Mallorca is nice; I'm liking it here. It's quiet, more civilised than Malta somehow. Relaxing, almost!
The storm Aelric, Crown Prince of Mostlybony, sat on the throne of Mostlybony. This was uncomfortable as he was actually sitting on the bones of his father; by long tradition the bones of the rulers of Mostlybony were never removed from where the ruler died, no matter how awkward or inconvenient they were. This meant that the palace of Mostlybony had several odd rooms, and in one case an entire three-storey wing, that had fallen out of use due to the bones of an old monarch that were now available for use again as the bones had either disintegrated to dust or petrified into the substance of the room itself. His father had been assassinated by persons unknown (Aelric suspected his mother) while dispensing justice to the smallfolk and had taken several months to rot to the point where the throne could be used again. Even so, the bones were tough and grinding them to powder under his own body was taking forever. He shifted on the throne, hearing the grind of old femur and pelvis against stone, and stared across the throne room. On the other side was a queue of people seeking justice, and a second queue of people seeking a royal appointment. Many of them were seeking some kind of alliance or contract and he despised them. Most of them were offering junk and were well aware of it, and were just wasting his time. He eyes lighted next on his sword, Thundersnatch, resting by the throne and almost instantly a cure to his boredom presented itself. The sword was steel, with the blade rust-red with the blood of innocents along two-thirds of its length, and the hilt was wrapped with leather that was probably made from the skin of some innocent as well. The sword had been stolen from prostitute-priestesses years ago, and though they periodically sent assassins to retrieve it none had succeeded so far. Aelric let his fingers rest lightly on the pommel of Thundersnatch and felt the sword's inner demons stir. With only a thought he felt the weather above them shift and flex, and moments later a light drizzle started. He waved the next supplicant over. As they approached, a look of terror on their pale face, Aelric saw the court staff notice the drizzle and immediately they turned to the court meteorologist, who started pulling out bits of paper and checking them anxiously. "Sire," said the supplicant, dropping to his knees in worry, "Sire, I beg you for justice. My daughter is dead, consumed by the beasts of the Rock, and no-one will support me." The crash of the first thunderclap drowned out Aelric's mocking laughter and the meteorologist gave up looking at his papers and just pointed at the Crown Prince instead. The storm had broken.
Wow, you're bringing back all the old hits recently! Most appreciated :D
Really enjoyed the descriptions here. Can't help but feeling sorry for that first supplicant, though I think he's avoided being struck by lightning so far?
2 comments:
Mallorca is nice; I'm liking it here. It's quiet, more civilised than Malta somehow. Relaxing, almost!
The storm
Aelric, Crown Prince of Mostlybony, sat on the throne of Mostlybony. This was uncomfortable as he was actually sitting on the bones of his father; by long tradition the bones of the rulers of Mostlybony were never removed from where the ruler died, no matter how awkward or inconvenient they were. This meant that the palace of Mostlybony had several odd rooms, and in one case an entire three-storey wing, that had fallen out of use due to the bones of an old monarch that were now available for use again as the bones had either disintegrated to dust or petrified into the substance of the room itself. His father had been assassinated by persons unknown (Aelric suspected his mother) while dispensing justice to the smallfolk and had taken several months to rot to the point where the throne could be used again. Even so, the bones were tough and grinding them to powder under his own body was taking forever.
He shifted on the throne, hearing the grind of old femur and pelvis against stone, and stared across the throne room. On the other side was a queue of people seeking justice, and a second queue of people seeking a royal appointment. Many of them were seeking some kind of alliance or contract and he despised them. Most of them were offering junk and were well aware of it, and were just wasting his time.
He eyes lighted next on his sword, Thundersnatch, resting by the throne and almost instantly a cure to his boredom presented itself. The sword was steel, with the blade rust-red with the blood of innocents along two-thirds of its length, and the hilt was wrapped with leather that was probably made from the skin of some innocent as well. The sword had been stolen from prostitute-priestesses years ago, and though they periodically sent assassins to retrieve it none had succeeded so far.
Aelric let his fingers rest lightly on the pommel of Thundersnatch and felt the sword's inner demons stir. With only a thought he felt the weather above them shift and flex, and moments later a light drizzle started. He waved the next supplicant over.
As they approached, a look of terror on their pale face, Aelric saw the court staff notice the drizzle and immediately they turned to the court meteorologist, who started pulling out bits of paper and checking them anxiously.
"Sire," said the supplicant, dropping to his knees in worry, "Sire, I beg you for justice. My daughter is dead, consumed by the beasts of the Rock, and no-one will support me."
The crash of the first thunderclap drowned out Aelric's mocking laughter and the meteorologist gave up looking at his papers and just pointed at the Crown Prince instead. The storm had broken.
Greg - happy to hear you're enjoying it!
Wow, you're bringing back all the old hits recently! Most appreciated :D
Really enjoyed the descriptions here. Can't help but feeling sorry for that first supplicant, though I think he's avoided being struck by lightning so far?
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