The King’s hall, was a majestic work of architecture that rested on the highest hill in the Kingdom. Dome was the most beautiful thing in the whole kingdom with twelve pillars, sculptures of our forefather Damdorians ascended from. This piece of legacy was opened with a stripe in the middle that connected the east and the west so the castle stayed illuminated for the whole day. Sunsets and sunrises were the artists that moved shadows and colors on the white marble faces that proudly watched over King’s actions.
Crowning was the most celebrated event with royal Lord’s flocking to the city, throwing coins in the streets, drinking and feasting on bountiful crops our land had. However, this wasn’t the crowning we wanted. Years of wars produced many dead sons and a King that gave his life on a battlefield fighting the Romdar Garganate.
Lords stood among our forefathers, their heads negating in bitter sighs because of the Romdarian King ascend to the throne. A serious expression of the enemy’s King face was fixed on a decorated chair, while slimy gleams of his entourage spectated the saddened folk among the pillars. A wretched witch that was Domora played with a lock of hair that fell out of the bushy hair intertwined with twigs. She brought barbarians from the north and doubled the army of Romdars that needed aid, so some reward was appropriate. She demanded flesh to feed her soldiers as mountains were scant of it and Romdar King delivered Damdorians as dinner. Many Ladies, weak merchants and respected personas held their heads high, hiding discontent, fear and wrath toward the man who robbed them of their loved ones. They all knew that dark times are coming to Kingdom.
“Let it be known, that who ever does not cheer for our new King is to be sentenced to death!” A knight at the King’s side shouted as he passed the crowd, ringing with his heavy armor.
This words panicked the women surrounded by Romdar guards, murderers, a terrifying lot that got numbed with violence. That Knight was known as “Butcher of Five Rivers”, a last thing many have seen wielding an ax in the battlefield. Butcher broadened his shoulders and rose his nasty chin knowing that he will have some heads to chop off after the coronation. King walked peacefully, not getting fazed by the mass of people around him. His goal was achieved. A new Kingdom won.
Standing by the throne, a cleric fought to sustain himself on his feet, because his King was a generous man and this other King was brutal in every way. With the last step on the stairs, the new King turned and sat in the wide chair, a throne that was only promised to Damdorian descendant. Crown was laid after noble words and a smile grew on the King’s face. A hail of “long live the King” started echoing the magnificent King’s hall, just when the Sun reached the horizon on the west and a specter rose to fire an arrow.
Proud smile was instantly molded into a horrifying reaction that grabbed the arrow, spat blood and fell to the ground. Butcher kneed to help the King, but it was too late, he said his last in knight’s arms, while Domora carefully jumped over the dead King’s body and took his sit on the throne. She pleasantly whipped her head about, feasting on the confused feeling in the hall, then she swung down the crown and placed it on her untidy ‘crow nest’ of hair.
“Long live the King.” She announced it giggling and smirking, but that only sparked rage in the knight that still held the King in his arms.
“Traitor.” The Butcher growled. “I shall have your head CUNT!” The growl amplified and a dagger appeared in the knight’s gauntlet, but an arrow punched him in the shoulder blade, then a second crippled him piercing his shank, then the third found it’s mark in his neck where he made a step further and fell down like a plank.
“I want him for dinner, then I want Romdar King’s flesh for desert.” Domora clapped her hands rejoicing for the feast.