Hexatron Tales - Respect

Chapter 4 – Proclamation

Yes ‘twas I, Lord Wilbur L. Fameborn that raised his small man at arms and defeated all the obstacles in my wake, to rescue my fair lady. I traversed great lands and defeated terrible monsters and out witted clever traps of the most vicious of men the Batarians. The fiends had amassed forty three thousand desperate raiders and monsters to battle our great warriors of only a few hundred or so.

Lord Fameborn interrupts the bard retelling his heroics and stands in his most majestic pose to impress and stun the gathering crowds as well as provide his own emphasis and elaboration of his struggles and triumphs. He is a human of thirty odd watches – thirty odd years – and has a height of a small goliath of almost two metres in height. His outfit is of a causal linen many of his stature wear, with enough frills to look that of wizen sage but not enough to look like a miser of nobility. His tale is one that has been told and retold many a time and the more he recalls his foe the greater they become and the smaller his force he admits with each new version.

The king bestows upon me his blessing, when I alone volunteer to sacrifice myself to rescue his one and only beloved daughter. Our great king beg and beg, warning me the true dangers of my campaign but I just told him this “If I must be the one to die so that your liege can continue than I will gladly unsheathe my sword and end my life here and now. Justice will always triumph and honour is all the reward I wish to receive”.

As he recited his most famous monologue, the hero reveals his blade a shining sword made by the great dwarves of technology. He raises the blade in front of him and re-enacts a more theatrical version of the scene, then raising the sword in a single hand and declares all his rights to justice and honour by serving his great majesty the king of Traytos. The crowd reacts as if enchanted by some magical force and roar and cheer for the hero and great knight of Traytos. Though magic is forbidden in these parts of this country, the thought is dismissed by the bard. Perhaps some kind of alchemical potion to create charming illusions but maybe not.

Chapter 5 – The Hero?

Hey… hey… hey… Said a rather quiet voice among the roaring crowds.

I don’t remember any of that part of the story. Said a squeaky, exasperated voice from down below.

The bard being quite learned in perceiving even the slightest of moans a satisfied woman would make after a rueful session of copulation or the sneaky taste of forbidden fruit, slowly moved towards the corner of an empty side street. The bard looks around for the strange sound of objection and motions towards a set of rusted iron bars. A sewer grate. Looking down the bard sees nothing, nothing but darkness and the smell of faecal matter.

I was the one who saved the king’s daughter, I was the one who traversed danger and saved young knights from a pointless war and I was the one who sacrificed my whole being in rescuing her without reward. And what do I get for my service… a sentence to the gallows. A sigh of regret and disappointment follows.

Chapter 6 – Speculation

As cheers gathered around the great lord Fameborn, children of all ages re-enact the valiant motions of Fameborn’s tale. A young boy with a bend stick fights his friends cheering and gallivanting about being or at least wanting to be the great hero himself.

So I heard that there will be a festival in honour of the return of our princess. The greatest honour must go to lord knight Fameborn for his courageous deeds. I heard the hero had slain great boar of ferocious proportions. No, no, no it was a wild and terrifying behemoth with two heads and horns all over its monstrous body. You’re all wrong in that sense ‘cause I heard it was a giant with two heads and a club in each hand the size of an alchemists’ tower.

More and more exaggerations were told throughout the sector about what lord knight had indeed defeated but a dancing minstrel retells the story of Lord Wilbur L. Fameborn, though some may call it a poem rather than a story.

I, the knight Fameborn am hero of this land.

Born from great knights of old and chaos of man.

I, the warrior of justice and valour.

Traverse the lands Bataros the betrayers.

To rescue the maiden of this land the great land of chaos, Traytos.

I, the savoir of truth and beauty.

Fight the wicked and the terrible enemy.

I, the courage of warriors and knights

Climb the tower and break through with might.

To rescue the maiden of this land the great land of chaos, Traytos.

I, the clever and wisdom of great sages.

Endure their foulest and illusion of mazes.

I, the freedom and righteous of my order.

Defeats the wicked and rescues the king’s daughter.

I, the great lord Wilbur L. Fameborn.

With the final stands of the minstrel’s poem comes the great merriment of the crowds and the many who believe in epic ballads comes to throw their appreciation – or payment of a great story this is mostly in coins of copper and silver but sometimes it is of fanfare or the flirtatious women, their bodies – to the bowing performers. The man and woman of the crowds still enjoying the celebrations rather than working at their stations start singing and continuing their uncouth merriment.

Chapter 7 – The King’s Scheme

Father, father look down there, I think I can see my hero among the crowds of peasants. My great hero and honourable knight, why do you linger in the mess of the masses when instead you could be in my bed regaling me of how you rescued me from the evils of our enemy. Says the Princess of Traytos as she leans against the balcony of the palace.

The king ignores his lubricious daughter and sits on his throne mulling over and over the real story behind the hero’s story. His thoughts are of the recent past, on the occurrence of the planned kidnapping of his own daughter by his distant niece, the princess of Bataros. The thought passed him like some nefarious scheme but of course he knew of its significants. The place of the meeting and the time and accomplices that joined them flashed through his mind as his foolish and stubborn daughter continued to regal the distant hero.

