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Philosopher
Feb Member 2018

Philosopher

Posts: 142 Iron Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
I

What is the use of absolute power if you’re not allowed to wield it? A king is the highest authority of his kingdom, or so you’d think.

King Roald was feeling particularly petulant that morning. He’d ordered a breakfast of Varrokian toast with bacon and grilled banana, the whole smothered in maple syrup and topped with whipped cream and a grape garnish. What he got was a bowl of muesli.

King Roald threw his spoon to the floor. “No, no, no! I want a real breakfast, not this slop!”

The chamberlain sighed. “You’re not allowed it, highness. Your disposition precludes foods high in sugar, cholesterol and fat. The Knight Protector has already given you a list of foods you can eat to remain healthy.”

Roald banged his fist on the tray. “I don’t want to be healthy if it means I can’t enjoy the simple things in life. I’m The King, godamnit, and I should be allowed to eat whatever I want!”

The chamberlain nodded sympathetically then picked up the spoon, wiped it and put it back on the tray. “It’s that or nothing, highness, by order of...”

“Yes, by order of Sir Prisin. I know.” The King of Varrok pouted. “He has the best of intentions after my well-being, but... oh, for Saradomin’s sake, Lemiah... I crave real food.”

The chamberlain offered his king an apologetic smile. “I can take the muesli away, but the alternative is porridge or bran flakes. I might be able to sneak you some honey for sweetening if you’d like?”

“Could you sneak me a beef steak?”

30-Jul-2019 22:31:35

Philosopher
Feb Member 2018

Philosopher

Posts: 142 Iron Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
II

Lemiah peered around the corner of the hallway. He didn’t really expect to run into Sir Prisin at that hour of the morning, but the Knight Protector had a habit of turning up where and when he was least expected.

Lemiah went to the kitchen and ordered the cook to boil some porridge. “And add a little bit of salt,” he said. “And put a side-pourer of full-cream milk on the tray. And another pourer of syrup,” he added as an after-thought.

The chief cook looked askance at the chamberlain. “Is this breakfast for you?”

“Yep, ahuh,” lied Lemiah.

“Because, if it’s for the king, my orders are to ensure he isn’t served anything that might exacerbate his condition. He’s not allowed maple syrup, you know. It’s too sugary and might set him off on one of his fits.”

Lemiah repeated the lie, “It’s for me.”

The chief cook smiled. Ordinarily, he would be subservient to the chamberlain, but the kitchen was his domain, so he had no qualms in calling the chamberlain out.

“Bollocks! In all my years of cooking for you, Lemiah, you’ve never asked for porridge. You’re an egg-on-toast man. Are you trying to sneak the king something forbidden?”

Lemiah sagged. “Please, Baltus. The king has asked me to bring him something other than muesli. He seems desperate for the things you and I might enjoy as a normal morning repast. Can’t you help your king by ignoring Sir Prisin’s orders just this once?”

The cook turned his full gaze upon the chamberlain. “If I do, what’s in it for me? I mean, I can prepare what you’ve asked for, but it will be you that earns the king’s gratitude. So, what do I get?”

Lemiah sighed. “I can give you the day off. There are no dignitaries due to court today, so your culinary expertise won’t be required. How does that sound?”

30-Jul-2019 22:32:26

Philosopher
Feb Member 2018

Philosopher

Posts: 142 Iron Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
III

Baltus divested himself of apron and chef’s hat, removed his kitchen vestments and donned his civilian clothes. He was whistling a merry tune as he approached the security detail of the inner sanctum.

“Hello Baltus,” greeted the guard. “I didn’t expect you this morning. Do you have your exit papers?”

“Indeed I do,” smiled the chief cook. “Here they are, stamped and notarized by Lemiah, chamberlain and chief servant of the royal palace.”

The Guard took the papers and perused them studiously. After a moment, he looked up at the cook. “You’ve been granted a day off but your name is not on my list of people permitted exit. Even though Chamberlain Lemiah has issued you this pass, it hasn’t been signed off by Sir Prisin. Without his signature, I can’t let you leave.”

Baltus swore. “But the Chamberlain has given me right of passage. I leave the palace every day for procurement of fresh food. You know me Grimb.”

“Be that as it may,” answered Grimb the Guard, “No one enters or leaves the inner sanctum without Sir Prisin’s say-so, and you don’t have the right say-so.”

Baltus’ good mood gave way to disappointment, his expression betrayed by a drooping lip.

“However,” said Grimb poignantly, “I am want to let you pass out of the goodness of my heart if only you will do something for me.”

Baltus looked at the Guard with suspicion. “When you talk about the goodness of your heart, Grimb, I grow wary. Is there a price to pay for my passage?”

Grimb looked abashed and cast his glance left and right to ensure no one else was privy to his indiscretion. He pulled an envelope from a pocket and held it toward the chief cook.

