Chapter 3: Three Musketeers
A giant, beautiful castle room decorated with gold. A large, devilish black skull with a large snout almost resembling a dragon's, and a large blade struck into its left eye, is attached above the door. We are in the Nexonish Castle, the place that some may consider to be the capitol of the world.
A dozen guards scatter across the path leading from this room's door to the throne room. The throne room itself has much of the outside aesthetic, except that the windows are heavily tinted, though it seems that the tint has accumulated decades of rust, causing the rays of the sun to pass through in a brown-ish shine. The room itself is not very different from its windows, rusty, dusty, and wrapped in cobweb at every corner. It looks like the throne room of a king deep in regret and sorrow, sworn to isolation.
On the throne sits an old man in his late fifties, with a slim figure and a large white beard, in an expensive purple and gold cloak decorated with jewels, a crown of gold on his head with four glowing jewels atop it, of orange, blue, purple, and green. He wears a silk black eyepatch on his left eye. He holds a long breed between a staff and a scepter - A scaff? Stepter? No that sounds weird - with an eerie white-glowing foggy orb inside of it, spinning insidiously and almost sucking your soul right in.
The old man looks to be troubled and deep within his thoughts. He is brought back to his senses by a slightly-shaky but monotonic deep chanting voice from the outside, as the door starts to open magically. The guards on the outside are moving away as a young man in a royal-crafted steel armor wielding a large steel blade walks in, a handsome, muscular knight-figure of not more than 20 years, he wears the expression of a soldier, but the skin and aesthetic of a prince. He looks troubled and slightly angry.
He moves closer, kneeling to the old man.
"Your Majesty, King Harry." cries the young man.
"Rise, son." says the king.
The young man, Prince Markus Wyvern as he appears to be, stands once more, moving closer to the king.
"There is a troubling matter, your Majesty." says Markus
"The fish again?" says the king, stroking his beard, frustrated. "I thought this had been taken care of."
"It hadn't, your Majesty." says Markus. "The matter worsens day after day. I assure you father... This is the Dark Lord's doing."
"The Dark Lord!" cries the king, mockingly, waving his hands at him. "Bite me!"
"Your Majesty, you do not know what danger this could pose-"
"The fish are dying, bad weather, bad season." says the king, brushing him off. "Same old winter!"
"Nothing is the same, father... I have seen it myself!" cries Markus. "I have been to the shores, your Majesty... From Nexonin to Stratfort to Alijone to Tefermore, the ocean is infertile... it is a curse! We must execute the Dark Lord at once! It is the only solution!"
"It is not the only solution, my son, and you very well know that." says the king, staring him in the eye. Markus shakes his head, repulsively, looking away.
"Father, you know my word on this matter."
"You have to get married, Markus, and oh dear, will she treat you right!" cries the king.
"Father, she's-"
"What do you despise about the respected Princess Matilda? She is of the Eagle family, daughter of none other than King Damien Eagle himself!" cries the king. "They have the blooming greens and the vast blues and the shimmering gold! And... she is..."
"Go on father, she is.." says Markus, nodding impatiently.
".. Not so bad herself."
"She's ugly as hell!" shouts Markus. "She's a freak! A half-orc!"
"Well now," says the king, shaking his head, disappointed, "never have I known that I raised my son to be a racist!"
"Did you forget that I was promised to Princess Meredith?" says Markus, starting to become angry, vigorously tapping his left foot on the floor.
"She is no longer fit to become queen, my son-"
"And who is to blame?!" cries Markus, completely snapping.
"Silence!" shouts the king, rising from his place, angered, his eyes giving a deep expression of sorrow and regret. He has had it. "You will not speak to your king in this manner!"
"Then I have no more to speak to my king about." says Markus, mind-numbingly angered, but trying to keep a calm appearance as he exits the room.
The guards return to their original positions as the deep chanting voice rises and the door shuts again. The king seats himself once more, his sad and regretful expression leaves his eyes and dawns upon his entire face, clouded with fear.
---
A few hundred miles south, we stand across the borders of Nexonia City. A large, steel gate, surrounded by an unbelievably tall fence, which could be thirty or forty feet high.. but seriously, who's counting?
Many carts and wagons pass through the one dirt path leading to the gate, as another dozen guards stand at the entrance in an almost statue-like manner.
Jonathan and Fangs walk the path, before being stopped by a cursingly long line of wagons.
