Those who had an opportunity to hear Baron Oxrabbit speak before knew what was about to happen. Those who didn't were in for a shock. After all, the Baron presented himself fabulously: a tall, handsome man, wearing a shiny ornamented breastplate on top of the finest clothes available. Strength and vitality seemed to radiate from him. He was like a young god. At least up to the point when he opened his mouth.
"Dearly beloved, we have gathered here today for the purpose of, uhm, departing our dearly beloved Emperor, into, well, the afterlife or such, because he's like dead a bit. But fear not, because in this hour of darkness, we can, well, wait for the next hour I guess. And hope! So it is less dark and more light. Well, that's the same I guess. But, you know, a great man he was! Awesome one even! But even the most awesomest of awesome sometimes die, because, well, it is hard to live when you are, like, being eaten by lions and stuff. So let it be a lesson for you! Don't try this at home! And if I find any of you swimming with lions I will go there and hit you with a mace, dearly beloved!"
"Ye gods," lady Oxrabbit groaned weakly. More or less repeating what seven other people had just said shouldn't be hard, but the Baron decided to add in some variety. As usual. This time it seemed like a mix of a wedding ceremony and scolding his children.
"The downfall of the great man might give rise to a greater one even, one that would be with the Empire in good times and in bad times, in sickness and in health, in famine and in... uhh, like... overeating..." Roseduck managed a quick glance at Duke Thinoak, whose face turned somewhat red. Perhaps he would be considering some physical violence, if not for the fact that any display of physical violence between the two would be Baron Oxrabbit throwing Duke Thinoak, marking where the Duke fell, and then repeating and trying to beat the record. "...in flood and in drought and in locusts, and who would bring home the strawberry jam. Until death does them apart. Like it did, well, sort of now. Maybe not just now, but a bit sometime before, you know. When those lions happened to him. So, like this, but maybe not exactly like this. A bit later and not that violent. Yes."
Lady Oxrabbit paradoxically was happier when her husband did really badly and started stuttering, because that usually made him realise that it wasn't going well and he would cut it short. Today she was out of luck, as well as everyone else in the hall, because the Baron recovered nicely.
"Yes indeed! We should choose one who will be strong and brave and most likely lion-resistant probably, cause this helps I guess. No more falling from horses for Emperors, you know! We should make him ride a llama or something. A llama. Yes. Very unlikely to drop a rider into a moat full of lions. Never heard about one that did. Not like them horse bastards! That horse should be tried as an accomplice to murder of the Emperor and punished appropriately! I suggest mincing it into a meat pie! And I volunteer to eat that pie, so that it serves as an example to all other Emperor-killing horses out there! We could mince all those pesky lions in there too!"
***
Kolmi was an Acolyte in the Damned Dark Druids of Doom cult. It was an evil cult, obviously, but Kolmi wasn't particularly evil, dark, or damned. Maybe a little bit doomed. He wasn't much of a druid either, it was simply the best employment offer that had come his way. The traditional career choice of his region was peasantry, but somehow he wasn't drawn towards that. He was too short and too scrawny to succeed as a warrior of any sort, therefore he tried for a more esoteric occupation. Unfortunately, a wandering mage said that he had no talent. A wandering priest didn't like his aura. A wandering shaman said that he wouldn't survive a fistfight against a bear. Kolmi didn't argue with that one. Finally, he got employed by the Dark Druids. Crappy job, but at least it didn't have any requirements. Sure beat being a peasant.
He started as a Chanter. Only thing he had to do was to turn up on time and chant. He quickly got promoted to Acolyte, mainly by virtue of being the worst Chanter in the group. Now he didn't have to chant anymore. Instead, he was assisting the Chief Druid with the ceremonies. This night they were attempting to sacrifice a virgin. Again.
Kolmi was the virgin handler. It meant that his job was to hold the end of the rope the virgin's hands were tied with until the Chief Druid was ready to sacrifice her. What could be easier?
