mumbling. But I decided to simply go with the name at that point, as I had nothing better.
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“My name is Goldwater, sorry for being rude and not saying my name earlier”.
The old man strolled back over and sat in his chair again, rubbing his left hand with his right, and smiling.
“Ah, well,” he began. “My name is Malkolm, glad introductions are finally in order.”
I smiled back, but then stopped as I happened to peer down at his hand, he had burned himself and either he or I hadn't even noticed. The skin of his hand was beet red and cracked, as I looked at the wound he noticed my gaze and tried to cover it up with his sleeve.
“It's nothing, just burned myself is all. You get clumsy at my age, so no need to be so worried, mister Goldwater.”
I tried getting out of bed, but as my feet hit the floor and I attempted to stand, my legs gave out. I hit the floor hard, my knees scraping the wood beneath me. Malkolm, startled by my suddenness, began to help me to my feet.
“Sorry for scaring you there Malkolm, but I can't just not help, you’re hurt.”
Malkolm and I looked at each other for a long while, the glint in his eyes was one of astonishment and sincerity. Clearly he had not thought I would offer help, rather be the one receiving it.
“Do you have any aloe vera, Malkolm?” His gaze turned to one of confusion,
“Aloe vera? Never heard of such a thing, I'm afraid. Is it a medicine of some kind?”
“Damn, Later I'll help you get some. It’s good for burns”.
After aiding me to my feet, Malkolm let me go so that I could find my own balance.
“There you go, steady now” he said.
The wooden floor felt smooth, polished on my soles, it had a texture less like regular wood and more as if it were some kind of tile or waxed linoleum.
“Thank you Malkolm, I think I got my balancing act under control. It's good to be back on my feet.”
“Glad to help”, he replied. “Now I think it would be best if you sat at the table in the other room while I prepare the coffee,”
I stood there, puzzled, as I didn't see any other room to go into.
“Malkolm,” I started, “what other room?”
He closed his eyes and chuckled softly,
“My fault,” he said, opening his eyes again, “I forgot you are new here, we have houses where the rooms are connected on the outside.”
he pointed to a door behind me, I had not noticed it before now, “go outside and take a right, the door next to this one leads to the dining room.”
He turned his back to me, walking to the fireplace once again as I took my leave and stood before the door. It was slightly taller than I, and made of the same wooden surface as the floor, it bore a lock made of wood and a handle just the same, but of a different kind than the door itself. I unlocked the bolt, and pulled the door open, the light hit me like a flashbang, my eyes could see nothing but a bright sunshine, dimly orange in its tint. I took a few steps forward, one foot in front of the other to the outside, and stopped. The light dimmed, my eyes adjusted, and before me was a sight to behold. I stood there on the porch area, two white and green marble arches above me, twisted with vines, grapes dangling from them loosely. But I ignored these things, for what caught my gaze was beyond them. Dozens of houses lay in front of me in a vast landscape, people going to-and-fro in their daily business, and beyond them; trees. Presumably hundreds of trees the size and girth of skyscrapers, titanic in size, going for as far as the eye could see, say for a single split where a paved road lay. Two of these giants had great swaths of their bark removed, revealing a light pinkish undercoating, and boasting equally massive ornate carvings.
Both of these featured a woman, I presumed at the time that they were the same one. The first carving on the left hand side showed the woman triumphantly holding a sword towards the night sky, which was giving way to dawn. Her face was emotionally cold but had a steadfast hint about it, which fit so well with the armor she adorned. As she stood there, her feet touched the edge of a cliff, hugging it so tightly that you would think that she would fall off at any second. Overall it was a finely crafted masterpiece, and it was even more impressive given the style used, the lines were straight, the angles were precise, and the arches used for the sky and the sun looked like half disks. I stood in awe for a good long while before turning my attention to the second one, and my sense of astonishment was gradually replaced with curiosity, for the second one was in a completely different style and tone.