"Welcome to Nexonia City, the land of dreams." calls Fangs, almost fake-joyously looking at Jonathan.
"Ugh." cries Jonathan, looking at the line, stepping aside to try and observe where it ends, which it almost doesn't. "Fuck's sake, this is going to take forever!"
"Nah, man, just a few minutes.. maybe an hour tops."
"My fucking legs hurt like hell." cries Jonathan.
"Leg." says Fangs.
"Shut up."
About an hour later, the line seems to have barely budged. Jonathan stands, exhausted, while Fangs plays with a small 'mud dog' he has conjured, making him do tricks and jumps as he awards him with small mud treats that he cheerfully chomps down to grow slightly bigger.
"So, the chosen one is supposed to be in there, right?" says Jonathan, looking towards the gate.
"Yeah," says Fangs. "But uh, for your info, the folks in here are kinda British and into their Medieval shit so you gotta like.. accommodate to their-"
"I've been here before, I know that!" says Jonathan, impatiently. "So are we going to stand here for ten more hours before we meet him?"
"Nah, man," says Fangs. "These are the city gates, first we get in the city, find our way to the castle, and then we... probably wait another bit? Something like that?"
"What?!" shouts Jonathan. He snapped. "I'm done, come on."
He takes Fangs by the hand and exits the line, heading straight for the gate.
"Where to?" says Fangs, looking around himself to the people and wagons standing in line, then at him, confused.
"Keep the fuck up." says Jonathan.
The merchants and riders all murmur as they pass, talking amongst each other, giving Jon and Fangs angry and displeased looks.
"Stand in line, wankers!" calls one of them.
"Fuck off!" shouts Jon, as he unpockets and throws a nut at the man's face. The man rubs his face and curses.
The murmuring increases. Jonathan and Fangs finally reach the gate, but are stopped by two guards.
"Hey, hey!" Jonathan calls to the guards, impatiently.
"For what doth the old man spurn to stand in patience with the merchants?" calls one of the guards.
"Yeah, we need to see Prince Markus." says Jonathan, still moving forward before the guard pushes him back.
"Halt, halt, halt! ... Prince Markus?" calls the guard, looking them up and down and noticing their dirt-ridden clothes, then Fangs's wolfish face, laughing, "I was not informed the prince was expecting a travelling troupe of comedians!"
"How very funny," says Jonathan, mocking the guard's Medieval-British accent, "You should sign up, we need someone to play the twink roles."
They passive aggressively stare at each other for a moment, before Fangs steps in to break it up.
"Alright alright alright, calm down you two!" calls Fangs, "Listen, this is an urgent matter, we have an important message to deliver to the prince, it's REALLY urgent!"
"No paperwork, no entrance." says the guard, still as a statue.
"Paperwork!" cries Jonathan, angrily, waving his hands and bolting off. "Come on Fangs, let's find another way!"
"Jon, wai-" Fangs starts to say, before he sighs, shrugging at the guard and then leaving to follow Jon, "Wait for me!"
"What do we do now?" Fangs says to Jon as he catches up. Jon starts to think for a moment, before he is interrupted by-
"What an awful surprise!" calls a familiar voice from behind the fence. Jon and Fangs stop and look back, Jon can recognize him immediately... It's the Nexonish drunk, from way earlier, the one with the eerie purple eyes.
"You know these travellers, captain?" says the guard.
"That one's quite the friend, boy! Why are you leaving these men out in the cold? let 'em in!" Says the Nexonish man.
"But they don't have a per-"
"Boy, screw the bloody permits. These men are my guests!"
"Are we really going to let these homeless clowns beyond the wall?" cries the guard, then lowering his voice a bit as he shakes his head in disapproval. "... And they said your drinking problem wouldn't affect your duty."
The Nexonish man glares at him for a few seconds, the guard doesn't move and he keeps looking at him, although for a second we could see him start to get intimidated, but immediately afterwards, another guard comes and whispers into the guard's ear. The guard nods and looks back at the captain, annoyed.
"Yes, captain." says the guard, embarrassedly stepping aside, calling inside- "Three permits over here."
"Come on now, let's go." says the Nexonish man, gesturing for them to follow him. As they descend into the walls, the Nexonish man looks back once more, noticing the two guards whispering among themselves before they break into a mocking laughter. He becomes angry for a moment, but he quickly turns forward, re-adopting his joyous demeanor.
"Don't you wanna know where we're going?" says Jon.
