Hyrlant: The Aristocracy
A low rumbling issued from the two large, oak doors as they hesitantly swung open. The ancient grumbling of the wood momentarily masked the bouts of thunder shaking the keep’s stone walls. Each boom of the storm knocked plates off tables in the mess hall, sullied paintings and objects of art as they fell from their places; not to mention spooked the brule in the mud-drenched stables outside. Most of the patrols were inside the barracks or keep this day, pampering themselves while hiding from the malevolent weather.
It was not always so, reflected Maelock. Before the prince was inaugurated as head of command in the town of Westwinds, the city, then only a small town, was still sweeping up the ravages of war and celebrating its new independence. Now, with no one left to fight, the aristocracy had acquired a distinct lassitude, becoming accustomed as the years went by to having their way; with no one left to deny them their desires. Maelock scoffed. He had been a soldier for the Kingdom of Jael for almost 30 years now. He had served while Westwinds was still under military command, and his sword was still being put to use back then; unlike now where the only action his steel saw was hunting down petty thieves.
Maelock stood after passing through the massive doors and saluted the prince, rigid at attention. Despite his profound dislike of the boy, he prided himself on never showing any sign of emotion in front of those who did not deserve such a sentiment. The prince waved a hand lazily in Maelock’s direction signaling him to approach the lavish throne, and Maelock heard the two doormen grunt as they pushed the doors closed once more. His metal armor, bearing the insignia of the SageBlades, the eldest and more revered group of soldiers in the kingdom of which he was now the Commander, clinked loudly despite the thunderous tantrum that continued outside the keep’s walls. His thick leather boots, which normally scuffed across the rough stone floors of the keep, were now quieted by the expensive, lush purple carpet that lined the prince’s throne room. Only twice before had Maelock been summoned to the throne room, once when the High Commander, now dead, had asked for Maelock’s respected opinion on the situation at the front; the other being a mistake; the prince meaning to have summoned a servant whose name Maelock shared.
As he approached the throne, Maelock overheard some of the whispered conversation the prince was having with an aged advisor. The advisor, whose name was Delin Strengmon, was a relic of the wars, once a respected councilman to the Commander, now little more than a play-thing for the prince. Maelock sharpened his senses, still accustomed to overhearing hushed conversations about enemy positions or current munitions. Now, he mused, they were discussing the attire the prince planned on donning for that night’s banquet. Maelock noted the wearied look in the elderly advisor’s eyes; unable to discern if it came from the years of war or toting to the prince’s every wish. As Maelock leaned down on one knee and bowed his head, he was almost sure he caught a look of relief on the old man’s face, as he was dismissed by the prince at that moment.
“Commander, er..what was your name again?”
Maelock, while never having a prolonged audience with the prince, knew his childish games and refused to play along. “Maelock, my liege.”
“Maelock, yes. Do you know why I have called upon you Commander?”
“You wish to mount an expedition, milord.”
“Precisely,” the prince cooed, speaking softly and quite irritatingly to Maelock’s ears. “I understand you were once one of the finest warriors my father had.” The prince studied the Commander’s body contemplatively. “I wonder, can you still hold that big sword of yours?”
Maelock’s face reddened slightly, ‘Why don’t you draw your blade and we shall see?’ he thought. Not allowing the prince to best him, however, he simply replied, “Aye Prince Jess, my sword arm remains quite capable.”
Prince Jess chuckled softly and replied, “Stand, SageBlade, and let me see your aptitude in its entirety.”
Maelock obeyed and stood, staring straight over the throne, to avoid the boy’s mocking gaze. Had the two been standing alongside one another, the 47 year old Commander easily dwarfed the prince by more than a foot. As it was, however, the elder had no power over the youngling, status-wise anyway.
The prince’s ridiculous, obtuse gaze seemed to absorb Maelock in his entirety. The boy appeared to be a fool to anyone unaware, but Maelock knew the boy possessed a certain intellect, albeit fueled by subterfuge; else the King would not have placed him in command of the western-most town of the Jael Kingdom.
