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Post by Joshua on Mar 4, 2005 1:30:57 GMT -5
Really, it was generous of Aôuraakun to give the peasant them any food or drink at all. In any other kingdom in the Land, the useless serfs would not have been permitted to come to the celebration, let alone served food and drink. Aôuraakun was a nice guy; relatively. Of course, he made sure the peasants didn’t get anywhere near the Greshulop, and sipped greedily at his own glass, and tore at his roasted meat. He cast an acquisitive gaze in the direction of the buffet table, and ambled over. As he loaded another steaming yuresal leg onto his plate, he was suddenly ambushed by some of the most dreaded people in all of Slubackea, and his glass fell and smashed on the ground. These men were the graftiröfs; the simplest of describing them would be to say they are the Slubackean equivalent of a very annoying type of people. They are much like our paparazzi, but they are even more intrusive. They carry canvas and the finest paints in the Land, and they will attempt to paint you in the act of doing something you shouldn’t have been doing. Now, sorry to be pretentious, but I must tell you that Aôuraakun was a bibulous man, and he was mourning the loss of his Greshulop, rather than confronting the immediate danger of the graftiröfs. They noted this quickly, and began a painting that depicted him licking the wine from the ground. Aôuraakun suddenly seemed to notice their presence, and inquired angrily, “What do you want?” Snarling, he grabbed a painting from the closest painter, who was feverishly trying to finish his portrait of Aôuraakun running through a graftiröf with the Sword of Slubackea. Aôuraakun had not done this, but the painting was intriguing, and he came very close to this act of violence. His hand went to the Sword, but it moved away. Calm down, thought the king. These men cannot be dangerous, they’re artists. “Yes,” he thought aloud, “they must be harmless.” There was a pause. “Tell me,” he said to the now frightened artist, “does your job bring you satisfaction?” The man didn’t react. Aôuraakun continued. “Well, all of you graftiröfs annoy me. I have heard tales, tall ones, about your powers to paint realistic portraits very quickly, and to stretch the truth, creating trouble for the more important types, like myself. Well, my friend, it ends here!” It seems he could not control his anger at all, and started to beat the graftiröf around the head with the painting. His words were punctuated by heavy blows from the canvas. “This-interview-is-over! I only-wanted to have a drink, and a good meal! Then, you came around, and started painting a realistic portrait of me doing something I didn’t actually do!” Then he rammed the man’s head through the painting. Aôuraakun addressed the crowd. “People of Slubackea!” he cried, “How was your meal? I trust it wasn’t as disturbed as my own?” Murmurs of disapproval rippled through the masses. “You make your father seem pleasant!”<br>“It wasn’t necessary to ruin that poor man’s painting! It was so realistic!”<br>In any other nation in the Land, these people would have paid the ultimate price. The equivalent of 500,000 gold slubits as a fine, or they would be hanged, drawn and then quartered, as a grim finale. The fine or the death sentence, it wasn’t easy to choose. However, they needn’t worry, because this wasn’t the custom in Slubackea, and Aôuraakun didn’t listen to peasants. He turned away from the painters and his robes were suddenly seized from behind, and he felt himself being dragged away from the court, and back to his chamber. His attacker, as Aôuraakun decided he was, had the appearance of a something small, hunched and grey. It was completely clad in silvery robes, with a hooded cloak. As the door of the king’s room closed behind them, the figure said, “Just like your father, always making a scene!” His voice was sharp with a harsh growl in it, and Aôuraakun fancied he had heard it before. “Who, me? Making a scene? Oh, and might I add, your voice is certainly one of someone reputable, and known to me, though I cannot place it. I think you must be quite an affable fellow, as you dragged me away in a relatively polite manner.” The grey figure coughed, and muttered, “Pretentious, too. You say you cannot tell who I am? Well, I have been absent for a time.”<br>He threw back his hood to reveal himself, and a loud gasp of recognition came from the ex-prince, who was now a king, if you couldn’t tell.