"We can talk on the way... Name's Emit, by the way." says the Nexonish man.
"Jon's mine, and this is Eli-"
"Fangs." says Fangs, interrupting Jon, smiling as they walk together. "Pleased to meet you."
---
The three of them walk within the borders of the city. The area is filled with dozens of small houses of very poor and miserable condition, barely coherent houses at all, knocked roofs, peeled walls, soaked roads... And the people coming out of those houses are not much different, some people look like they haven't eaten in days, and some like they haven't showered in years. Jon and Fangs look around in pity.
"The capitol is split into two parts, you see," says Emit, "the outside is where all the unfortunate gentlemen are, and the inside is where we're going."
"Classic." says Jon.
"So, does this road take us to the castle?" asks fangs.
"Why yes, it does, we just need to get through this place where all the dirtbags are." says Emit.
"Hey, man, that's not cool." says Fangs, offended and slightly disappointed.
"Oh, I wasn't referring to the unfortunate gentlemen." says Emit, nearly apologetically, "This road is literally where the castle keeps all the dirtbags."
Emit points at a giant pile of dirt bags on the side of the road, a few miserable, exhausted men carrying more bags into it.
"Oh, sorry 'bout that." says Fangs.
"It's fine, mate." says Emit, "And besides, we usually call the unfortunate gentlemen here 'the filthy dogs of society'."
Fangs and Jon instantly turn to him, surprised and low-key offended. He looks back, giving off a loud, deafening laugh.
"C'mon, I'm just messin' with ya!" says Emit. "Have a sense of humor ya Alijonians!"
A woman's scream is heard. Jon and Fangs are startled, they look to their left and see a large man, in an iron vest, a slightly darker skin tone, slightly overweight with a fat face and a careless, smug expression on his face, wearing a large helmet with large tusks on top of it and holding a large skin whip, riding on a battle-armored horse.
In front of him is a fair woman, who doesn't look to be over 30. Despite being almost half-starved and in poor clothes. She is fairly attractive; light green eyes, long blonde hair and a slim figure. Terrified, yet angry.
The folk are gathered around them, at a distance, spectating the interaction but hesitant to interfere.
"Haven't you taken enough?! Don't you see that I have no more to give?!" shouts the woman, enraged, in an accent that sounds closer to Australian but almost British.
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"The kingdom is suffering from a shortage, lady... Your cattle will serve to feed the folk." says the man, carelessly.
"Your folk!" shouts the woman, backing down a step. "You're going to feed your folk with it! You... fancy men sitting in your villas and castles, sipping your red wine and eating the kingdom's fairest dishes... hogging the world to yourselves... and you come to take my only cow! Do you have no mercy?!"
"You are one frustrating lady." says the man, looking around smugly, starting to lose his patience.
"I live off of my cow's milk, as I had all my life..." shouts the woman, starting to completely lose her temper. "And you want to take it away from me... for what? to feed your king and his goons for a day?!"
The audience gasps in shock. They back off slightly in great fear. The man smirks, almost laughing.
"Well, bringing the knights' name in vain, are you now?" says the man, "Well well well... I guess now I have to punish you!"
He gets down from his horse, menacingly walking up to her. She backs away, frightened. She looks towards Jon and notices him watching. Jon takes a step forward, angry.
"Hey!" calls Jon.
Emit holds him back. Jon turns to him confused. Emit shakes his head, disapprovingly.
"Something the matter, old man?" calls the man, as both him and the woman look at Jon, him with a look of uncertainty prepared to turn to anger, and her almost with a glimpse of relief.
"No, Tiab, go on with your business." says Emit. Tiab brushes Jon off and prepares his whip as he approaches the woman.
"For fuck's sake, Emit, we have to help the young woman!" says Jon, about to burst in anger, moving closer to Emit.
"We don't, my Alijonian friend." says Emit, calmly. "This is how life goes, you can't stop the wolves from eating the sheep, you will cause a ruckus in the order."
Jon looks at the woman. She is still backing off as Tiab approaches her, she looks one more time at Jon, almost pleading him for help with her poor, miserable eyes. He can barely look away.
"Shit, man..." says Fangs, appalled, trying to turn his face away.
"Come on now." says Emit, pulling Jon away by the hand.
