“There’s a reason you were exiled from the kingdom, Harry. If you keep on at this, I’ll have no other choice than to report you to the council of protectors.” The tall cloaked man stood upright, staring fiercely into the outcast’s eyes.
“You kicked me out of Tyrell, Arthur, you! And why? Because I had dreams! Because I saw a future in this cursed kingdom. A future where we scrapped our neutrality and took control of Gamush.”
Arthur continued on with a confused and fearful look spread ‘cross his face, “I really hope you don’t think that makes your proposal sound better. You claim to propose peace, but all you want is power. That’s why you can not be placed in control of the voidcore.”
“The voidcore is the most powerful artifact in existence. Whoever controls the voidcore controls Gamush. Is that not how the prophecy goes, dearest Arthur?”
“If you wish to quote the prophecy then you must quote the whole prophecy.” The stern look of warning and fear mixed with the raised finger Arthur had lifted symbolized how serious he was about the situation. “He who holds the voidcore is destined TO DIE!”
“You have a way of interpreting things to your liking, don’t you? Everybody is destined to die. Even you, oh great Lord Protector Arthur.” The sarcasm and smirks that Harry gave to Arthur visibly got to him. He lifted his sword out of his sheath, relishing the clinking noises and the sliding noise that was metal against itself. Harry took no seriousness in the situation. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I mess with your ego?”
“Leave the kingdom or I’ll report you,” he declared, raising his sword with two hands and letting the hilt rest in the concave of his ribcage.
His numerous threats were, however, were in vein as Harry snickered mockingly. “You never once thought about what it’d be like to have on the great Corecrown, huh? Come on Arthur don’t lie to me.”
“You’re really trying my patience today Harry. The Corecrown is a symbol of dictatorship and despotism. Not peace and democracy. That’s why we demolished it!”
Harry let out a snicker, which turned into a laugh, which in turn became a menacing cackle. “You know, Arthur? I may have been exiled from the council,” he pushed out between laughs, “But that doesn’t make me an idiotic crumb. The Corecrown was never destroyed, was it?
Arthur faked a puzzled look as he spoke, rather impatiently, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It was crushed, its remains sprinkled into the lava of poacher volcano.”
“Sure, it was,” Harry laughed. His voice grew into a hushed whisper, as if there were eavesdroppers round each corner of the dingy, damp tunnel they were cramped into. “But between you and me, I know the Corecrown was never destroyed.”
Arthur’s flushed cheeks and poor acting skills were thrown aside as he spoke through gritted teeth. “The crown is no more than a symbol. A fairly valuable symbol at that. There was no reason to destroy it.”
“I knew it.” Arthur’s face was no more than 6 inches away from the unlikable outcast. “And I’d be careful about symbols, Arthur. They can be very, very powerful.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“He who wears the Corecrown on his head, and holds the voidcore in his hands controls Gamush. He is the one who makes the rules and breaks them. He is the one that kills whomever he pleases. He is the one who can play God.”
“So what do you prefer then Harry? Power, or chaos and destruction?”
“Now that, dear Arthur, is a great question.” A smile lit up his face, providing more light than the torch hung from a protruding rock on his left. “You see power, it’s like a never ending supply of chocolate. It’s great for a while. But, eventually, like most things in life, it gets boring. But chaos? Chaos is like watching the best play ever written. It has twist after twist after twist. The two lovers you want to get together, get together. It’s brilliant. Then the two lovers both get ripped apart by a monster. It’s not what you expected to happen, but boy it sure is a twist. And then there’s somebody else who watches the monster kill them and he gets so angry he burns the monster. Then he sees the monster’s babies left without a mother. He feels so bad he kills himself, and then the babies starve to death. Now that’s chaos.”
“You’re insane. How could anybody possibly enjoy chaos?”
Harry laughed menacingly, “It’s more of an acquired taste.”
Arthur remained in disbelief after what he’d just heard. “And how would one acquire such a taste?”