The woman was now sitting upon a marble throne, she wore a long blue dress lined with emerald green streaks, and in her right hand she still held the sword as before. But the way she wielded the weapon was different, weaker. Her hand was posed so as to make it appear like the sword was about to slip out from her palm and fall to the ground below. All that kept it in place was her pinky and ring fingers, still clasping the hilt. The sword was finely detailed, the pommel was a dazzling shade of sapphire rounded by gold, the handle itself was silver. The woman's face still contained that oddly stoic quality but with no trace of the previous pride, only a lonely dead stare. The whole carving was in a style that vaguely reminded me of old medieval pieces, not very good but not the worst either. The two works together were a clash of tones and ideas, but why I could not say at the time.
I looked away, and to my right side, remembering that I was supposed to go into Malkolm’s dining room. I turned, strode up to the door, and with a single motion pulled it open. There greeting me lay a large room with a dining table with several chairs, all wood as with everything else it seemed in the house. I entered past the entrance and closed the door behind me, finding myself looking around at the room. The chairs were plainly carved, as with the table, say for the addition of obvious sanding having been done to the tabletop. There were cabinets with stained glass windows, each bearing a symbol in that strange Arabic- like language from when I tried reading the book titles earlier. But I could see that each cabinet contained different things inside; cups, bowls, plates and the like. So I put two and two together, and figured that each window meant a different item went inside. It was strange, very different from what other people do.
I saw another portal leading to a different room, it was a hallway, but decided to not investigate, it would be rude to snoop. Deciding that I had seen everything worth note in the room I sat down in one of the chairs and patiently waited.
“This is crazy,” I had thought to myself, “Giant trees, waking up in the middle of nowhere, the people here look different somehow as well. I can’t understand any of it, but I can't let that get the best of me. I’ll figure this out as I go.”
I put my arms on the table, and rested my head, thinking. Tapping my foot against the ground as I did so.
“I remember sitting in my house, at least I think I was.”
I tried to force myself to recollect, but my memory was clouded, like a haze had descended on my mind. Then it rushed back to me. The first thing I remembered was the heat, the pain was next. What followed lastly was the sound, or lack of it, and then nothing but the dark. That's when I woke up on the ground.
“What the hell,”
I muttered under my breath, I was starting to pant, to hyperventilate almost, as the memories began to finally wash over me. My own death flashed before my very eyes,
“those bastards.” I said, my voice raised, my fists clenched grabbing my shirt sleeves. “Those good for nothing-”
Just then the door opened, and I stopped talking. I tried to regain my composure to the best of my ability as Malkolm came around the corner. He was carrying a tray with the kettle from before atop it. Setting it down on the table he looked over to me, his expression was one of worry,
“Goldwater,” he started, “are you alright?”
I nodded, “yes, I’m fine, just thinking about your hand’s burn is all.”
I lied to him, but only to not bother him with my problems, he didn't deserve to be bogged down with my returning memories.
“You are too kind for your own good young man,” he laughed, “but if you want to help out a little, you can start by getting me four cups from the cabinet behind you.”
I got up and started towards the cabinet,
“Right away mister Malkolm” I said.
“Mister?,” though I didn't see it, he grinned, “nobody around here calls me ‘mister’ anything except the shopkeeper down the road.”
I opened the cabinet door gently, taking great care to avoid breaking the glass. Despite its apparent sturdiness, I wouldn't take any risks by being clumsy,
“If they don't call you mister,” I started as I took out the third cup, “then what do they call you?”
I took out the last cup after that and turned back to the table and Malkolm, making sure to not drop any of them.
“Oh they call me all sorts of things; the old magician, the old man, the old-,” he stopped for a second, his face scrunched, he was thinking. “The old anything really, I suppose.”
He finished as I set the cups down in front of him,
“That doesn't seem too flattering,'' I responded kindly.
Malkolm took a rag out of his robe pocket and used it to tilt the kettle, pouring a hot viscous liquid into each cup one by one.