Tiab approaches the woman, her back touches the house behind her, she cannot go back any further. She looks at him with a look of disgust and fear, you can almost feel her thin, starving body shivering, half-way from the fear and half-way the hunger. Tiab roughly grabs her by her hands and throws her into the house, she smashes through the door with her back. He straightens his whip and walks inside, smiling... Aroused.
"I don't want to do this, really!" calls Tiab before he walks in and shuts the door, letting out a crazed laugh. "But you're gonna love this."
She screams at the top of her lungs, calling for help. Her screaming persists but is overshadowed by the loud 'whoop' sound of rough whipping. The spectators are troubled and shocked, but they have no choice but to walk away and go on with their miserable lives. A little girl of no more than 10 years stands at the front, terrified, before her mother covers her eyes and takes her away.
The three are now walking away. Jon is still troubled from what he had seen, he shakes his head.
"I don't like this place." says Jon.
"It grows on you." shrugs Emit.
"The fuck it does." says Jon, shaking his head, trying to calm himself, before turning to Fangs. "What do you think of this, Fangs?"
"Honestly, man," says Fangs, "I think we should stick to the road."
"Is that what you think? Really?" says Jon, looking him in the eyes. Fangs shakes his head and hesitates for a few seconds, obviously as troubled as Jon but trying to block it out.
"Yeah, I mean... We shouldn't just trouble ourselves with whatever we bump into..."
A dirty young boy bumps into Fangs out of nowhere. Fangs stares at him, wiping his clothes from the dirt from the boy. The boy backs off nervously.
"Sorry sir!" says the boy, running away. Fangs shakes his head and they keep walking.
"You do realize he probably stole your wallet, don't you?" says Jon, after a moment of silence.
"I don't carry wallets," says Fangs, "I keep my change in my boots. Bad idea to keep a wallet around in these parts."
Fangs takes out a wallet from his pocket and checks it out, counting the coins inside it.
"Obviously he didn't know that." smirks Fangs.
Jon nods, not paying attention to what he meant, still troubled. After a few seconds, Emit bursts laughing. Jon looks back at Fangs, starting to slowly realize what he had meant.
"Damn, he's been stealin' all day..." says Fangs, "It's all in the right currency, too."
Emit keeps laughing, Jon joins.
"I love you guys!" says Emit, as they continue to laugh, until Jon stops abruptly, paining a bit. Emit notices his sudden switch of expression and grows concerned. Jon goes down to check his iron leg.
"Are you alright, Johnny?" says Emit.
"Yeah, yeah it's just ... My iron leg ... I don't know, it's pressing on my nerves."
"Show me that leg." says Emit as he approaches his leg. He crouches and holds the leg from the sides, raising his pants slightly while studying it briefly, before he starts to sing a calm and harmonious tune. Green mana orbits his leg for a moment. Jon watches him, surprised. He covers his leg again and gets up, rubbing his hands from the dust.
"Should be good now, just clean it occasionally from the dust." says Emit.
"You're a healer?" says Jon, surprised.
"Oh, darn! I forgot to mention that, didn't I?" says Emit. "Well, yes, I'm a healer. If you need any medical help, just say the words!"
"Which words?" says Fangs.
"You know, the words, whatever they are!" says Emit. "It's an expression, Fangs, c'mon."
They eventually stop, as they approach another set of gates a distance away from them. They walk through the gates. The guards instantly open for them as soon as they see Emit. You could hear some of them whisper amongst themselves, but we're not paying that much attention to them anyway. Emit gives them a quick, pissed glance.
The aesthetic on the other side of the gate is completely different; Large, fancy villas and houses, clean roads, sprinklers, fair, smiling people and healthy children... Even the dogs look much more well-fed than the people from the previous district.
The grass is greener and the water is bluer, the overall vibe is much more pleasant and welcoming. A fountain sits across the gate, welcoming the visitors, with a statue of the king in between, holding a barrel and pouring a stream of clean water that shimmers with the bright sunlight. Jon and Fangs watch the city in awe.
"Now..." says Emit, opening his arms in a welcoming manner. "Welcome to Nexonia City!"
"This is dope!" cries Fangs, amazed and shocked.
"This is absurd." says Jon, shaking his head, but still quite impressed.
---
A giant dining room, decorated in fair taste with purple-colored walls and golden curtains and a nice-looking chandelier with jewel-shaped lights.
The three sit on a big, round table filled with all different types of food, roasted chicken, rice, cheese, butter, eggs... Things that don't even go with each other but they're just there.
