The three left Governanti upon that night, heading back for Lumbridge as quickly as they could. But upon the next few days, trouble would brew and devastation would come, something that they seem to have become accustomed to. Inside the castle later into the night, Balor still sat upon his throne. His eyes soulless and almost death-like.
All around the throne room, humans in ragged clothing began carting off the dead. They were physically exhausted, but they knew they couldn't show it with all those glowing eyes staring at them. A knight approached the king, bowing before him. "The Resistance has left the city, my lord," he reported. "My lord, may I ask a question?"
Balor was slow to answer, sluggishly building himself back together. "I allow you to," he quietly responded.
"Why did you let them go?" he asked. "I understand why you'd let the princess leave, but not the others..."
His eyes then peered down into the knight's eyes, almost like Balor were staring into his soul. "Because they are not long for this world," he callously responded.
The End of Chapter 13
Next Chapter,
Chapter 14: Tuebor
The night faded away, disappearing like an old wound. But this wound left behind a scar, a very vivid injury that rippled into the king. He sat upon his throne, all alone... with no one there to cling to, to speak with. No one that could understand him, no one that could comfort him. Time bolted forward, its hand spinning fast around Balor as people rush by him without a word.
Before his weary mind realized it, it was well into the afternoon. Three o'clock to be exact. As voices from all around bellowed throughout this crystal cage, a hooded man stepped before the king. On his knees, digging his hand into the blood-red carpet, he bowed with respect before his king's feet. "Your Majesty," the man in dark leather called.
Balor's soulless blue eyes gazed half-full, he saw the member of the Loyal Watch before him. The god was there, equipped in dark gray leather clothing. Though the most notable thing was the strange mask he wore on his face, it looked much like a bird. And the slots for his eyes were covered by blackened glass, to conceal the light of his eyes.
He wore a black leather sleeveless coat, it reached down to his ankles. Beneath his coat, a light gray long sleeved shirt that was somewhat tight around his torso and the upper portion of his arms, but down to his forearms it became rather loose. Around his waist, a plated belt that held onto a shortsword encased in a leather home.
His pants were dark gray, long and somewhat tight. His boots were dark gray and leather, reaching just below his knees. The boots were plated in the front, an image of the Imperial Kingdom's winged lion found on them. Balor's dreary eyes then looked away, turning half way from the man. "You know you're not meant to openly reveal yourself." Balor mentioned, his voice hushed and low. "What brings you?"
"My apologies, sire," the Watcher said, regretfully. "but I have information regarding that certain something..."
"Is that so?" the king's voice then spoke, turning up with attention. His eyes then dashed to the man, eager to hear what he had to say.
"My lord, your suspicions were indeed correct." he then reported. "I watched them just last night, allowing a young man and woman to enter through without resistance."
Hearing this news, Balor's immediate reaction was to ascend from his throne. He stood up, pushing his eyes forward. He then began to walk away from his throne, readying himself to deliver swift justice. "Very well," he replied. "I suppose this disease best be dealt with before it spreads any further."
"But sire," quickly spoke the Watcher as the king passed him by. "would you not have one of your knights do away with them?"
"If you want something done right, it's best you do it yourself." the king returned, his feet never ceasing motion. King Balor was intensely focused, preparing himself for the scene that was to come. He walked into the entrance room, his human knights humbly bowing to him. Two knights at the door then pulled it open for Balor, shooting a thick wall of radiant shine upon him.
His adamas armour glittered like a hill of gold, the glow of his eyes easily outclassed. A southerly wind blowing at his back, he took one step out into the world. More steps were soon to follow, they led him to the gates of which those two knights in question protected. The knights heard the sound of the incoming king's footsteps, turning around to take a gaze.
Indeed, they confirmed that it was him. Quickly, they latched their hands upon the handles of the gate and pulled it wide open. "M-my lord!" shouted the knight to the right.
Balor stepped on through, they closed the gate behind him. But then the king paused, much to the surprise of the knights. Balor then placed his hands behind his back, folding them into each other. "Do you take me for a fool, humans?" questioned the king to his subjects.
Both of the knights then turned to each other, puzzled by this strange question presented to them. It was a long stretch of silence between the question and answer, most likely due to the randomness that it brought. "Erm..." said the left-hand knight, then shaking his head. "No, sire."
"Don't lie
to me!
