Magnificent Ends and New Beginnings

Late at night, a pen skritched and scratched at a ragged paper. It's edges were torn and tattered, splotches of tea spattered across the paper. Ink formed lines of pure black, which turned to letters, destined to become words then sentences. The silent night was filled with the scribbles of ink and paper. A crow croaked breaking  the steady rhythm of scritching. The candlelight made the mood even more solemn. Its constant flicker made shadows dance in a haunting way. The ink made a picture of hidden, expected death. It was a will. One speaking of the rewards of another’s death. King Yelti shook his head at the heavy mood. He’d rather not be such a pessimist, so he rethought his opinion. A will was giving someone the last thing to remember a person by, Yelti retried. He knew his time was short. Such a shame that a story of a hero was coming to a close.

His time as a monarch had been short-lived, but fulfilling. He had a fun time while it lasted, he admitted to himself, but to end it all off with an assassination from a small guild? It was kind of unsatisfying. Yelti sighed. He may have been a wise ruler (if you can call common sense wise), but he really didn’t care what his people thought of him. He would do anything and everything to keep this kingdom prosperous. He would march into battle alone against millions of battle-hardened, well armed monsters of soldiers. He would sign and date any and every paper he must to keep the peace between him and countries that could decimate his kingdom. He would travel to as many native or foreign villages, tribes, settlements as it took to keep each happy with the towns of his kingdom. He worked at his best and more constantly, giving at least two hundred twenty percent of his effort at all times. One of his favorite laws he had passed was one that reduced all of the overly high taxes. This made the people so much happier. It was a risk though. The Royal Treasury could have been emptied in an instant, but it wasn’t. King Yelti had never taken a single copper hand for himself. Everything went into food, trade, exploration, military, or anything else the kingdom needed. This was his one and only hobby. His child. Yelti knew if he ever were to leave the kingdom in the hands of the wrong person, he’d never forgive himself. 

His supposed heir was an absolute spoiled brat. He gambled away his allowance for some pocket change. He was hated amongst the kingdom and known as an idiot who only relied on his grandfather and title to get whatever he wanted. He threw massive parties only his friends could go to. Each had enough food to fill thousands of people, though less than ten came. Yelti had no doubt in his mind that his ‘heir’ would drown the entire kingdom in a massive debt that would take centuries to pay off. That wasn’t the person that the king would leave his precious kingdom to.

The king traced his ear in just the right way to soothe himself. It was a strange habit of his, but it was just to help him reign in each thought and process it’s information without overloading his brain. He wondered if letting himself get killed was the right choice. With all of this dedication and love that he had for his kingdom, he had pondered his decision many times. But he already knew that what he was doing was right, in it’s own fashion. Though it was definitely selfish, and absolutely wrong of  him to think that this was the only way to help, he still felt he needed to do it. He was already plagued with a weak immune system because of his mother’s DNA, and his combat skills had never been honed because of his passive nature, but now he was over seventy-five. Old. Very old. He knew this would be a hindrance, and so did everyone else. But that didn’t stop them from giving their absolute best for him. They smiled and worked hard, never showing a sliver of distrust or hesitation. Yelti knew this was a burden to his kingdom. It would be better for someone who was about fifty years younger, a hundred years wiser, and many times healthier than him to rule.

Then an idea struck him like a brick. No, a cannon ball. Or a bullet from point-blank range! The king smiled, for the first time that night,  to himself, pushing all of his petty thoughts about terminology  aside. His idea would probably be frowned upon by most people and guaranteed to be hated by his grandson. It was amazingly risky, but it was better than writing a will that rewarded bad behavior.  Of course, Yelti had a long road ahead of him before he would be finished, and the plan would be underway, but he had all the time in the world. He tore his will up into tiny shreds, and started skritching and scratching on a new piece of paper.

“Hear one, hear all! King Sodsun Yelti has declared for all bodies between the age of 12 and 25 to be in attendance of the Year End Feast. Bring the best dress and weapon ye own! The festivities will commence in three weeks time! Be prepared for glory! Be prepared for heartbreak! Be prepared for victory!”