“It may not be flattering, but it's true all the same,”
He poured the last cup and replaced the kettle, putting the rag beside it. I looked down into my cup, and grimaced.
“Uhm-,” I started, trying to sound as polite as I could, “Malkolm, what is this?”
He looked puzzled for a moment, like I had just spoken in some other language.
“What do you mean?”
I pointed to the cup in front of me, as if to emphasize my point, “this, what is it?”
Malkolm picked up his cup, put it to his lips and tipped it back, taking a long gulp of the tar black semi-liquid. With a sigh of contentment, he put the now empty cup back on the table gently.
“It's just coffee, I don't see what the fuss is about”.
I did my best impression of a genuine smile, as I raised my own cup to my lips. The hot sludge smelled like coffee, but it was a texture more resembling hot asphalt. I tore the cup and its contents away from my lips, speedily placed them back on the table and gagged.
“I'm sorry Malkolm,” I said between wretches, “But where I am from, coffee does not look like that.”
The bewilderment Malkolm previously felt now peaked, the look of wonder in his eyes along with his sideways glance gave it all away.
“Where are you from, exactly?”
I began to reply, just as the door crashed open. From behind it came a hulking man, much taller than I or Malkolm, his toned physique barely hidden under a brown tunic and pants. He spoke in a thunderous voice, it was what I would imagine a greek god to sound like.
“Hey old man, came to help out around th-” the man stopped mid sentence, looking at me.
Malkolm turned in his chair, putting one arm over the back, “Kalom, how many times must I tell you to not slam that door?!”
Up until now I had not seen Malkolm get upset, but he genuinely seemed so now, not angry, but visibly annoyed.
“Sorry, I was just excited to do some work is all” Kalom said placatingly.
Malkolm calmed himself and went back to his relaxed state as he was before Kalom had entered, and before I caused him some grief with my outburst.
“Come, sit down and have some coffee, and let me introduce you to our guest” Kalom obeyed, he sat down beside me, grabbed an unclaimed cup of the grotesque coffee and sipped.
“Kalom, this is the young man you and Lais brought back. His name is Goldwater,” Malkolm said, “And Goldwater, meet my son Kalom.”
I waved to him, “it’s nice to meet you, Kalom” I said, sounding as cordial as I possibly could.
While I had nothing against him, I was a little intimidated by his build. His height and muscles were both superior to mine, so it was quite off putting. While I was certainly in shape, comparing myself to him would be like placing an apple next to a cantaloupe. Kalom was built like a sculpture straight out of the renaissance. Meanwhile the last time I saw any intense training was back in Zambezi, that was quite a number of years ago, so I have lost much of my own definition.
“Nice to meet you too, Goldwater” He replied to me in kind. “It’s good to see you awake and not paralyzed from the neck down”.
Kalom let out a laugh full of genuine gaiety, which was loud, it caught me off guard. All of a sudden he stopped. He leaned over to me, and placing his right hand on my shoulder; whispering close to my ear. Making sure that Malkolm could not hear what he was saying to me.
“And one more thing—thanks for keeping your hands to yourself around my sister.”
He said this not with any malice, but made it clear that he would not approve of the action had I done so.
“She gets bothered by so many potential suitors that she gets tired of it.”
I could tell he meant the beautiful woman I met before, and at that moment I felt lucky that I had been a rather perfect gentleman and not said anything that might have been mistaken for flirting.
“I can hear you, boy.” Malkolm said.
“You can’t keep secrets from these ears” he rubbed the tips of both his to emphasize the point. “So kindly stop trying to scare our guest.”
“I'm just testing his mettle” Kalom said, now standing straight once more, “Got to make sure he’s not still weak in the knees.”