"So, Prince Markus, eh?" says Emit, whilst he is eating a chicken leg.
"Yeah, we need to talk about some prophecy with him." says Jon, chewing. "Some uh, some chosen shit... Y'know"
"The High Prophecy," says Fangs
"What was that?" says Emit as he stops chewing, confused.
"What was what?" says Fangs.
"The thing you did when you said the uh.."
"The High Prophecy?" says Fangs.
"Yes, that was very dramatic," says Emit, "is it that important?"
"Yeah, fate of the continent lies upon it." says Jon.
Emit sits, thinking. He lays the chicken leg on the table and starts sipping from his bowl of soup
"Is this about the Dark Lord?" asks Emit.
"You know of the Dark Lord?!" exclaims Jon.
Before Emit could speak, he is interrupted by his wife coming out of the bedroom, a woman in her early fifties, she gestures to her husband to join her.
"Not now, honey." he calls, smiling politely. She casually goes back inside. "As I was saying... Every Nexonian knows about the Dark Lord, but the king... Let's just say he's a bit fucked up in the brain."
"How's Nexonin doin'?" says Fangs.
"Pretty bad, my friend," says Emit.
He is again interrupted by his wife coming out of her room, gesturing to him to join her.
"Not now honey, I'm speaking with my friends!" He says, almost rudely this time. She returns to her room, pissed.
"Anyways, food shortage, drought, lot of land gone bad..." says Emit.
"How are you and the others still able to enjoy your life and stay wealthy in this climate?" says Jon.
"Oh, we just throw our troubles at the other half of the city. What'll they do, fight back?" says Emit.
"Is that another joke?" says Fangs. "Are you being sarcastic? I can't tell."
"Eh, sort of, but also not really." says Emit. "Dark comedy, y'know?"
"What about the dark lord?" says Fangs.
The room door opens slightly and his wife's head pops out of it, Emit glares at her, raising his finger, signaling her to get back inside, so she grunts and complies.
"He's been raiding towns and villages left and right, mate." says Emit. "Leaves a big mess wherever he goes, him and his bloody wards."
"What's with those 'wards' that everyone keeps mentioning?" says Jon.
"They're like... Uh, they follow him around, I guess?" says Emit, shrugging and biting off an egg. "Pretty big deal I hear."
"Ass-face's goons, big fucking deal." says Jon, slightly angered. Emit notices his anger and turns to Fangs, confused.
"My friend, Jon here, lost his village to the dark kingdom, wife and son as well." says Fangs.
"I am incredibly sorry, Jon! That must have been terrible!" says Emit, greatly pitying him and putting down his food.
"I didn't say I lost my son." says Jon.
"Didn't you?" says Fangs, thinking, "I guess I just assumed that-"
Emit's wife comes out one more time interrupting them.
"Yoohoo! Emit!" She calls, enthusiastically.
"I said I'm talking to my fucking friends!" shouts Emit, snapping and startling the others, "You got an almond for a brain?! Fuck off!"
"Fuck you!" shouts his wife, going back in and locking her door.
"What a little piece of..." he starts to say, angered, then realizes Jon and Fangs are still there and quickly re-adopts his calm demeanor once again. "Sorry about that, sometimes she's just a- little bit too much, isn't she?"
"So uh..." Jon starts to say.
"The prince, yes, I'll take the two of you to meet him." says Emit. "First, we take a nice, warm shower before anyone else calls you a group of homeless clowns."
----
A giant field, with a vast, empty space, ground paved and flat, and a large flag in the distance - red with a golden wyvern in the middle, with thick and vividly shaded scales, staring in front of it. The field is surrounded by large trees on the outside, and beyond them a square of tall, brick walls.
In the middle of the field stands Prince Markus, in full steel armor, holding his sword, surrounded by four conjured golems, almost his height and a half, made of rock and strange orange crystal matter, with a large crystal on each of their heads and one inanimate-looking eye.
Markus prepares, holding his sword in a fighting position, he stares into the eyes of the golems, attentively waiting for the right moment.
One of the golems runs towards the prince. The prince immediately feels his movement, he rolls past the golem's legs and grabs one of them, dropping him to the floor and roughly stabbing him through the chest. The golem evaporates into orange mana.
Another golem starts running towards him, aiming his fist towards the prince. The prince does an elegant backflip and lands on top of the golem's head, holding the crystal on top and roughly snapping it off of his head. Both the crystal and the golem evaporate, and the prince drops, rolling to the ground to stop right in front of the third golem, who stares at the prince, hesitantly.