Sult tapped the hilt on their left side nervously. Their blades were beauties of  weapons. The blade on the right of their hip was a well kept iron dagger. The hilt was a deep oak with a carved laughing ghostly figure wrapping it’s bony fingers near the top, creating a handguard. Their first weapon, and an amazing one at that. The weight was a perfect mix of solid enough to feel like it won’t break, light enough to swing it at an incredible speed. The sword on Sult’s back looked like it was about to swallow their head. A snake wound around the pine hilt, which was tinted with a sickly green that somehow added more glamour to the blade. The sheath was a deep black that had vibrant fern emblazoned in another, seemingly more cunning, serpent. The last blade that Sult carried was a viciously curved sickle. They knew that this would never be used to harvest grain, but that was already obvious. Both sides of the blade were sharpened until it looked as if it could cut through metal with ease. The metal of the blade was decorated with gold etches that displayed a mighty dragon that commanded the oceans and days as well as the land and nights. The hilt was wrapped in a solid sea. The pommel shone with a gold that could only be described as pure sun. The blade itself was made of  a violently gorgeous obsidian the color of a bloody night. This was Sult’s absolute favorite blade. They had built up such a speed with it that even the fastest dagger wielders couldn’t keep up with them. They named the blade Stellaclade.  They once heard it in a port far west, and they always had that word in the back of their mind. 

Sult really didn’t know why they decided to attend the Year End Feast with all of their best swords. They usually had only one of the three, but the king did say to bring their best weaponry. Sult looked around as much as their frivolously decorated, half armoured suit would allow them to. Men, boys, girls, women all commerced together. The older boys showed off their many tricks with all different weapons to the younger boys who gawked and gasped at the fanciful twirls. A few men stared at a particularly good looking woman longingly, lust filling their vision. Girls laughed merrily around each other, telling secrets and little bits of gossip. Sult sighed and turned their head to see a young boy and woman teleport into view. Startled at the unexpected company, Sult stopped their sigh midway through. The boy cheerily bounced on both Sult and the woman.

 “Hi mister! Are you a mister? I don’t really care! Your swords look awesome! Is that a genuine Malto dagger? I’ve always wanted one! And your suit looks super cool! Did you make it yourself? I want to know how to make it! Will you teach me how to make it? How about your name? Mine’s Yue!” the little boy barraged. Sult was taken aback with the sudden amount of questions they had been asked. The woman calmly planted a hand on Yue’s head and pushed down on it, in such a force that Sult could feel the amount of power released. Yue stopped bouncing, but still vibrated a bit. Maybe not a bit, as he looked like he could bounce off of the walls. His attack of words also ceased. The woman curtsied and introduced herself as Wyn. “I’m very sorry for the bombardment of questions, Yue is just a very curious person. Also, don’t feel pressured to answer his questions. I hope you pardon his manners as well, he hasn’t learned to ask people their pronouns yet,” Wyn said, almost straining against the ever abundant amount of energy that Yue was exuding. “It’s ok, Wyn. My name is Sult, and I do use they/them pronouns,” Sult bowed, then began to pour out all the answers to the questions that Yue somehow said in one breath, “I don’t mind being called Mister every once in a while, but do not call me Mister all the time. I’m not sure if my dagger is a genuine Malto dagger, but I don’t really care. It was a gift from my father. I did forge a few pieces of this suit, but I was not the one who actually made it. I can show you how to make the armor part, if you would like to learn,”

Yue’s eyes widened with each new scrap of information, and Wyn shook her head. She interrupted Sult in the middle of their sentence. “Again, don’t feel inclined to answer all of the questions you are asked. Yue has a knack for remembering everything about a person. Actually, a knack is too modest. He is able to draw the doctor who gave birth to him. He was invited to the spy guild Tepha Hol because of it,”

That shut Sult up faster than they ever had shut their mouth. Yue whined playfully at Wyn for giving away his secret, but Wyn just looked at him, glaring a bit. Yue was interrupted by an announcer. 

“Hear one, hear all! King Sodsun Yelti has declared that the festivities cease immediately! All ye who hear this message are now eligible for the crown! The trials that follow will determine who shall be worthy of taking the throne.  The first trial will be to challenge anyone here to a duel, in which the defeated is unconscious, unable to move, or admits surrender! The winner will be announced when one stands over their opponent.”

Sult, Yue, and Wyn all looked at each other speechless. “We should team together!” Yue suggested quickly, and almost panicked. Wyn nodded. “Sure, let’s go,” Sult said, sighing.

King Yelti laid in his velvety bed, letting his mind wander.Old heroes only known in legend fade, their story never to be told again, though most died in a blaze of glory as they met a magnificent end. Each time that supernova of power and fame extinguished, a new star burned just barely until it grew. These new stars grew to the greatness of legends, sometimes even more. They replaced old heroes, and soared to new heights, just as their predecessors did. Much better than thinking of silly wills, King Yeltli bemusedly thought, ready to meet his magnificent end.