Orgeth the Third

Orgeth III let out a coarse belch when he had finished his cup, and with a subtle yet imposing hand movement he ordered for his cup to be refilled.

—Get me my most special wine —he said whilst slicing a piece of lamb—, fill up my gold cup completely and throw the rest to the horses.

The servant crestfallenly followed the order with such a trained steadiness no more than a millionth part of a liter. Even an epsilon more would provoke his immediate punishment of a week and a half of eating with the cattle and losing his third phalanx. The wine was crimson red and had the thickness of the ocean itself. Made with the feet of the most beautiful venuses on the continent, it was said that seeing your reflection in the wine evoked the pride of Narcissus.

—Your Majesty —Interrupted Ser Nemechus reverencing the king with each sound let out—, I’m afraid the safety and stability of the kingdom have been committed.

—Tell me Ser Nemechus, How is it that I should care for the safety of my kingdom more than for my wine? —Asked annoyed Orgeth, almost interrupted by his own lustful belches.

—If you may, Your Majesty, there has been a thief stealing the kingdom’s taxes, land, and salt. He has taken away many lives from people, and he doesn’t seem to stop by regret or satiety —Ser Nemechus stood up, lifted his chin, and incarnated by Eros, raised his finger, pointing at an old portrait of the unmentionable Trismegistus—, It is Satan, Oh thy lord save my soul, who has possessed him! His fiery eyes have left a deep burn on every street, house, field, and life. The trace of his lust can be felt from the heart of the kingdom to Hermes’ peak. It is a burning hate incoming from the trenches of darkness, devouring life and hope on the touch.

»May God lead our victory over such evil. I came here scared and trembling from my ins, but The Lord is great, and with power, He’ll command our army to liberate this land. Oh God, Oh Thy Sacred Majesty, Oh Providence, Oh Holy Ghost that inhabits my soul, Give me the strength and fire to sentence this spirit to the unholiest place. The ninth circle of hell!

—Find this menace! Eradicate each and every blaze from his eyes and bring me his head! I order you, Ser Nemechus, from now on The Dawnbringer: Bring me his rolling head tomorrow at the first hours of noon. May The Lord be with thee. —Roared Orgeth the Third inflamed by the speech. Ser Nemechus bowed and withdrew from the palace.

The next morning nothing but victory shouts and glee cheers could be heard from outside the castle. The servant carefully carried the head of Orgeth III to the outside without dropping a millionth part of a liter of blood and put his head on a stake. His blood was opaque and viscose as if he was rotting from the inside; his stomach, as it did with the wine, subtracted life from every red liquid that went through. The rest was thrown to the horses.