He let out another roaring laugh. I sat there, listening to them both talk to each other, and looked down at the coffee in front of me. I realized in that moment that something was strange about this situation, odder than what I already thought beforehand. I had this feeling of calm, no sense of urgency, and remembered how I felt back while I was laying in the field. I figured that this was what I had been missing for so long, actual peace and rest. The coffee was terrible, and the jarring fact that I was clearly not in my homeland anymore still sat in the back of my mind, but there and then, I felt comfortable. I was not used to that feeling, even sitting at home in my recliner trying desperately to keep the memories at bay, a daily struggle to not remember the things I've done and seen, I hadn't even gotten close to that sense of bliss.
It was a few moments before I realized that my name was being called, it was a slowly growing noise, like an old antique television being turned on.
“Goldwater,” the voice rang out, “Goldwater are you alright?” It was Malkolm.
“Huh?” I jolted back to the present, and looked over at him. Malkolm was wide eyed at my dozing off, and Kalom had a similar expression, but more of curiosity than any sense of true concern. “Sorry Malkolm, I was just deep in thought, nothing to worry about”
“Well, alright” he said, nonchalantly, “but you seem to let your mind wander quite a bit, is that normal?”
“Yes, but it’s nothing serious, it's just how I juggle my thoughts.”
I picked up the cup of now lukewarm coffee I had without even thinking, and pressed it to my lips, tipped it back and filled my mouth with the sticky substance.
What happened next was a chorus of emotions, Malkolm chuckling silently while covering his face, Kalom pounding his fist on the table and letting loose another bellowing howl of amusement. All while I gagged and tried my very best to keep myself from vomiting in disgust.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~King Eli ‘The Gladius’~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In another location, as that scene played out, I later learned that a totally different event was taking place. One with a more sinister tone, and it would shape my immediate destiny in the world that I had found myself in. The castle was dimly lit, say for a few sconces adorning the walls, and the occasional chandelier. Its walls were made of massive granite blocks, intricately carved with scenes of the construction of the castle itself, but the workers wore chains about their necks. several were being whipped by a man in armor, who had a halo behind his head, sporting the icon of the black sun. In the center back of the room was a large marble throne, flanked on either side by braziers made of thick iron. Two men flanked the entrance to the room, halberds in hand, and outfitted with mail armor. Three other men were also present; a figure on his knees before the throne, concealed by a heavy bark brown hooded cloak, his face obscured by shadow say for a pair of bright yellow eyes. The second man was standing to the left of the throne, a slender figure donned by a set of impressive red robes, gold leaf adorned the collar and the symbol emblazoned on its breast, a withered tree. His red hair, lighter than his robes, was long and flowing. Overall his regalia was lackluster compared to the third man, who sat upon the throne itself, looking down to the kneeling figure before him. The throned man, like the robed one to his side, was also similarly tall but robust in physique. He himself wore a set of jade tinted armor, intricately engraved with the motif of a bulls head and a sword piercing its skull. A sash of golden silk emblazoned with ruby red runes lay across his chest, and complimented the golden crown which sat upon his head, twas in the shape of a long and twisting pine branch, with needles of silver protruding from each inch.
“Well?” The throned man spoke, his voice deep and commanding.
The man on the ground before him shuddered, his visible discomfort evident by his nervous shaking. He took a deep breath and spoke in a deep whiny voice,
“My lord, I had tracked down the man from the other world, as you commanded.”
He didn't lift his head, didn't stutter, but his tone was weak and cautious.
“He was unconscious when I happened upon him, so I injected him with a concoction to keep him in place.”
The man on the throne did not speak, he did not move his gaze from the man before him, merely sat there silently. His expression was one of a growing impatience. The robed figure grinned cruelly, savoring every moment of the speakers terror.
The man below continued his report, “So I believed that by the time I returned with a wagon and guards he would still be there. However…”
He trailed off, losing his composure and nerve to speak.
“You aren't finished,” came the booming voice of the throned man. “What happened next?”