“I would ask you to deliver this letter to a certain lady. If you agree to do this for me, I’ll let you pass.”

30-Jul-2019 22:33:25

Philosopher
Feb Member 2018

Philosopher

Posts: 142 Iron Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
IV

My dearest lady

It is within my heart to speak of love, and of a particular love that has blossomed within me. When first I saw you, Cupids arrow struck and struck me down. I cannot explain in full the sudden bolt of feeling that your visage imprinted to me, except to say that such a bolt was lightning from the sky. I am burned. I am laid waste by fire and conflagration of yearning to see you once again.

You know me. As sure as I am sure, you looked my way and knew me. Love knows love.

30-Jul-2019 22:34:35

Philosopher
Feb Member 2018

Philosopher

Posts: 142 Iron Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
Lady Cassandra gave the messenger a silver coin and closed the door. The envelope was without signature or seal, but the message within set her heart a-flutter. It spoke of love. It spoke of romance and promise, and it was written in such a way that the writer could be nothing less than the man-of-her-dreams; a hero, a prince, a saviour.

But who wrote the letter? He hinted at a meeting of eyes, so she must have seen him somewhere. Was it one of the dignitaries who visited the court of King Roald? Was it a princeling from Al Kharid, or a Kandarian knight perchance? Maybe it was one of those ruffian lords from Relleka?

She was thus enamoured of imagination when the expected knock fell upon her door.

“My Lady,” said the servant, “Your carriage awaits.”

Woe in this hour of leaving when the hint of her dreams had been delivered by letter. Sorrow be thy name. She had thought to find love in the city of romance, in Varrok, but had been denied until the last hour had brought a letter. How could she leave now?

She was drawn from her reverie by a gruff voice, “Cassandra? What are you dallying for, girl? We’re leaving. Get your legs moving.”

Despairingly, Cassandra took a last look at the letter before hiding it among the folds of her dress.

“Coming Father!”

30-Jul-2019 22:37:03

Philosopher
Feb Member 2018

Philosopher

Posts: 142 Iron Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
Lord Chome noticed that his daughter seemed distracted, even miserable. In his mind, he thought a reason for her upset; she was his third daughter and, in all honesty, the least endowed of comeliness. Her two older sisters were safely wed into noble families, but Cassandra lacked suitors. That’s why he’d permitted her to accompany him to the royal city – on the off-chance that she might meet a future husband in the court of King Roald. Alas, she had only embarrassed him by being typically awkward.

He patted her hand. “Falador is not such a bad city, daughter. There are quite a few knights there who are single and would happily engage your affections.”

Cassandra grumped, “They’re all brutes, uneducated and provincial. I would rather be a spinster than married to any of them.”

Secretly, Lord Chome didn’t wonder if the available men of Falador weren’t blessed by his daughters distaste. “You could always follow the path of Saradomin,” he suggested.

“What? Become a nun? Oh, Father! Don’t be so cruel.”

During the discourse, her hand strayed to the letter hidden within the folds of her dress. Someone in the royal city had tried to contact her with words of love, wooed her with sweet endearments.

Too late. Cassandra had had no chance to discover her admirer. She couldn’t help but feel that her last chance at wedded bliss had passed her by.

Lord Chome sat uncomfortable when she burst into tears.

“There, there,” he soothed without conviction. Truth be known, Lord Chome was a heartless fellow who felt no connection to his daughter. She was the third of three squawking girls birthed from a mother who had been a harridan. Cassandra had been the death of her, the ungainly babe born by caesarean and unwitting death.

So, he did what he always did when faced with familial discomfort... he opened his purse and pressed a fistful of gold coins into Cassandra’s hand. “When we get to Falador, go shopping. You’ll feel better afterward.”

30-Jul-2019 22:38:01

Philosopher
Feb Member 2018

Philosopher

Posts: 142 Iron Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
And shopping she went, grumping her way to the market stalls in Blade Square, there to spend her coins on meaningless baubles and comfort food. It is not certain whether the act of spending money made her happy, but it made a few merchants delirious with delight. Gold is gold despite the temperament of the spender.

One of Cassandra’s purchases was made at the clothiers stall; a fold of velvet cloth dyed emerald green. She was hefting it under her arm while passing a similarly hued door, and didn’t notice when the letter of endearment escaped the folds of her dress and fluttered to the ground.

30-Jul-2019 22:39:17

Philosopher
Feb Member 2018

Philosopher

Posts: 142 Iron Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
V

As fate would have it, Varsil Demonsoul was turfed out of the Rising Sun Tavern scant seconds after Lady Cassandra made her exit from Blade Square. He landed with a clump on the cobbles and promptly up-chucked the contents of his belly.

“Urgh,” he said, while examining the puddle of disgorged beer. There was something odd about the puddle; a folded piece of paper glooped in the middle of the mess.