The girl seemed sad and dejected. The perspective of being a sacrificial virgin often has that effect on people. She was supposed to be a beautiful virgin, but the cultists no longer cared about such details. It was hard enough to get anything halfway decent to sacrifice. This one was the best they had had for a long time. The cultist manual recommended a tall, stunning, blond-haired beauty, but a rather plain-looking, not too tall and dark-haired girl would have to do. At least she was young. And female. A certain unfortunate incident involving a transvestite was not to be spoken about. Ever.
The Chanters were standing in a large circle. Each one was wearing an exquisite black robe. Again, it was the theory. In practice, only the Chief Druid had an exquisite black robe. Lucky Chanters had to do with robes the Chief Druid didn't deem exquisite enough anymore. Unlucky Chanters had to do with whatever they could find that was dark and robey enough. Each of the twenty Chanters also had a burning torch. Torches weren't required by the cult itself, but the Chief Druid insisted on them. He had been insisting on them since he had lost half of his Chanters one time. Midnight ceremonies in the deep forest and people with a poor sense of direction just don't mix well.
There was a stone altar in the middle of the circle. In fact it was a large rock placed upon two smaller rocks, covered with a black cloth. Atop it there was a dish containing some menstrual blood of a female bear, which was in fact some regular blood of a male goat. Next to it there was a sacrificial knife, which, surprisingly enough, was really a knife, and not a sharpened stick. The Chief Druid was standing behind the altar. Kolmi the Acolyte was waiting respectfully on the side.
"Dear brothers in doom!" the Chief Druid started the ceremony.
"Dooooom!" the Chanters intoned.
"We have gathered here tonight to sacrifice this beautiful virgin to the Damned, Dark and Evil Gods of Doom!"
"Dooooom!"
"I'm not a virgin!" the virgin protested, but she was ignored by all but Kolmi.
"You are not that beautiful either, but we're doing the best we can," the Acolyte replied nastily, which wasn't his best idea ever. He didn't consider the fact that while the not-virgin's hands were tied, her legs weren't. She had nowhere to run, but she had a few other options. The one she chose was hitting Kolmi's manly parts with her knee. He screamed.
"Are you calling me ugly?!" she shouted in anger and knee-hit his groin again. He bent in half. And continued to scream.
"Acolyte Kolmi! Behave!" the Chief Druid berated him.
"Dooooom!" the Chanters chanted tirelessly.
Kolmi tried to reduce damage to his genitals by bending in half and covering them with his hands, but that in turn left his face vulnerable. The girl stopped kicking him, and instead hit him right in the nose with her tied hands. The nose snapped. The Acolyte howled in pain. He dropped to the ground to protect himself, while she continued to kick him wherever she could. Finally, the Chief Druid realised that his helper wasn't going to do anything apart from lying on the ground and trying to shield his sensitive parts.
"Enough of this!" he shouted and stepped forward. And his head fell off.
"Halt, evildoer!" Arthaxiom the paladin shouted at the falling body. "Your days of darkness are over! I will cut your blasphemous head off! In fact, I seem to have done it just now!"
The Chanters scattered as soon as the Druid's head hit the ground. The girl was still kicking the Acolyte. Alexander the dwarf was staring at the paladin, who was still shouting at the corpse.
"Challenging him afterwards was not your best idea ever," Arthaxiom said. "It does not feel the same. Not so Heroic."
"Looks a bit silly too," Alexander agreed. "But you know, you gave him no time to kill the girl, or to cast a spell, or to do anything else. It has to be worth something."
>
"Yes. It does. But I am supposed to deliver Heroic speeches. It is a part of being a Hero, you know."
"You could deliver a speech to that girl we just saved," the dwarf suggested. "As soon as she stops kicking that loser, anyway."
"Now that is an idea!" the paladin said with enthusiasm and turned to the girl. "Greetings, fair princess! I am paladin Arthaxiom the Great, and this is my faithful companion Alexander the dwarf, or a dwarf-impersonating gnome possibly! We saved you from a gruesome fate at the hands of these misbegotten wretches!"