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Post by Joshua on Mar 4, 2005 1:37:10 GMT -5
CHAPTER 4 Aôuraakun gaped. “Bärkförk, you were the foremost royal advisor in Slubackea! The king’s most trusted subject…I thought you were dead!”<br>The man named Bärkförk was full of witty rejoinders. At least, rejoinders that he thought were witty. “What gave you that impression, boy? I was merely out of the kingdom as ambassador for the king, and I returned every other month!”<br>“Well, I’ve not seen you in at least two years!”<br>This statement wanted another retort. “Well, probably spending too much time in the cellars, eh?”<br>“I am a bibulous man!”<br>A cough. “Pretentious.”<br>“I have sesquipedalian pretensions! Pretentious ones!” cried the prince, blood rising in his face. He looked quite offended. “That’s a tautology, surely!” replied Aôuraakun’s new advisor. Bärkförk’s face darkened, and he seemed ready to strike. “Get lost!” howled the king. “This-this ‘conversation’ doesn’t achieve anything!” His face, normally pale, was burning with a crimson hue, his blue eyes intense with emotion. Bärkförk agreed, and calmed. He was out of his reasonably witty rejoinders, anyway. “Yes, you’re right,” said the chief royal advisor, “the reason I brought you here was- why is there a hole in your floor?!” Aôuraakun shrugged. “I dunno; bad construction? Politics? Alcohol?” The third guess had a lot to do with the hole in the floor. Another shrug came, from Bärkförk and he said, “Ah, well, it’s probably nothing. Now, changing the subject; the reason I brought you here was…” he paused for dramatic effect, “The Sword! I want to talk about that deadly weapon you possess! Do you have it here?” “Yes,” came Aôuraakun’s weary reply, “I bore it to the ceremony, and almost drew it on one of those bloody graftiröfs! Oh, what did you want to know about it? I know that it is pretty, sharp and has two beautiful green gems set in the pommel. I also have a basic understanding of its power, it that helps.” The man named Bärkförk was silent for a moment, seeming to be in deep thought. Finally, he said, “You must gain greater understanding. People are talking, Aôuraakun. They say that an attempt was made on your life, is this true?” Before the prince could reply, two men broke down the door, in an idiotic manner characteristic of their kind. They were the densiers, the police force of the citadel. Their uniform was all blue cotton, bearing the eight-rayed sun, with a mail shirt underneath. They had greaves on their arms, and they had silly little helmets, fastened at their throats. These helms were flat-topped, but with a long spike protruding, and little Slube ears on the sides. Ridiculous they were, but they still appeared triumphant as they brought a third figure in; it was the disgruntled servant, the one who had sabotaged Aôuraakun’s floor, creating an ugly hole. He somehow had recovered from his injuries, magically, it seemed. However, he was in a terrible situation, and was likely to lose his life. “Hang him!” cried Bärkförk, “He seems to be a spy or, maybe an assassin. I don’t think trusting him would be a very good idea.” Aôuraakun then spoke. “I am the king, so I will make the decisions.” The advisor mumbled, “Sorry, my lord. It was just a suggestion.” Aôuraakun opened his mouth to continue, but one of the guards spoke before him. “Well, uh, I agree with the old guy! Barkingfork, yeah, that’s right. This guy bit me, and it hurt!” He indicated the prisoner. The king spoke again, a touch of annoyance in his voice. “Shut up, you idiotic man. I make the decisions, and I decide that executing this man is a bad idea. If he was sent to Slubackea to kill me, he is obviously important in his own land, and killing him would anger the other nation. If we were to imprison him, they would send forces to reclaim him. He will be given provisions and a steed. Then, we will send him back to the land he came out of, guarding him with my most trusted soldiers. Slubackea has always been ruled been ruled by reasonable men, and I will not make any rash decisions. I will not damage our reputation. Actually, the land had one terrible ruler, going by the name of Hulthulg. Dangerous man, liked to see people executed. I believe he had a man burnt at the stake for being a florist. Hulthulg was an ugly man, and hated anything more attractive than him, especially flowers.” The king’s advisor coughed. “Not to be rude, sire, but Hulthulg