Skip to main content

The Chronicles Of Domewyrd: 8

Chapter VII
A Kingdom Of Madness.

Now Manis described his kingdom’s plan with waving hands and dancing-legs. As Grimace watched from above, like spiders always eerily seemed to. He told his hazy-minded subjects that the ground in which they stood upon. Was to be flooded with shops, craftsman, and his throne room was to reside where the gladiators once called their “blood-works.” Not only that but Manis would have a throne directly above the arching entrance to his throne-room, to watch his glorious kingdom thrive. He told his subjects that it will be no easy task, but their pride will carry them to commit to the construction of his kingdom, or perish. Lest they be gruesomely be fed to his dark liege, Grimace. 
They worked endlessly for the next two years of their dimly lit lives. As every man has a profession, a talent if you will. Each and every man that happened to be responsible for a young family, was instructed by Manis, to find a talent. A craft, something of value, something of integrity. They were too find that talent and construct it into a business. For if anyone dwelling in Manis’s kingdom, where to remain, alive. They must’ve brought some-sort of monetary value to the table. Or else, what was he worth? Nothing more than Grimace’s next bite to eat, and he made sure all of his subjects knew this better than their left hand. Manis had dreadfully found his specific set of talents long, long, ago. Thanks to the hulking monstrosity that is Grimace, more importantly in Jaykob’s death he had found that his talent, thanks to his maniac rage. As many years slowly passed, businesses’ and homes seemingly rose from the ground. Fashioned from wood farmed at the nearby forest. They riddled the vacant ground of the coliseum. First there were businesses, and then homes rose at the far-end of the coliseum, adjacent from the throne-room’s arching entrance. The entrance to the throne room became decorated in a black banner, Manis had instructed one of his poorly subjects to paint a smiling face with his blood, which he did, although he did not survive. The painter was never even gratified the moment to tell his family of a job well done. A reward fit for half-assed job, or so Manis decided. All of the taverns, and shops that resided in the swampy village were torn down. The wood was then sparingly used by carpenters to construct taverns, shops, and shacks that they referred to as homes, and the liking of whatever the king demanded in the coliseum. Although it took two exhausting and deathly years, the kingdom was now a thriving success. No shop was ever empty, no tavern was ever silent, and the king was never left alone and in so, Grimace was never hungry… It became such a popular town, Manis began forcing all who enter to pay for day passes in his kingdom, this only lead to even more revenue for his budding kingdom of madness. Manis was mad, but he was also absurdly intelligent. He siphoned all of the earnings to the shops that brought the town inevitable success. upgrading and polishing them, only leading to even more unsuspecting visitors. Manis sat in his throne above the archway twiddling his thumbs and a vicious grin as he watched the streets consistently flooded with patrons, which to Manis, only equated into copper coins.
 Even though it was a success, muggers ran the streets, gangs occupied the taverns. People remained in their homes or shops, paranoid that they might be the next body to litter the dirty street. The king loved this, hell he told them to do it, watching from above he loved seeing the chaos. After all it only made them plead for an audience which Manis then turned into an opportunity. To have his own personal guard extort “copper protection” from his subjects and have them stand guard for the taverns and shops. Not before he gave each and every subject who pleaded a scar, so they remember that the next time they ask, they’ll be a delightful snack for the horror that watches above them that they dare not speak of. To any soul, living or not.





Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A PREVIEW OF NOVELLA #4 THE FIRST DWARVEN KING

   AN EXCERPT ; SUBJECT TO CHANGE The Fourth Kingdom Of Yore; The Lost King Of The Forgotten Dwarves. In the depths of the mountains over plains and hills, resided a mine worthy of history. Full of riches and ores, and a hearty race known as the dwarves.  No man or elf for that matter, was as heartfelt for their kin as the dwarves. They would fight to the death in the name of honor, and through their stone-like stubbornness a dwarf was never afraid to die for his brothers, and you could never convince them that it was anything other than honorable.  Deep within this mountain's caves, past all the muddy mazes of dark and wet tunnels. was the mine's grandiose entrance that stood stories high  fashioned in an impeccable pristine obsidian marble seemingly Crafted with the love of the mountain. From it's grand archway that stood at the entrance to the ancient mines. Stood two statues of the Garnetcrusher brother's. Myrddin has bright blue eyes, ...

The Chronicles of Domewyrd: 14

The Second King of Yore:  The Rotting Kingdom Of the Plagued Snow Elves. I: A Haunting Odyssey   As one calamity rises-and-falls, another is only bound to transpire, ever too soon. Little did the mortals know, they would cherish these simple days, in dark days to come, they will pray to have these days back in their arms. Ah, alas, foolish dreaming won't stop the sun from rising, that none of the poor mortals happened to hope for.   Far to the north of the bubbling bogs, past forests that have no end, past hellishly deep desert canyons that know only the driest, most physically testing of climates. There lies a mountain range, unlike any other. The daunting peaks were undiscovered, penetrating through the gloomy rain-bloated clouds above.    Vaea, snapped her flawless fingers of starlight, and yelped,   “astral eggs!” Weaving her hand in a circular motion around an invisible point on the center of The now repaired balcony. No repairs can erase the...

The Chronicles of Domewyrd 22

IX: Repercussions of The White Past.  All was quiet but the whistling wind that molested an unseen path, against the caverns walls, moving the water, in an erratic fashion.   The knights, slowly wandered down the icy mountain, careful, to not trip and slip down the frigid path of hidden slopes. Down into the village that was once, a horrendously horrible bloodbath, to these clueless elvan knights on prideful missions by Mondisi’s demand. Brought in by the king’s request, on a later date than the massacre, positively  unaware of the brother’s brutal squabble.   This stroll through a ghost town was pleasant, for them, if it were the brothers, irrefutably, it would have been unfathomably nerve racking. It's always better to be ignorant, than scared of the truth, Manis knew this, and soon, Mondisi would too..  Broodth, was not a ghost town although, it may have seemed so. To these unsuspecting, snow elves, it made no difference.   A young girl, w...