“W-well, we searched for him but found no trace of his presence. So we returned witho-”
The man jolted from his throne, stepped forward and pointed down at the groveling speaker, his face no longer simply agitated but a full scowl.
“Without my prisoner in tow?!” His voice boomed.
the two guards at the other end of the room stiffened, and the man on the ground shook with fear.
“You call yourself an assassin, you call yourself a bounty hunter, but cannot even manage to capture an unconscious, not to mention paralyzed man?!”
He squatted down, his armor clanking, and removed the hood of the assassin, revealing his face. His yellow eyes, underlined with dark half rings of tire and weariness. Pointed ears, a head of short black hair, and dark gray skin met the vision of the temperamental figure before him. The assassin had a lithe and graceful quality about him, and could easily be mistaken as a woman at first glance.
“As king of this Imperium, I demand satisfaction, not failure. Yet you have proven yourself useless in the most simple of tasks given to you thus far.”
The king, now in a menacing but controlled tone, not like that of a ruler but a mugger, continued to berate the pitiful creature before him.
“It is almost as if you want me to lose my temper.”
The king grabbed a fistful of the assassin's hair, causing the latter to cry out. He tilted the man’s head up to meet his gaze, and got close to his face, staring into his eyes with a furious glare.
“If you persist in failing me, I will not hesitate to punish not only you, but your sister as well.”
The man forgot the pain for a brief moment, and terror overtook his face. “N-no please,” he started, but the king pulled on his hair tighter, returning the man to his previously pained state with a bleat.
“Listen closely, and listen well.” The king continued, “I will give you one chance to redeem yourself this time, Gregori. Only one chance.”
He let Gregori’s hair go and stood up. The elf held his head where the pain was most present, tears running down his face. He removed his hands and looked down at them, they were coated with loose hair and blood. He began to quietly weep as the pain continued in short bursts, while the king returned and sat upon his throne.
“Now go,” he began, “find that other worlder, and do not return without him.”
Gregori hastily stood and bowed, blood and drying tears still running down his face. He replaced his hood and ran out of the room. The Guards still stood at attention, never having moved the entire time, though clearly shaken up by the events which they had witnessed. They took no notice of the man running past them and kept their vision straight.
The king looked over to the robed man beside him and smiled. “How did I do, Karill?” he asked, his tone now gay, as if the previous transpirations were distant memories.
The robed figure smiled back, but his was of a more mischievous sort than the king he now spoke with.
“Very good, King Eli. Though I would say that perhaps you went slightly overboard with the violence this time around.” His tone was nasally, filled with sinister depth.
Eli sighed and sat back in his throne, relaxing slightly. He closed his eyes, “perhaps,” he said, “but I thought you told me that violence at times would be necessary, no?”
Karill, nodded. “Yes, I did. But that cithish wretch would have been coerced by a slight slap across the face. What you did probably damn near caused the poor bastard to piss himself.”
Eli laughed heartily, echoing throughout the room. “True enough, perhaps I did go a little too far.” He looked over to Karill again, now with a more serious expression, “Tell me,” he said, “do you think this other worlder is the one I have been looking for?”
Karill smiled and stuck up one finger, emphasizing his point. “The oracle never lies, your majesty. This man is indeed the one who murdered your father in the old world.”
The king got up, stretched his back, and began to walk to the entrance of the room, motioning Karill to join him. As they did so, Karill motioned for the guards to leave the room as well. They did so in a hasty fashion, as if they had wanted out since the very beginning.
“You are a wise man, Karill, I am happy that my father picked you to be my court magician.” Eli cheerfully admitted as they walked.
“Indeed,” Karill responded, “you tell me every chance you get my lord.”
The two reached the threshold and stopped, standing there and admiring the massive carved stones of the walls. They towered over the two men, solid and unyielding. Eli coughed and turned to Karill,
“I am going to go check on some things, I shall meet up with you later.”
Karill bowed his head, and they both walked out of the room together in silence, into the dimly lit darkness of the hallway beyond.