The prince, apparently satisfied with what he saw, suddenly took on a martial tone, slightly surprising Maelock. “You will lead a contingent of men north into the Stormlands. Our scouts have reported that Hojakin spies have been using the shores near there as a staging area for attacks on our fair city.”
Maelock started; had he heard the royal runt correctly? The Stormlands, as the name implied, was a stretch of mountains, valleys and dense forest some 100 miles north of Westwinds. The weather in the treacherous area had become decidedly violent and dangerous over the last few years. Nobody knew the cause, but many priests speculated that the one, True God was angry at the heathens and heretics who believed in other deities, and therefore hurled great bolts of lightning to the earth, as well as shook the mountains and whipped the winds into a writing fury. The Everflow River, to which Westwinds owed its existence, had in blatant irony dried up around the nascent appearance of the great storms, and now was nothing but a great, dry trench that marred the landscape east of Westwinds.
Maelock happened to know that while he was stationed temporarily in the larger city of Branchwick, Prince Jess had sent a dozen patrols north to discover the cause of the dried-up river; assuming the Stormlands were to blame. Maelock suspected, quite onerously, that the prince’s current mission had the same intentions. Normally, the SageBlade pondered, the prince would not bat an eye at the reduced flow of goods and riches that arrived along the Everflow from the northern town of Whisp; he would simply collect more taxes, or lower his subordinates’ wages to maintain his avaricious lust for valuables and silver. The port town of Whisp, however, fished the finest Eninfish, and the prince could apparently find no replacement to satiate his need for the stuff. Quite pompously, he had sacrificed several of his own soldiers to please his palate; still to no avail.
The Commander’s normally placid features finally betrayed his increasing anger. Prince Jess noticed immediately and said, quite sternly, “I am confident you will not fail as the other soldiers have. I fear the worst; they have been slaughtered by our enemies,” he added in what Maelock thought was a mocking tone.
Maelock, no longer content in silence, finally spoke. “My liege, our troops patrol the western shores incessantly, the chance a group of enemy spies slipped past them, much less plans on surviving in those harsh lands…”
The prince waved a hand annoyingly, as if Maelock were an infant bothering him with his wailing. “The Hojakin Empire’s soldiers are fast of body and mind, and could easily evade our lazed forces.”
Maelock knew that to be true. While the Jael Kingdom had pushed the Hojakin Empire off the mainland and forced them onto the western islands, their army was ever vigilant and ready to do battle; the Jael soldiers had become content and lazy, like over-fed dogs. Maelock was disgusted by the young soldiers’ attitude; most of them had never seen war, and assumed they were skilled warriors simply because the Kingdom’s troops vastly outnumbered the Empire’s. However, as Maelock knew, the fact the Empire was still standing was a strong indication that their forces, in addition to their tactics, were far superior to the King’s soldiers. The mission was folly, Maelock knew, but at least he could escape the foolish prince, for a time.
The prince’s advisor Delin returned, informing the prince it was time to begin preparations for the banquet that eve. Prince Jess nodded in understanding then stood up without even glancing at Maelock as he walked off, his mind obviously on the feast already, and muttered, “You shall depart tomorrow at first light. You are dismissed.”
The prince missed the incredulous look on Maelock’s face as he exited through the back of the chamber leaving the Commander and the two door sentries alone in the throne room. Having his men ready by sunrise was not an issue; however given the mission he knew he faced some opposition. Maelock knew his men, most of them veterans of the Great War themselves, respected him highly and held the prince in little regard. But as the months passed, and the SageBlades aged, the contrived wisdom of the prince confounded some, and enraged others. Like himself, Maelock suspected, they longed to return to the warrior’s life before settling down, to make a name for themselves instead of catching cutpurses and patrolling walls with no enemies in sight.