“What’s this?” he thought drunkenly, and extricated it.

There was Varsil Demonsoul, sitting on his bum in Blade Square while shoppers disdainfully skirted around him, oblivious to all except the concentration of words on paper.

“My Dearest Lady,” he monotoned, “It is within my heart to....” Varsil stopped reading and scrambled to his feet. A moment of swaying and blinking brought the world to focus, whereupon he located the green door through which he’d recently been ejected, and knocked.

“Emily, my love. I’m shorry. Let me in, won’t you?”

It took a few minutes more knocking before the door was wrenched open. Emily glared at the sodden rogue with hands on hips. “Go home and get some sleep, Varsil. I’ll not serve you another dram lest you can materialise some coin.”

Varsil pulled himself to full height and, reading loudly from the piece of paper, flourished an arm. “My dearest Lady. It is within my heart to speak of love, and of a particle love that has blozzmed in my own heart. When first I saw you...”

Emily promptly smacked Varsil in the middle of his forehead and dragged the unconscious rogue back into the tavern, all the while trying not to look embarrassed in front of the few people who had paused to witness the rogue’s amorous nonsense.

She hauled the inert figure to a shadowed corner of the room and hefted him onto a table then ripped the piece of paper from Varsil’s clenched hand.

“What is this?” she muttered, then instantly dropped the puke-covered paper onto the table.

"Eewww", she said.

30-Jul-2019 22:40:56 - Last edited on 30-Jul-2019 22:46:17 by Philosopher

Philosopher
Feb Member 2018

Philosopher

Posts: 142 Iron Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
*

When Varsil opened one eye he was greeted by the sight of wood... and a puddle of spittle. He un-stickied his face from the table and lifted his head. Pain stabbed through both temples, vision blurred.

“I think it’s awake,” said a voice.

Another voice responded, “Hard to tell, really. Lower life forms squidge without any seeming coherence. Is it coherent, do you think?”

Something drummed upon Varsil’s skull ( knock knock ), whereupon Judge Fury hoved into view. “Wake up you mis-managed drunkard!”

“ Blech ,” answered Varsil, and rolled over. He was grabbed by the lapels and forcibly uprighted. “You have some explaining to do Demonsoul, not least of which is the reason you have caused Emily so much angst this morning.”

Varsil grimaced as he tried to focus. “My head hurts,” was what he offered.

“I’m sure it does,” Judge Fury responded. “By all accounts, you drank enough to sink a galleon last night. What was the occasion, Demonsoul?”

Adam Spiderfang scoffed, “Occassion? Does he ever need an occasion to get blind?

Varsil pushed himself off the table and onto a chair with a horrid belch that almost included the contents of his stomach. “I need water,” he groaned.

“And you’ll get it,” hissed Judge Fury angrily, and Varsil found himself man-handled toward the steam room where he was stripped and thrown beneath a cold torrent of water. Finkle took over from there, pummelling Varsil with wet cloths and a scrubbing brush. Ten minutes later, he emerged from the steam room looking somewhat human.

Judge Fury eyed him balefully. “We ride in less than half-an-hour. Did you think getting drunk the night before a military engagement was a good thing? How stupid are you, exactly?”

Varsil ignored the comment for want of a hot mug of Wizards Mind Bomb.

“Fog you,” he groaned at Fury.

“Fog me all you like, but you have some explaining to do. And first to explain is where you got this from?” Judge Fury waved a stiff piece of paper at the rogue.

30-Jul-2019 22:50:31

Philosopher
Feb Member 2018

Philosopher

Posts: 142 Iron Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
Varsil grabbed it and studied the ink-runned message dropped by Lady Cassandra.

“This is illegible. I have no idea what it is.”

“It’s not the message I refer to, Demonsoul. It’s the paper itself. This bears the watermark of King Roald. Did you receive a communiqué that we should know about?”

Varsil shrugged. “I don’t recall how I came by that piece of paper.”

Judge Fury exchanged an exasperated glance with Adam Spiderfang and Young Ned.

“I hope it isn’t important. Sir Vyvin is marshalling his troops as we dither here. The rest of our troupe is waiting at the North Gate. Get your senses together, Demonsoul... we are leaving!”

*

It took a while before Varsil Demonsoul cleared his head enough to realise that the Point Guard were well on their way to Edgeville. His sudden clarity was evidenced when he moaned, “Fury, I’ve left my sword behind.”

The Judge looked at Varsil’s empty scabbard and swore, “You idiot. You’ll have to borrow a sword from someone else. We aren’t turning back.”

And they rode on... Judge Fury in the lead followed by Young Ned, Adam Spiderfang and the company of mercenaries known as The Table of Eight... riding to save the village of Edgeville from an incursion of monsters newly spawned from the depths of The Wilderness.

30-Jul-2019 22:52:21

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