Lore/Story The Courts Of Ragni - Chapter One

The Courts of Ragni
A story about a kingdom
By Kra3tys

Chapter One

A thin man wearing scholarly robes approached him. Him! The King of Ragni. He wondered why he ever hired so brash a man, for weeks he was antagonized with sarcastic remarks and snappy retorts. All for what? Someone else to balance the kingdoms ledgers so he could look down the bottom of more bottles. He poured himself another glass of wine as the man approached.

“What is it now, Jerald?”

“A few recruits will be arriving late, your majesty. What would you like me to do?”

“By Salted, man, I just addressed the main crowd. How do you know they haven’t died on the road? It can be quite dangerous.”

The man just offered a smile, and gestured to the book in his hand.

The king sighed, “Have my double attend to them, I’m in no condition to be seen.”

“Of course, sir, it’s already prepared. It wouldn’t be very noble for a drunk king in his undergarments to give a speech.”

“Bloody Nether! If it’s already prepared why did you bother asking me?”

“To keep up appearances, of course. How would the soldiers morale fare if they knew the speech the king gave to them was written by his steward, while he slept off a hangover?”

“Another comment and I’ll have you beaten, Jerald.”

“Sure you will, milord.”

The king sighed. He had become reliant on Jerald, and Jerald knew it.

The king drank down his wine. “How does our treasury fare.”

“Not well. Before long we’ll need to mine more emeralds. That, or the Gavelians will leave, and the undead hordes will plague us in our cities, once again.”

The king scowled. Emeralds. The blasted green stone that started the whole predicament they were in. They had little to no actual use, they were just a shiny rock. Yet the only thing keeping the undead at bay treasured them like life itself.

“Pay them what we can –“

“And mine more only when we need it?” Jerald cut him off, “Quite a repetitive, and risky, order. If someone demands a ransom while the vaults are empty, we won’t have the money to pay.”

“Don’t worry, Jerald. There’s no one left I would want to buy back anyways.”

“I was talking about you, milord.”

“So was I.”

Jerald frowned, “Sir, don’t talk like that, if rumors get out…” He trailed off.

“The only people here are you, me, and my bartender, and he’s heard far worse things. It’s why I chose a mute.”

“Milord, I chose him.”

“Quite good thinking too, Jerald. Now I’m off to bed, I am not to be disturbed.”

The king walked up the stairs onto the third floor, where his bedchambers, lied. He pushed open the door to find a manservant waiting faithfully inside. He walked inside and sat in a large chair by his fireplace. After thirty years he still couldn’t get over how that sounded. His fireplace. He owned a castle, somehow, and ruled over a kingdom. Taken in off the streets by the king before him, and made a personal ward of his royal majesty. He remained the last surviving heir after a series of accidents, most of which he had something to do with. He regretted that decision every day now.

The manservant coughed politely. He had almost forgotten he was here.

“Your majesty, is there anything I could do for you?”

“Do you know where the queen is?”

“No, milord, would you like me to send for her?”

“No, I don’t,” He knew where she was, there was no point in starting an incident.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, you may leave.”

The manservant left quickly, closing the door behind him. The king struck a match and lit a tobacco filled pipe from the table beside him, and took a long draw. He tried this night, like he did every night, to blow a smoke ring. His father could do it perfectly, and it stuck with him. Probably because it’s the only time he got to spend with him. He couldn’t manage to blow a smoke ring this night, and ran out of tobacco in his pipe. He stood and walked to his bed. A magnificently large mattress supported on a decorative, but sturdy, oak frame. The canopy was a dark shade of gray, and the sheets and bedspread were black. He climbed under the covers and lie awake, waiting.

He was roused from his inattentive state by his door opening and closing quietly. He clutched his weapon, as he did every night. Then released as his wife’s face came into the light.

“Out late?” He asked sarcastically.

“Hush up,” The queen snapped, “I don’t need that from you, who sent our son to die.”

The king sighed, he knew she didn’t care a single bit about their passed son. It was just another excuse. Always excuses.

The queen climbed under the covers facing the wall, and instantly fell asleep. It always amazed him that she could do that. After thirty years of a failing marriage, and failing kingdom, he was awake for days at a time. He hadn’t meant for his son to die. He gave him a commanding position, and he was as far back from the front as possible. That’s when they learned about the mage undead. They stormed his encampment and either burned or drowned all the men there. There was no counterattack, there was no defense. Just death. He remembered the moment they told him about it. He became a recluse after that. He only ever went out to address the people, and rarely even then. At that point he stopped caring for kingly life all together.

He sighed, he felt drained from the day. It looked like tonight he was going to get sleep. He closed his eyes and embraced the darkness.

Go to the Guide Thread
-=+] Chapter Two [+=-

 

Interesting, I like the style.

I wish some of the other writer still wrote, it'd be cool to have more interesting lore (like this), not just stereotypical lore.

 

xD Thank you.

 

luv it 9001char

 

Thanks! :D

 

I love it! Handmade?

 

Yep!

 

It's very well made then <3