is not relevant to this discussion. We were speaking of the fate of this prisoner! I must challenge your decision; what would happen to the man, now that he has failed? I have had a change of heart. Shall we ‘question’ this prisoner, if you catch my meaning?” Aôuraakun replied with a resounding cry. “Bärkförk! What is your ‘meaning’? Are you suggesting we torture this man? I should think you had more understanding of politics, surely you would realise this would enrage this other kingdom like nothing else would? Besides, it’s unspeakably barbaric, and I see I will have to change some laws. I may drink too much, but I am not a bad person, or a bad ruler!” The royal advisor was shocked. “Aôuraakun, I had no such intention. You know well my lack of subtlety; I meant exactly what I said.” He turned to the prisoner, who was clearly tiring of this argument. “Man, where are you from? What is your name? What is your favourite pasta dish?” The man who seemed to be a spy or an assassin replied readily. “I refuse to answer the first and second questions, and I do love a good bowl of saldurm, served with fresh garden salad. Now, the dressing is easy. Take half a cup of oil, and then-” Bärkförk spoke over the prisoner. “Torture him,” he said simply, “he is evading our questions, and giving us cooking advice. I think a little pain would loosen his tongue.” He leaned towards the criminal. “We have ways of making you talk!” There was a flash of fire, and Aôuraakun rose to his feet, the Sword in hand. “I suggest you speak now, prisoner. You have been given mercy, on my word, but if you continue to resist our interrogation, things will get very ugly. One thing that is likely to become ugly is your face; the Sword could do a great deal of damage.” Their captive continued to resist. The king wanted to conclude matters, so he touched the man’s neck with the tip of the Sword, whose face contorted in agony. Suddenly, the man whipped out a knife, which the idiotic guards had not found, and slit the throats of the densiers. The both fell with a gurgling cry, and the man leapt out the window into the night outside. The Sword blazed, and cast a brilliant light across the world outside. The assassin, they called him, as he was no longer their captive, has escaped. He was nowhere to be seen. Bärkförk cried, “Aôuraakun! You must pursue him! Even though he didn’t seem too bad, he tried to kill you! Regrettably, those men had their throats cut, but they weren’t very important. Are you listening, lord?” Aôuraakun’s eyes narrowed. “No one with such a simple salad dressing can be an honest man. Bärkförk, sound the alarms, I want this man retrieved, and brought before my court, in chains, if possible.” The Sword’s light was extinguished, the weapon returned to its sheath. The king quizzed his advisor. “When will I move into my father’s room? I hear it has excellent security, and I don’t want to wake up dead tomorrow!” Bärkförk rolled his eyes. “Sire, you can move in immediately. I’ll call for some men to pack your clothes, and anything else you want to keep. We will be discreet however, and try to trick this dark opponent. He will expect you to be moved, so we will try to create the illusion that you haven’t. Your finest soldiers will lie in wait, and apprehend him if he enters this room.” Aôuraakun replied, “I have to confess, Bärkförk. I think that’s a pretty good idea.”
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Post by Joshua on Mar 4, 2005 1:41:23 GMT -5
“Well, I am the chief royal advisor!” said the chief royal advisor. Aôuraakun took the Sword, his father’s documents, and a hairbrush. He then moved into his new room, and loved it. The room had pure white walls, with delicate golden ornaments on shelves. An enormous purple four-poster bed faced the door; the Slubes carved at the foot of the bed were like ugly wooden sentinels. The door was a beauty in itself, wood washed white, with silver bars that depicted ancient war scenes, and the most elaborate door knob the young king had ever encountered. Solid gold, studded with diamonds and rubies, and included was a miniscule key, on a light chain. This door was one of only two entrances to the room, as a skylight allowed the sun’s rays to stream into the room. Someone could easily enter through this. However, there was a steel door that could be pulled over the skylight, obscuring the light, and preventing anyone from entering that way. Aôuraakun, being so