"An arrow is all it took." The corpulent man finished narrating his story as he sat plump and sunken in his hard iron throne. The blubber in his body offered enough padding to cushion the stiff cold throne he was sitting on. "It pierced his heart, went right through his chest. That is the longbow I used." The man pointed at a bow mounted high on a stone inlaid wall of the room. All those in the room looked at it in unison. The bow was rusty, already catching dust and barely large enough to be called a longbow.
The story was one of King Darshman's favorites to tell anyone who would listen, how he caught the leader of the northern rebellion and then murdered him right in this very room to avenge the slaughter of his brother and his family. Vidyut had heard it a hundred times, and he could only clench his jaw and sit through the ordeal once more while the fool of a king twisted the true story to fit his own version of events.