" Balor then rather quickly snapped, turning at the knight who spoke. Balor's eyes drilled into the human's skull, chewing through him like a moth upon a strip of cloth.
The left-hand knight boggled, sweating taut bullets. "I-I'm not, milord!"
"Really?" growled Balor, his voice boiling with anger. "Then why have I been told that YOU were aiding the Resistance!?"
"We haven't, sir!" he pleaded, his voice starting to withdraw into its shell. The knight had begun to cower inside his armour, quaking in his boots. "Honest ta Lord Dias, we haven't! I swear on me life, sir!"
"This is a huge misunderstanding, sire." Gavin, the knight to the right, responded. He took the heat off of the left knight's plate and forced it upon himself.
The king then spun to the one who just spoke quickly like a shark who had just sensed blood. "Is that right?" asked Balor, stepping over to the knight. "Then would you care to enlighten me about this simple "misunderstanding"?"
"We're being framed, my lord," the right-hand knight then replied.
The king then got in the knight's face, shooting blades from his eyes. Gavin seemed to be dodge these blades just barely, retaining his composure even when Balor came up close. "Now, we both know how much of a lie that is." quietly spoke the king's furious tongue. "So, how about you start speaking some truth with that slippery tongue? Your life depends on it."
"My lord, I'm telling you the—" the knight then returned, keeping to his story. His voice then went quiet when then it transformed into a struggle for air. Balor could finish the knight's words for him before the knight could, so his hands zipped swiftly for Gavin's throat. His hands gripped so very tightly around his throat as he then lifted the knight off of his feet.
The knight choked, gagging as his arms and legs flailed around like a puppeteer making his puppet bounce up and down. Then a crude, sickening pop was sent off into the air. It was a horribly grotesque sound, enough to easily make anyone quite weak in their stomach. The prey had stopped fighting, his limbs dropping down lifeless.
And all the left-hand knight could do was watch -- watch as a dastard like him just allowed his friend to die in his stead. His jaw hung agape, unable to fathom what had played out before him. Balor then just tossed Gavin to the side, discarding him like a match. Balor's relentless, callous blue eyes then sent sail for the sea of the left-hand knight's soul. Only, this ship was one that carried a rather sinister flag.
Balor took a step forward, the knight took a step back. It was a repetitive game that Balor could easily end. The knight then shook his head, denying all that Balor had accused the two of. "We've been tellin' the truth, milord..." he mumbled, stumbling in his step. His frightened breath pushed out of his mouth, sometimes coming out sharply. "W-we'd never!"
"Do you think me insane then, human?"
The knight then shook his head. "Y-yes, I-I do!" he answered honestly.
"Ahahahaha!" the king then laughed, not able to contain himself. He was amused by the knight's frank answer, closing his eyes and clenching onto his face. The knight then felt the memories of all the times he spent with his friend, Gavin. The recollections of the past came back to him, it was indeed something he had cherished. But now, this man before him had torn down the walls that housed their days as friends.
It didn't just end with him though. His longtime friend had others in his life, a gorgeous family. A wonderful wife, two beautiful children, and a long list of people who stood beside him. To this cowardly knight, it was something that needed to be avenged. No one should be stripped of someone that they love like this... no one!
With tears in his eyes, the knight drew his blade. Tossing aside the banner that marked his oppression, the knight charged forward. Balor knew that the knight was coming even before his own sixth sense knew. The knight then came in swinging, slashing his sword down. But compared to Balor, he was not nearly fast enough.
Balor was quicker to draw and attack than this knight, pulling out the Arbandor and slashing it from the upper left to the lower right before the knight could even finish his move. It was a long, gaping wound that was like a pathway of destruction. The jagged blade had cut deeply into the knight, causing much more than just a flesh wound.
Blood then begun to fall from his armour, puddling on the cobblestone pathway beneath his feet. The knight then collapsed, coming into fruition this pain that gripped him literally until his life bled out entirely from him. His body crashed against the ground, coming in as a nasty thud. Balor withdrew his blade, glaring down at the knight who had entirely given up.
With a quick twist, the king then walked away from the knight. He left the knight to himself, leaving him to his own thoughts before his life drew to a close. He didn't have happy memories with his family to share, only painful ones. All that had been lost all those years ago... when the gods ripped them from his arms. His love, his own children... why did he keep serving their killers? He could only figure one answer: because he feared joining them.
