So yeah, I'm dropping this one. I'm sorry for that. But sleeping at night has been difficult without writing a single word for the whole day. It's like getting outside without brushing your teeth or that sticky feeling you have after having a dip in the ocean and not taking a bath after.
And so I have decided to write a full novel. I have long wanted to write a true novel with drafts, edits and so forth. This time there will be no magic just pure war and politics and schemes. Hopefully I can finish it by the end of the year and I'll upload it here for alpha readers to sweep typos and grammar issues. It's not much but below is the prologue
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If there had been one man who had built a reputation closer to the definition of fear- one man whose name was on the hushed lips of every fearful peasant, commoner and noble alike- it would be King Ventil Laston, the same man lying bloody on the fine carpet.
King Ventil was obviously dead. The riddling stab holes on the king's back screamed with that fact. Still, it would be prudent approaching with heed. It was King Ventil after all- The Iron Hand, The Tyrant, Master of Men and Nations, Sovereign of Laston, The Great Dread...
This is him?
Dantal's eyes narrowed as he took a closer look at the king. Perhaps they had the wrong man? Perhaps a double? Them falling into a trap would heave more credit than believing that this man, the wrinkly coot sprawled naked on carpet, was the King who oppressed Laston for decades.
This is him? By the three Creators, this is him?
Dantal's grip on the shaft tightened. His other hand clenched his gauntlet scraping, iron fingers curling, fist underneath forming.
How dare he? How dare he to be so… normal. To be so pathetic-looking.
Dester, Polock and Haldo were now corpses under the gate's rubble. Haline, Ros, Fedri, Mesal were behind him, dead to the royal guards' futile stand. Thousands more of Laston's brave men were now cold and lifeless because of this bloody business.
So how dare he? He should be more fearsome, more matching with the terrible tales of his terrible acts. More menacing. More worthy of his infamous titles.
Instead he was a man. A man not inferior looking to his subjects perhaps, but a man indeed. His deep brown hair was a symbol of Laston's divine royal line but brown hair was rather common nowadays. The crown lying near his head was a majestic thing of gold and gems but Dantal had seen actors wear more refined crowns. The three enormous rings of ruby, emerald and sapphire on his right fingers were of course things of wealth but most merchants had more luxuries in their bodies.
Worst of all, the king was naked, stripped of his robe with the saggy cheeks of his arse in full show. Never mind the riddling stab wounds on his back or his pooling blood on the marble floor. Never mind his still-gaping mouth and eyes either. He was naked. Dantal hoped to at least see their greatest enemy with decency. All those months of planning and those lives taken by the sword. All those who wept, the widowed wives and orphaned babes. But it all ended with a withered old man laying naked and dead. This was hardly the ending he had in mind.
"How many have you lost, Captain?"
A voice. Sonorous, passable as bard, each word a little song of its own. Dux Gavan went beside Dantal, step falling on the king's blood. A gashing wound extended from Gavan's right ear down to his upper lip. A sword, maybe, or a dagger.
"Thirty-two, sir. Sixteen more wounded." Dantal grimaced a look around. The soldiers were clearing the dead and dying, the screaming and the silent- all dammed under the lofty ceiling of the throne room."But that was before…" Dantal's lips pressed, not finding the word to describe the carnage in the throne room.
Dux Gavan nodded, stiff as his face. "Even my men struggled with those royal guards. Tough and mindless, Captain. Tough and mindless all of them."
Silence wafted as both of them stared at King Ventil's corpse. The air must be sharp with the tang of blood, the wails of the wounded must be ghastly, and yet Dantal's attention was solely on the corpse.
"Do you consider yourself as a godly man, Captain?" Dux Gavan asked, now tilting toward him.
"Godly?" That came out with a surprised gasp. "I… I do still believe in The Three sir unlike many lads nowadays."
"Then what do you think of our act today? We just spilled King Ventil's holy blood, put holes in his holy back, killed his holy heir, desecrated his holy palace. His rule was sanctioned by The Three and yet we cut it short like how we cut down his guards."
Dantal's jaw clenched.
This is a sacrilege, I know that well, but what else could we have done?
"I believe The Three would consider sir. Given the.. circumstances."
Dux Gavan shifted back to staring at the dead king. "Not everyone is as open-minded as you are. A great many would call our act treason, cowardice and sacrilege. They would call us traitors, cowards and the likes. A great many, Captain, would list us among the most despicable of men and our acts as the most despicable of acts."
"A great many are blind, sir."
"True." Dux Gavan looked at Dantal, eyes cold on his skin. "Or maybe not. Perhaps this thing we did is truly unspeakable. Perhaps we are cowards, traitors and evil men. Perhaps." He paused. "But should we really trouble ourselves with such trifling matter? The time for thinking is done. Decisions have been made and king now lie dead."
Dantal could only nod to that. The era was dead and they just killed it.
"Gather your remaining men, Captain. Send the body of our late king to rest." The Dux turned around and began walking, voice fading in the hall filled with the dead. "And make it proper. Include the required honors and the words. Seal the old properly so we can meet the new the same."