A place of seclusion, a place of secret, a place of history and tradition. The king and his agent stroll toward a common destination. Steam bellowed with each passing step, as the surrounding pipes release a mist of liquid. The path ahead is narrow and walled to support a massive structure up above. The conversation the two have are one of private importance.

“Now then you do realise why I have brought you here instead of my uncultured daughter, RIGHT!” said the king, with a demanding tone.

The agent replies with the utmost reverence, formal but precise.

“This meeting is more important than your whole being and it must be regarded with the utmost discretion, as we will be meeting with someone of similar stature to myself. Now until we concluded this meeting you are not to speak to me or the other party unless spoken to or provoked.” Said the king, continuing to warn his servant of the dire consequences of failure.

The agent again does not say a word but responds with a nod to confirm that the message was understood. The pair stop at a lightly lit chamber with low burning torches at each corner and a round stone table in the central most part. Two other creatures or figures gradually approach the same but opposite side of the table. The king motions his agent to move to one of the corners. The figures on the other side of the table also place both hands on to the table and greet each other in some kind of coded message. “Srerecros fo tsetaerg emoclew” says the king. While the other responses with “Tsigolonhcet tnaillirb emoclew” and then both men share a strange chuckle and both welcome each other with a spirited hand shake. The meeting has begun.

While both the king and my father share the ancient tongue I observe the other in the corner of the room. This person does not look like my cousin and for the most part this person looks very much like a man considering his build and his stance. As silent as he is, he seems to have no interest in the meeting whatsoever. I, on the other hand am quite curious as to why uncle has decided to set this meeting up with a stranger rather than his own daughter. I remember the history of our sector and its traditions. I know that my father the sovereign of Bataros and king of Traytos are both blood siblings, so why is this stranger who is unrelated to the crown of either sectors here. As I ponder the possible possibilities, I hear an unfamiliar voice in my mind. It said “…because she is a fool…” the voice lingers for a few seconds but then vanishes. As I look over to find where the voice might have come from the stranger in the corner gestures subtly, hinting that it was him or perhaps her since they are heavily cloaked to hide his gender and or their physical features. The voice sounded feminine but had odd infliction to the tone and nature of the statement. As though it was formed through arcane means rather than a mechanical device.

“Daughter, you know of your uncle and my brother, king of Traytos” proclaimed her father. Before the girl could even reply to such a question, he continued “…we have proposed an arrangement to keep the peace in our lands and his.” Again, just before she can interrupt his line of conversation he continues with “…we are going to participate in kidnapping your cousin and having his liege to choose a puppet to control as his daughter’s rescuer…”

The king comes back to his senses as he realises that his idiot of a child has tried to - but failed - accost him with an obscenely large mechanic broad-axe. He commands his guards to gently stop her, as he slowly traverses down from his throne. He then engages in some light conversation she wanted to inform him – though it was the same old princess babble that all young naïve maidens prattle on and on about – than he kindly apologises and sends her away, so as he can mull over the events that have transpired.

Chapter 8 – In jail

A small dark vestige of a child in a very large room unfit for its size. Sitting down on the filthy dirt floor of this semi dark room, the figure stays silence not even making the slight noise from breathing. The child notices light piercing the darkness as the new cycle arrives, but still makes no motion to react. As more and more light enters the room from a barred opening the vestige of the child becomes clearer.

A boy perhaps or a young man, but with such small stature and rough features it must be a man. He finally reacts to the shadows of the world and he breathes a sigh of annoyance. He shuffles and struggles to move as his hands a bonded to his hips, not his back or perhaps to the wall. The chains and restraints are positioned in such a way to restrict him from escape as well as stop him from moving at all. The man is restricted this way not for his crime but for his race. He is a halfling after all and they have a reputation for being notorious thieves and vagrants. Even though his legs are not bond they still have bells attached to them. These bells will react to any kind of movement and the ringing in the silent cell will echo to alert the guards.

The noise from the world outside the room become more and more prominent, with cheers and shouts and comments of “the hero has returned” or “the saviour has returned”. As the loud noise outside slowly fades away the man exhales yet another sigh and says in a very subtle voice “…but I’m the one who saved her…” As the sounds and cheers slowly move away from this room and silence once again remains in the room, a single voice, an inquiring tone asks “and who might you be? Mr Saviour!” strangely enough there was no mockery in his voice or an unsavoury remark.

With such a query being proposed in such a quite atmosphere, the remark seemed like a booming demand. The others near this cell loudly react to this inquisition as though this were their one and only visit or friend. The man sitting in silence only looks up at his cell room window and reacts with yet another sigh as though he was still exhausted from a prior experience. Though there are indeed more rooms in the place, with even more people of sorts in them, the sounds become muffled as all their shouts and demands for freedom are drowned out by the sound of water and fire. Shouts and screams of freedom and innocence and cries for reverence or just the curses of being wronged.

After the sounds of the other occupants cease, the silent sighing man having waiting for this moment finally answers very sincerely “I am … I am Torbiro … I am a knight or should I say ex-knight of Traytos”.

//Next week I will upload the next chapters//