As he closed the photobook that was covered with pictures of his days, he recollected upon the fate of all those who were forced under the winged lion -- the symbol of their slavery. Indeed, the thought of losing all that they loved was the only thing that kept them working. To avoid such an image from becoming reality, that was the only thing that all those serving Governanti were awarded.
He could then join those that he loved, wherever that may be. Knowing that all of his life, he spent his best living... be it during times of happiness or during times when life was at its harshest. He pondered then, thinking of all that he'd seen. Of all the images that rushed into his head, there was something that was like déjà vu in each and every scene.
Regardless of the sorrow that they woke up to everyday, those people still had friends and family. People in general that they cared for. They built their lives each day knowing that at any moment, they could die. Be it by the hand of their oppressors or by the hands of some other form. They lived their lives with pride and joy, regardless of the horror of the everyday. They made the most of everyday, living as if they truly were going to die.
He died then with a smile... one that masked despair but one that shined with glee. But to be freed from this prison called hell, that was the true relief.
Balor was back on his throne, wiping off the blood of the human that dirtied his blade. The Watcher was still there, knowing that Balor had not commanded him to leave. His head hung low, until it goes to look up with respect upon his king. "My lord," he spoke. "am I allowed to return to my post?"
"Yes, you're free to go." the king then replied, answering him. The Watcher then stood up from his feet, turning around to walk out of the room. As he approached the doorway, the king had thought of something at that moment. He quickly then looked at the Watcher's back, raising his left hand out in front of him. "Hold a moment!"
The Watcher then spun around, facing his king once more. "Yes, sire?"
"Show me your face," he commanded.
Without a moment of hesitation, the Watcher then placed his hand on the mask. His fingers wrapping themselves around his mask, his middle finger found a strange button of which he pressed. It unlocked the mask, prying it off of his face. He then pulled it off, revealing a man of light blue glowing eyes. He then pulled down his hood, revealing all the bits of his head.
He had stood there at a strong stature, being at least six-feet-two-inches. He was built strong, but not thickly. His eyes were intense and stone cold, almost killer-like. His facial features also added to that statement, giving him a stern face. His hair was a dark brown and slicked back, being about neck-length. He was clean-shaven, and appeared somewhat young. He looked about twenty-five in human years, close to the same age as Balor himself.
Balor's eyes gazed at every detail, seeing the man behind the mask. "And what is your name, Watcher?" he asked.
"Drakon, sir," said the man, giving Balor his name. "Drakon Kórakas."
"Drakon," started Balor. "how well are you with a blade in your hand?"
"Excellent, sire," the Watcher then answered, believing himself to be a fine swordsman.
"Very good," said Balor. "As you may know, I am in need of a new Orderer for the Loyal Knights. Because of your services over the course of the past few days, I offer you the position. Would you accept it?"
Drakon knelt down, bowing to his king. "I am honored, my lord."
"See to recruiting more members," he ordered.
"It shall be done," he stated, standing up to his feet. He then began walking away, happy of his new position. As the situation for those of Governanti changed course, the Resistance here in the capital remained the same even after that brush of the last night. As the Governanti Resistance members relaxed and perhaps some even being focused to work as a slave, a report was being filed. Young Anabel and Daevarro stood before Fionnlagh, this branch's leader.
Fionnlagh sat at his desk, a quill gripped firmly in his hand. It swept across a golden brown plain, creating a black water river with multiple bends. His eyes were glued to this land while his ears listened to the words given to him. "...And we left, sir." told Anabel to her leader.
"I see," said Fionnlagh, his eyes not leaving the paper. "Daevarro, would you mind clarifying your actions?"
"U-uh... well, sir," the young man spoke, his voice having a few missteps. "I-I... don't know. I just really angry and I couldn't control it."
"You "couldn't control it"?" Fionnlagh quoted. "What precisely does that mean? You got anger problems?"
Daevarro appeared forced out of his hiding place with this question, being caught off-guard. "W-well," he nervously continued, trying to find a reason for his sudden rage. Daevarro then drew breath into his lungs and released it, implying a rather lost sigh. "...I really don't have an answer, sir. I just get really angry all of a sudden."
"Then I advise you best learn to control it," the leader suggested in an almost enforcing voice. "Your haste could have very well ended your life as well as Anabel's. In fact, it's amazing that it didn't."
