Thursday

A symphony of death. (424 words)


In the heat of the moment and while consumed with rage it sounded like a good idea, a brilliant one even. Now with all of his enemies slain and his rage abated he is beginning to regret ever opening his mouth.  It does look imposing, even more so than he dared to dream at the time but it's just so damned uncomfortable. "Throne of skulls." He grumbles to himself as he debates calling for yet another cushion too soothe his rear end. "Vanquish all those who speak out against me."  He mumbles in a bizarre mockery of his own voice.

Absentmindedly he drums his fingers on one of the dozen or so skulls that make up the armrests, it makes a pleasant hollow sound. For a minute he forgets himself and his troubles. He dances his fingers across the throne, searching for different sounds and is soon beating out quite a jaunty tune. Lost in the macabre musical moment he isn't aware he has company until a polite cough disturbs his rhythm.

Thankfully it's only Quetzal, who is all bows and grovelling. "Forgive me sire, I bring a message from the North, Prince Daraquin …."

The king stops listening and finds himself wondering what sound his loyal servants hollowed out head would make. In his mind's eye he sees a row of skulls, all shapes and sizes, smallest on the left working their way up to the largest ones on the right. He knows what he needs to do. Interrupting Quetzal he gives a royal declaration of war.

"Quetzal, send word to the keep I want the Dwarf citadel of Aaronmoor wiped off the face of the earth. Take no prisoners and collect as many heads as possible, men, women, children. Spare no one."

Shocked but knowing better than to question his King, Quetzal scurries off to set the wheels of war into motion. Before he reaches the end of the great hall the king calls him back.  "Have a legion sent into the forests, see if they can bag me a Giant or two, again, and this is important, I need the heads intact and tell Dai the chop to sharpen his axe. I have a feeling quite a few prisoners need executing"

With panic in his eyes and no idea what lies ahead Quetzal resumes his scurrying and the King returns to his day dreaming. He drums his fingers and starts to ponder if a femur could be hollowed out to make a flute, he has always wanted to form a band.

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