As Maelock exited the throne room through the massive doors he thought, ‘Maybe we should invite the spies here, and rid us of this nuisance we call a leader.’ He shook his head, shaking the traitorous thoughts from his mind.
It was not always so, reflected Maelock. Before the prince was inaugurated as head of command in the town of Westwinds, the city, then only a small town, was still sweeping up the ravages of war and celebrating its new independence. Now, with no one left to fight, the aristocracy had acquired a distinct lassitude, becoming accustomed as the years went by to having their way; with no one left to deny them their desires. Maelock scoffed. He had been a soldier for the Kingdom of Jael for almost 30 years now. He had served while Westwinds was still under military command, and his sword was still being put to use back then; unlike now where the only action his steel saw was hunting down petty thieves.
Maelock stood after passing through the massive doors and saluted the prince, rigid at attention. Despite his profound dislike of the boy, he prided himself on never showing any sign of emotion in front of those who did not deserve such a sentiment. The prince waved a hand lazily in Maelock’s direction signaling him to approach the lavish throne, and Maelock heard the two doormen grunt as they pushed the doors closed once more. His metal armor, bearing the insignia of the SageBlades, the eldest and more revered group of soldiers in the kingdom of which he was now the Commander, clinked loudly despite the thunderous tantrum that continued outside the keep’s walls. His thick leather boots, which normally scuffed across the rough stone floors of the keep, were now quieted by the expensive, lush purple carpet that lined the prince’s throne room. Only twice before had Maelock been summoned to the throne room, once when the High Commander, now dead, had asked for Maelock’s respected opinion on the situation at the front; the other being a mistake; the prince meaning to have summoned a servant whose name Maelock shared.
As he approached the throne, Maelock overheard some of the whispered conversation the prince was having with an aged advisor. The advisor, whose name was Delin Strengmon, was a relic of the wars, once a respected councilman to the Commander, now little more than a play-thing for the prince. Maelock sharpened his senses, still accustomed to overhearing hushed conversations about enemy positions or current munitions. Now, he mused, they were discussing the attire the prince planned on donning for that night’s banquet. Maelock noted the wearied look in the elderly advisor’s eyes; unable to discern if it came from the years of war or toting to the prince’s every wish. As Maelock leaned down on one knee and bowed his head, he was almost sure he caught a look of relief on the old man’s face, as he was dismissed by the prince at that moment.
“Commander, er..what was your name again?”
Maelock, while never having a prolonged audience with the prince, knew his childish games and refused to play along. “Maelock, my liege.”
“Maelock, yes. Do you know why I have called upon you Commander?”
“You wish to mount an expedition, milord.”
“Precisely,” the prince cooed, speaking softly and quite irritatingly to Maelock’s ears. “I understand you were once one of the finest warriors my father had.” The prince studied the Commander’s body contemplatively. “I wonder, can you still hold that big sword of yours?”
Maelock’s face reddened slightly, ‘Why don’t you draw your blade and we shall see?’ he thought. Not allowing the prince to best him, however, he simply replied, “Aye Prince Jess, my sword arm remains quite capable.”
Prince Jess chuckled softly and replied, “Stand, SageBlade, and let me see your aptitude in its entirety.”
Maelock obeyed and stood, staring straight over the throne, to avoid the boy’s mocking gaze. Had the two been standing alongside one another, the 47 year old Commander easily dwarfed the prince by more than a foot. As it was, however, the elder had no power over the youngling, status-wise anyway.
The prince’s ridiculous, obtuse gaze seemed to absorb Maelock in his entirety. The boy appeared to be a fool to anyone unaware, but Maelock knew the boy possessed a certain intellect, albeit fueled by subterfuge; else the King would not have placed him in command of the western-most town of the Jael Kingdom.
The prince, apparently satisfied with what he saw, suddenly took on a martial tone, slightly surprising Maelock. “You will lead a contingent of men north into the Stormlands. Our scouts have reported that Hojakin spies have been using the shores near there as a staging area for attacks on our fair city.”