“Ah, well you know,” Harry explained in a relaxed voice as he turned to walk away. “Grow up in an abusive household, kill your father, try and steal the most powerful thing in existence, get publicly mocked and exiled. You know, the usual.”
“You killed your father?”
“Yeah, well, he sort of had it coming. He strangled my mum.” Harry continued his walk into the darkness of the underground tunnel system. Arthur watched on with misery, disturbed and scared. He found no way to move and so stood there, watching, as the dark outline of Harry’s body merged into the darkness ahead of him.
The tunnels were a secret; one that few men knew about. The knowledge of its existence and the corresponding map were passed to various trusted individuals. They served as a meeting place for the select few who were intrusted with their secret. No one knows exactly when the ‘Wormholes’ (which is the name assigned to them) were first created. You could pass through many important parts of the city and even get in and out of the kingdom’s borders.
At points, the wormholes were so tight, a man taller than 6ft would have a great trouble squeezing through the tight gaps. The cave like structures were always wet, with solitary droplets running down the wall, leaving snail trails of water marks in a shaky line. Darkness was always there, even when the torches were hung up on the wall, slotted firmly into the screwed on receptacles.
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If you went down there without a map, or any form of location device, you’d become disoriented in a matter of minutes. If the eternal darkness and never-ending maze hadn’t turned you insane, the starvation would get to you. It would eat away at your insides, you’d start licking the walls out of thirst; eating the loose fragments of rocks that had fallen off the wall.
Arthur broke out of his deep trance and regathered himself, dusting down his white polo shirt and shaking tiny particles out of silky, wet cloak. He took a sharp 180 turn, allowing his cloak to dance modishly in the air, and began a long walk in the complete other direction of Harry. He made an abrupt stop and looked up at the dark roof of rock, towering over him. He pushed with all his might on the seemingly unmovable wall to his left, and stumbled into a damp, abandoned basement. In the right corner (south west to where Arthur was situated) were steps leading up to a hole in another wall, no larger and not much different in shape to a manhole. He slid the masked wall with which he had entered the room back into place. It fat perfectly in, symbolizing itself to be slotted in with a loud crash. Arthur took off, checking the coast was clear before crawling through the manhole-like gap.
And there he was, strutting down the corridors of the Parliament of Peace. He walked with such purpose and honor, that anyone would find themselves in disbelief to know of the mischief he was up to merely minutes ago.
Arthur was a proper man; he wanted the best for his kingdom and his family (both of which he would die for). He had brown, curly hair and handsome blue eyes. His facial expressions were meaningful, and you could tell how he felt based on his smile. Was he bored? Was he excited? Arthur took his role as one of the Protectors of Peace very seriously, but that did not stop him from meeting up with his old friend, the known outcast, in the wormholes from time to time. He still had hope for Harry, and blamed himself for Harry’s downfall.
A few years prior, Harry had been caught trying to steal the one and only voidcore. The parliament took pity on him and simply exiled him from the land of Tyrell, never to return. His sudden grasp at the voidcore was fueled by his eccentrict need for power and control. Arthur should have sensed Harry’s true intentions far earlier, but he was blinded by the friendship and sadness he stored for his friend. He knew that Harry had made something out of nothing; that he had picked himself up -an orphaned boy- and climbed the ladder of society.
Arthur turned and pushed his way through tall, oak doors and was met by the smiling faces of half a dozen middle aged men. One of them in particular caught Arthur’s eye, patting the chair next to him. The room was a vast hall with slick white walls and an enormous fireplace at the back. Most of the room was made up for with empty space, but the key center of the room was a round, wooden table glistening with polish. Round it were 12 seats, only half of them filled with important looking men. They all wore a distinct cape round their neck and smiled in such a kind, friendly way that it might make a man uncomfortable.
When seated, Arthur tuned in to the conversation to hear what his comrades were saying. “The parade of independence was a tremendous success. I think we owe that to Ploor, eh?” The man sitting next to Arthur smiled and gestured towards the so-called Ploor sitting on the other side of the table. “And without Arthur’s incredible dancing at the afterparty where would the enjoyment have been?” Arthur’s face flushed red as everyone let out a hearty laugh. His friend who was sitting next to him nudged Arthur and told him to smile more.