"Bloody hell are you looking at?" says the prince, stabbing him right in the ass and almost impaling through half his body. The golem instantly vanishes as well.
The prince turns to face the fourth golem. The golem cracks its knuckles in preparation, the prince takes a pre-dashing stance, bending forward, pulling his sword backwards. The prince and the golem stare at each other, eye to eye, Western Standoff-ishly. Markus notices the crystal on the golem's head shining slightly, he clears his throat and starts chanting a calm tune.
The golem puts his arms forward and starts shooting knife-sharp crystals towards the prince. The prince starts chanting louder, putting his right hand forward as an elemental shield forms in front of him, made of solid, hard ice.
Jon, Fangs, and Emit walk into the field, watching the battle unfold, they are much less dirt-ridden than they had been earlier and their clothes are cleaner.
"Is that him?" says Jon, impressed.
"Bloody good fighter, ain't he?" says Emit, smiling, as he watches the fight.
"Damn." says Fangs.
The crystals instantly smash to bits as they hit the shield. The prince dashes forward, still keeping his shield up, until he reaches the golem. As soon as he stops, the blade of his sword starts reinforcing with ice, gaining a thick layer of sharp frost. The golem stops shooting, in a surrendered manner.
"Chill, mate." utters the prince, as he moves his shield aside and stabs the golem right in the middle of his forehead. The golem instantly starts turning to ice, and mere seconds later, he explodes into hundreds of small shards of ice everywhere, shortly before the shards start to evaporate into mana as those before him.
"'Chill, mate'." says Jon, in his same mocking British-ish accent from earlier. "Kind of cheesy, isn't it?"
"Eh." shrugs Emit. "He's the prince, let him do his theatrics."
The prince turns around, victoriously. He puts his hand on his face, wiping, noticing that his face was very slightly cut from one of the small shards of ice, over his left cheek.
"Gotta work on safety next time." the prince says to himself.
Jon approaches the prince greetingly, impressed.
"Your highness, my name is-"
Before Jon could continue, the prince turns around, startled, and smites him with his sword. Jon instantly raises his sword to block, scared.
"What the fuck?!" cries Jon.
"Prince Markus, sir, oh my god- Jon is NOT a conjure!" calls Emit.
"Oh yeah? Isn't he?" says Markus, still pressing on.
"Listen! I'm here to talk to you about the Dark Lord!" cries Jon, struggling to keep his defense.
"The Dark Lord!" cries Markus, backing off and putting his sword away, surprised, "What is it about the Dark Lord?"
"Hey, your highness, man," says Fangs, Markus turns to him, "you ever heard of, as they call it, The High Prophecy?"
Markus stays silent for a moment, shocked. He moves back, sheathing his sword. He turns around to think about what he had just heard, and shakes his head in denial.
"It can't be me..." whispers Markus, "... And it can't be now..."
"So you have heard of it, sir?" calls Emit.
"I-I have... I was told..." says Markus, still in shock.
"What were you told?" asks Jon, curious.
"I was told that I would serve a bigger purpose in the universe," says Markus, "a bigger part of a prophecy, that I would witness a war... A war, not only against the kingdom, but against man, against the living..."
"That is why we are here." says Jon. "You are the chosen one, Prince Markus."
"I am the chosen one?" says Markus, turning around to face them, moving closer, overwhelmed. "I am not ready for this! I thought... I thought that I would merely accompany the chosen one but, but I... Fight the Dark Lord?! I certainly can not!"
"And that is also why we are here." says Jon.
"We're here to mentor you." says Fangs. "Give ya a bit of the y'know, mentoring the chosen one stuff."
"You'll be ready in no time, don't sweat it." says Jon.
Markus stands still for a while, thinking. In a moment, he takes a deep breath and shakes his head, looking at the ground for a moment.
"Well, bloody hell." says the prince, "What am I to say to fate, right?"
Horns start playing in the background, out of literal nowhere, to announce a royal approach. Emit turns to the source of the sound and instantly kneels. Jon and Fangs see this and copy Emit.
A troupe of marching musicians starts closing in, accompanied by a fair carriage carrying the king.
"That is the king," whispers Emit, still kneeling, "you know him by the marching troupe of musicians that follow him around."
"I thought he was supposed to be the only person not covered in shit." whispers Jon.