Maelock started; had he heard the royal runt correctly? The Stormlands, as the name implied, was a stretch of mountains, valleys and dense forest some 100 miles north of Westwinds. The weather in the treacherous area had become decidedly violent and dangerous over the last few years. Nobody knew the cause, but many priests speculated that the one, True God was angry at the heathens and heretics who believed in other deities, and therefore hurled great bolts of lightning to the earth, as well as shook the mountains and whipped the winds into a writing fury. The Everflow River, to which Westwinds owed its existence, had in blatant irony dried up around the nascent appearance of the great storms, and now was nothing but a great, dry trench that marred the landscape east of Westwinds.
Maelock happened to know that while he was stationed temporarily in the larger city of Branchwick, Prince Jess had sent a dozen patrols north to discover the cause of the dried-up river; assuming the Stormlands were to blame. Maelock suspected, quite onerously, that the prince’s current mission had the same intentions. Normally, the SageBlade pondered, the prince would not bat an eye at the reduced flow of goods and riches that arrived along the Everflow from the northern town of Whisp; he would simply collect more taxes, or lower his subordinates’ wages to maintain his avaricious lust for valuables and silver. The port town of Whisp, however, fished the finest Eninfish, and the prince could apparently find no replacement to satiate his need for the stuff. Quite pompously, he had sacrificed several of his own soldiers to please his palate; still to no avail.
The Commander’s normally placid features finally betrayed his increasing anger. Prince Jess noticed immediately and said, quite sternly, “I am confident you will not fail as the other soldiers have. I fear the worst; they have been slaughtered by our enemies,” he added in what Maelock thought was a mocking tone.
Maelock, no longer content in silence, finally spoke. “My liege, our troops patrol the western shores incessantly, the chance a group of enemy spies slipped past them, much less plans on surviving in those harsh lands…”
The prince waved a hand annoyingly, as if Maelock were an infant bothering him with his wailing. “The Hojakin Empire’s soldiers are fast of body and mind, and could easily evade our lazed forces.”
Maelock knew that to be true. While the Jael Kingdom had pushed the Hojakin Empire off the mainland and forced them onto the western islands, their army was ever vigilant and ready to do battle; the Jael soldiers had become content and lazy, like over-fed dogs. Maelock was disgusted by the young soldiers’ attitude; most of them had never seen war, and assumed they were skilled warriors simply because the Kingdom’s troops vastly outnumbered the Empire’s. However, as Maelock knew, the fact the Empire was still standing was a strong indication that their forces, in addition to their tactics, were far superior to the King’s soldiers. The mission was folly, Maelock knew, but at least he could escape the foolish prince, for a time.
The prince’s advisor Delin returned, informing the prince it was time to begin preparations for the banquet that eve. Prince Jess nodded in understanding then stood up without even glancing at Maelock as he walked off, his mind obviously on the feast already, and muttered, “You shall depart tomorrow at first light. You are dismissed.”
The prince missed the incredulous look on Maelock’s face as he exited through the back of the chamber leaving the Commander and the two door sentries alone in the throne room. Having his men ready by sunrise was not an issue; however given the mission he knew he faced some opposition. Maelock knew his men, most of them veterans of the Great War themselves, respected him highly and held the prince in little regard. But as the months passed, and the SageBlades aged, the contrived wisdom of the prince confounded some, and enraged others. Like himself, Maelock suspected, they longed to return to the warrior’s life before settling down, to make a name for themselves instead of catching cutpurses and patrolling walls with no enemies in sight.
As Maelock exited the throne room through the massive doors he thought, ‘Maybe we should invite the spies here, and rid us of this nuisance we call a leader.’ He shook his head, shaking the traitorous thoughts from his mind.
posted by Spudler at 5:26 PM
2 Comments:
Excellent. Let's kick some ass and cast some magic! Let's straiten out this kingdom that has grown fat and arrogant.
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