clever, noted this, beginning to formulate a plan. This plan would need to be practical, politically correct and planned well. He went to Bärkförk, and said, “We will draw him here. The assassin guy, I mean.” The king’s chief advisor was shocked. “Aôuraakun, that’s insanity you’re speaking of, you’re insane! You don’t want to draw guy to you; he’s very mysterious and dangerous. He might even have magic of his own, and the Sword may provide no protection.” Following his speech, Bärkförk grumbled in disapproval. Aôuraakun spoke again. “Bärkförk, listen, and then you’ll think my idea is pretty great. OK. I am going to hide in my closet, and strike him when he enters the room. He won’t expect this sort of attack, because I’m very clever. The door will be heavily guarded on the outside, but the skylight will be left open. When I emerge, I will yell to alert the guards, and we’ll overwhelm this man, and imprison him again. Hm, maybe he’s really a nice guy, when you get to know him. He might not have meant it when he tried to kill me, maybe he was being friendly? Bärkförk had to admit that Aôuraakun had a great idea. “Well, I am the king!” said the king, flattered. Aôuraakun gambolled over to his enormous closet, and when inside, cried, “My goodness! There are so many pillows in here; I hope I don’t fall asleep…ouch! I’m lying on some chain-mail, and it’s digging into my back!” Bärkförk said he would do all he could to attract the villain. He suggested a party be thrown. “This is a good idea, because the king loves such things, and the assassin will most likely think Aôuraakun is attending. Remember, you other people: if you see him, don’t make a fuss. The king and his royal guard will take care of that, and they should be strong enough to apprehend him.” Night crept over Slubackea, slowly. Aôuraakun was tired and hungry from his wait in the closet, but at least the chain-mail was no longer digging into his spine; the king now wore the suit, thinking some extra protection would be nice. The prince started to rise, thinking maybe the assassin wouldn’t arrive, suddenly, a noise came. A horrible, ear-splitting screech of metal tearing, and Aôuraakun knew his guest had arrived. The skylight was open, so Aôuraakun wondered why the man was removing the cover. It seemed the steel cover was so thick; the assassin had to remove it to slip through the skylight. Either that or he was just a terrible assassin, and wanted to alert the king. The Sword in hand, Aôuraakun peered through the crack between the doors, and glimpsed a dim red glow from the corner of his eye. As the man fell lightly onto the bed, the skylight’s cover falling next to him, Aôuraakun rushed at him in the friendliest way he could, releasing a guttural scream as he did so. Outside, the guards made for the door. However, it appeared this man did have magic, and with a thrust of his long knife locked the door; running through the chest of a royal guardsman. These men were not the brainless densiers, the idiotic brutes of the police force. They were the most skilful soldiers in the kingdom of Slubackea; their armour was beautiful, yet nigh impossible to pierce; however, this man’s blade was sharp, and the guard’s blood seeped through the wounded door. The weapon was bloodied; however, it seemed to enjoy the blood, it drank it happily, lengthening as a result. Its dim red glow became a scorching flame, and in response, the Sword blazed white-hot. The weapons collided, with a resounding crash of metal on metal. Sparks showered Aôuraakun and his combatant. They moved in a deadly dance around the room, the sound of their blades like thunderous music, with a very irregular rhythm to it. Aôuraakun had been trained in swordplay since he was very young, as was the custom in his land, especially in the royal house. This assassin had skill beyond anything the young king had ever encountered, and Aôuraakun needed all of his strength to match him. The king had terrible cramps in his back from waiting in his closet, big as it was. With every clash of the blades, they burned brighter, and soon Aôuraakun’s attacker was clearly illuminated, and rather easy to perceive. He was unnaturally tall, his hunching servant figure merely being part of his disguise. Long black hair fell over his shoulder, and his cold grey eyes surveyed Aôuraakun menacingly. He wore a strange ring, with a symbol the king could not identify, and more jewellery adorned his neck and ears.