“Thank you Max, I’m glad you enjoyed my dancing,” Arthur fake laughed. “And now if you would allow me to darken the mood I may have some bad news.” The men in the room glanced expectantly at Arthur, waiting for him to speak. “I have reason to believe that conspirators across the kingdom may be starting to ideate that the corecrown was never destroyed.”
Men across the room gasped and shook their heads dissaprovingly. “Nonsense, that can’t be true.” It was clear that one man took it personally. “We made it very clear that it was destroyed. There’s absolutely no reason reason for anybody to believe otherwise.” The way that he spoke the word ‘otherwise’ was with such a long, sly voice that everyone felt uneasy.
Arthur got up from his chair and made his way to the korthun machine in the corner as if he were unfazed at everyone’s responses. He slid a mug into the machine and pressed down on the protruding, black button. Brown liquid dribbled out from the loud, churning machine at a steady pace before it finally reached the top. Arthur simply ignored the fact that nobody had spoke since he left the table, and began to head back over. As he was on his way, a loud knock boomed through the room. “Come in,” Arthur said. The beautiful doors swung open as Arthur set eyes on what was behind him. He dropped his mug to the floor letting the korthun spew out from the broken up ceramic pieces of the mug. There, standing in the doorway with hands wrapped round his neck, surrounded by guards, was none other than Harry.
….
“Caught him trying to steal the voidcore in the glass room. You’d think someone ‘d learn once they’re exiled from a kingdom.” The tall, beefy security guard flashed a toothy smile, showing his yellow, karthun-stained teeth. He was dragging Harry with a rope round his neck, vicously yanking and spitting on him distastefully.
“Well fight a dragon bear-handed, it’s Harry Stone the traitor. Come back for more, have you?” Shocked faces filled the room as Ploor spoke out. Harry’s face was covered in tears and bruises (he’d clearly not gone down without a fight). His eyes were pleading, and they were darted straight at Arthur, begging him to help. This wasn’t the way Harry wanted to die.
“Well then,” Arthur’s friend chimed in, “what are we going to do with this rugrat?”
“Don’t call me a rugrat, Max. You’re not so shiny yourself,” Harry said menacingly, his mood shifting up quickly; his eyes narrowing down on Max.
“Well that’s obvious really, isn’t it?” Ploor looked around waiting for someone to say it for him. No one did, so he declared, “Harry will be executed.”
“No, no please. I’m I - I’ll do anything.” Harry looked expectantly at Arthur, tears welling up in his eyes, his handcuffed fingers joining together pleadingly.
Arthur knew what he had to do. “What if we don’t execute him.” The men ridiculed Arthur, telling him that Harry had to die. “I understand what you are all saying, and I agree that Harry should die,” he said, “but for something like this death is not enough.”
Harry looked strangely at Arthur, questioning what radical solution he was about to propose. “So,” he sniffled, “what do you propose is done with me?”
“The bloody dove games. It’s worse than death.” Harry looked menacingly at Arthur. The smile on his face suggested he was not done. “If he inevitably dies, then he goes out painfully.”
“And if the rat survives.”
“If, he brings pride to our kingdom, we can not just sit back and execute him. So, this is what I propose: we will submit Harry to this year’s bloody dove games. If he survives against the odds and brings back the bloody dove trophy, then we set him free.”
Harry spoke through gritted teeth, “I’d rather be executed, but thank you for the offer.”
Ploor butted in. “It’s not an offer. And I’m so sure that you’ll die,” Ploor laughed, “that if you win, I’ll give you your place back in society.”
Harry seemed unfazed. His coarse voice was clear yet cryptic, “I accept your challenge. But when I’m swimming in blood and holding the esteemed trophy,” he cackled, “don’t expect me to include you in my thank you speech.”