"You're thinking of a different king." whispers Emit.
The king's carriage stops, several feet away from the prince
"Your Majesty." says the prince, kneeling.
"Rise." says the king, as everyone rises. He starts to look around himself, observing, wearing his eyepatch on his right eye. He looks to be troubled. "How's your uh... How's your training?"
"Good, your majesty, good... I am making good progress." says the prince.
"Making good progress, are you?" says the king, disappointed. "Strange, I don't see you holding a book or studying any politics or, frankly, carrying your bride, son."
"Father, this is more important." says the Prince, starting to get frustrated.
"Is it though?" says the king.
"Yes, it is! You know the Dark Lord is on his way to the kingdom!" cries the prince.
"Again with this Dark Lord nonsense!" cries the king. "Bite me!"
"Can you stop saying that?" says the prince, frustrated.
"What, 'bite me'?" says the king, stubbornly. "Well bite my crown jewels down to the rock, if you don't cut it with this... this Dark Lord gibberish, I will..."
"Your Majesty, if I may." says Emit. The king starts to notice Emit and his two friends, he starts studying their figures. Emit was just about to talk, before-
"Oh, Emit, you have returned?" says the King. "You haven't reported to the captain yet, have you?"
"I will, your majesty, but-"
"And who have you brought within the castle walls?" says the king, suspiciously. "Have you been drinking again?"
"We are messengers, your majesty." says Jon, "We come with a prophecy, for your brave and valiant son, the prince."
"The High Prophecy, your majesty." says Fangs. "Your son is the chosen one, he's gonna defeat the dark lord."
"Is everyone out of their mind?" cries the king, madly. "Dark Lord! That's like... What mother used to tell me when I was refusing to eat my beans, she'd say 'harry baby, if you don't eat your beans, the Dark Lord's going to slaughter your kingdom and cut your leg off'... all stories and myths!"
"The Dark Lord is very much real," says Jon, angrily, "and he killed my fucking wife and slaughtered my fucking village and cut my bloody leg off!"
"Do not use that tone with me, stranger." cries the king, turning to Jon, staring dead into his eyes. "I am the king, and I can execute you for it."
"Well, I'll have you know that I was in line for royal heritage as well!" cries Jon.
"Well, how did that go for you?" says the king. You can almost see Jon fire up in rage, before-
"Father... The fate of the continent rests on my shoulders! I must train and become strong or we will be doomed! You've seen the fish, father, you know I am right!" says the prince.
"Don't let these men poison your mind." says the king, "Do they really look like men of credibility? A scarecrow, a drunkard, and a..."
"Go ahead." says Fangs, staring him down. "Say it."
The king hesitates momentarily, turning to Fangs.
".. Wolf-faced gentleman of colour!" cries the king, now turning to his son. "Is that really who you discredit your father, the King of Nexonin, for?"
"I am not 'discrediting' you, father!" cries the prince. "But you are blinded from the blatant truth!"
"My son... I do not wish for you to meet your demise." Says the king. "... And you may no longer speak of the Dark Lord."
"Are you acknowledging his existence, then?" says the prince.
"... No, I am not" says the king, nervously.
"Yes you do, you did! Just now!" cries the prince.
"I did not." says the king.
"He did." says Jon.
"Yep." says Fangs.
"I did not! You are hearing things!" cries the king.
"I'm afraid you have, your majesty." says Emit, almost regretfully.
"Screw it." says the king, signaling his carriage rider to turn back. "You can bite my pearly white teeth down to the pulp."
"Does that mean you will let me train, father?" says the prince, his face lighting up with excitement.
"Have at it, you good for nothing..." mumbles the king before he disappears beyond the castle walls.
"Great, I guess that settles it." calls Jon, rubbing his hands in preparation.
"So... which one of you is my mentor?" says the prince.
"The two of us." says Fangs.
"Actually, make that three." says Emit.
Jon and Fangs turn to look at him, surprised.
"What? Old captain can't take part in training the chosen one?" says Emit. "The prince needs to learn every type of magic to fight the Dark Lord. I don't know if I've mentioned this or not, but I'm a healing wizard, I know a thing or two about magic... I can join in, can I not?"
"Yeah, yeah, sure," says Jon, "I guess we owe you that."
"When do we start?" says the prince, looking at the three of them.
The three exchange looks, and nod altogether. The prince looks at them, before he understands what they've agreed on. No time like the present.