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Post by Joshua on Mar 4, 2005 1:42:18 GMT -5
Other than this, though, he was merely clothed in tight-fitting leather, which was black. He stood head and shoulders over Aôuraakun, and he appeared massively strong. As well as the horrible, disgusting vampiric blade he wielded, he bore a great amount of deadly and strange weapons. These weapons looked like they could make someone experience pain. One of his weapons was a nasty whip. This was uncoiled now, and lashed at Aôuraakun, whose wrist was struck. The king thought his chain-mail would absorb the force of the blow, but it fell in pieces at his feet. His skin was pierced, and droplets of hot blood dripped onto the carpet. “That was just cleaned yesterday,” screeched Aôuraakun, “You will pay dearly for your mistake!” The assassin replied, “It was no mistake. I meant to do it!” Aôuraakun parried a few blows of the bloodied knife, which was elongating from the blood spilled by its owner, and dodged a lash from the whip. “What is your name, man? I’m sick of referring to you as ‘the assassin’!” The assassin replied, “Some call me…Bloodsword, because of my vampiric knife, you know?” Aôuraakun laughed. “Bloodsword? What kind of idiotic name is that? Your name is almost as ridiculous as your outfit. On a different note: do you really think you can defeat me? I do wield the Sword of Slubackea! Better than your silly weapon, having only temporary magic, gained by making people bleed. Additionally, my weapon is prettier than yours.” Bloodsword scoffed. “What kind of king are you? Your skill is as rusty as the armour you wear, which I pierced so easily. When was the last time you wielded a sword?” “Only a few days past,” Aôuraakun replied, and with this swung the Sword up at the man’s neck, and held it there. “Drop your weapons!” cried Aôuraakun. It appeared that the man would obey, but then, he took his knife, and cut himself deeply. The weapon was now the length of a short sword, and burned more hotly than ever, the very air before it shimmered. Then the men swung their blades again. Aôuraakun was skilful, but his arms were tiring, even though his weapon was so light. He dimly remembered a time when he had practised swordplay with his father. Karfeign, as the former king was then known, had feinted to the left, and then shoved Aôuraakun to the floor with his right arm, swinging the point of his weapon to meet the prince’s throat. Young Aôuraakun had accused his father of cheating, but he now realised it was a reasonably clever move, and repeated it now. The king stared down at Bloodsword, and cried, “I have you now, villain! Now, kindly tell me the name of your master, and I might spare you! Then, I might not, because you are such a nuisance.” The assassin hissed up at him, “I am a mercenary, and I have no master; I will most certainly not be mastered by you!” With this, the man lifted his hand, and with a flash of his ring, vanished. The ring was left behind, though, and Aôuraakun studied it. Hmm, ugly thing, he thought. Why would anyone wear such a thing, it’s just poorly carved wood with a poorly carved insignia carved into it. Aôuraakun decided to keep it anyway, to show to Bärkförk. That advisor is smart and really old. He has many years to his name. Maybe he will recognise the poorly carved insignia on the ring… Aôuraakun slipped the ring into his pocket, and observed the damage caused by the duel. The four posters of his massive bed had been torn to ribbons, and the pillows on the bed itself were terribly maimed. The pillows had once been whole and comfortable, and Aôuraakun nearly wept over their destruction. At his feet were the mangled remains of the steel door that had been so unnecessarily cut to pieces, and the carpet; bloodied and scorched from the fiery battle. His door had been grievously wounded, it had once been beautiful. He then simply tore open the door, and summoned a group of servants to clean up the mess. They silently did his bidding, as Aôuraakun approached Bärkförk, the ugly wooden ring in his hand. “Do you recognise this design?” he inquired, thrusting the ring at the advisor, who was so old and wise. Bärkförk’s face darkened and he was silent as he handled the ring. Then he replied, slowly, “Yes, Aôuraakun, I do.”
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Zen
dæmian
changeling + magpie
Posts: 401
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Post by Zen on Mar 4, 2005 16:16:57 GMT -5
I <3 it, it's hilarious, but really.... PARAGRAPHS. Please? ^^
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Post by Joshua on Mar 4, 2005 17:05:56 GMT -5
XD Someday, I will use paragraphs. Unfortunately, I don't feel like bothering with them in the First Draft.
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Post by rave & phair on Mar 4, 2005 17:35:42 GMT -5
Well, that's a relief. Still and still wonderful. I <3 SLUBACKEA!
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Post by Joshua on Mar 4, 2005 21:21:10 GMT -5
Thanks, Raven! =D Oh, by the way, everyone, I have posted all of my current chapters on deviantART. If you don't want to set up accounts, you can comment on them in this thread! Here's a link to my deviantART page. king-of-slubackea.deviantart.com/My reason for this: Posting my story in this forum is very hard. It constantly tells me that my posts are over the character limit of 10,000. Bother.
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