"I am not a princess, sorry," she replied, while still kicking Kolmi.
"Have no fear, princess, now you are safe from minions of evil!"
"I am not a princess!" she replied, a bit louder.
"I don't think you can break through his madness," the dwarf said, while Arthaxiom started his rant about Heroism and glory and the Rainbow Sturgeon. "By the way, perhaps you could stop kicking him? What did he do to you?"
"He deserves it! He said I'm ugly!" she said angrily.
"What?!"
"I mean, he tried to sacrifice me!" she corrected herself, seeing that the dwarf's shock.
"Ah. That explains it. Isn't that quite enough though? He seems well-kicked."
"I was getting tired anyway," she said, delivering one last kick to the Acolyte's kidneys.
"...and may the Joyous Beige Dragon protect you and your children, and your children's children, and..." the paladin droned on.
"What's your name by the way?" Alexander asked. "At least I'd like to know. I guess to him you'll be a princess no matter how many times you say otherwise."
"My dumb, stupid and retarded father named me Gaduria, may the owls defecate on his grave!" she replied. "And what is wrong with this paladin guy?"
"He's a Hero."
"...and their horses, dogs, cats, mules, sheep, anteaters..."
"This will be fun."
***
General Roseduck was sitting behind a desk in his chamber in the Commander's Tower. He was listening to Vannard ramble about what he had found out. And about who he had met on the way and what terrible things befell them. Roseduck never knew how much of what Vannard was saying was real and how much was exaggerated or simply untrue. He hoped for the latter, for the sake of some random people who were in the wrong place at the Vannard-time.
The news weren't good. That paladin was a Hero indeed. Roseduck was pretty sure of that. He also was pretty sure that appearance of a Hero at this particular time was no coincidence. This spelled trouble, and he was in enough trouble even without that.
"Vannard, I'll be completely honest with you now."
"Now that will be interesting," Vannard replied without much interest.
"To put it short, I will be in some trouble quite soon. While I'm more or less safe right now, as soon as the new Emperor is chosen, some High Lords will most likely try to get me killed. I'm not much liked in the lordly circles, you know."
"Well, that's no secret, even to me. I've heard you being called a bastard, a fraud, an upstart, a skunking commoner, a misbegotten whelp..."
"Yes, yes, I know!" Vannard was having way too much fun with listing all the insults. "What is a misbegotten whelp anyway?"
The assassin just shrugged. "How would I know? Sound quite rude though."
"Nevermind that. As I said, the other lords don't like me too much. Especially Thinoak. I already got a rather nasty message from him."
"What did it contain?"
"Some insults and a promise of a painful death, obviously. What did you expect?"
"Oh, I don't know. Something more original. Five fish heads on a stick and a piece of coal, for example. That would totally freak me out."
"Now would it, really?"
"No. But it would totally freak you out."
Roseduck considered that for a moment. "Well, I guess it would. Definitely more than the death threats. Anyway, in reply I sent him a potato. That should at least make him uneasy."
"Not if he eats it. Which he will."
"It should make him uneasy even in that case, because it was spoiled a bit."
"How devious of you, Ducky."
"I'd thank you if you weren't mocking me. Anyway, as I said, my current situation is rather unenviable and I could really use your help. If you choose to be helpful, of course."
"Of course. So why should I help you? As opposed to, let's say, killing you and delivering your head to one of those lords who like you so much in exchange for a nice reward?" Vannard leaned over the desk, looked the General straight in the eyes and smiled nastily. Roseduck returned the stare.
"Nothing. Apart from the fact that they most likely wouldn't appreciate an unruly homicidal maniac as much as I do."
"And I enjoy being appreciated so much, don't I?"
"You enjoy being allowed to move around the castle. You enjoy having a room to sleep and to keep your stuff in without a need to threaten anyone. You enjoy having access to the finest knives our blacksmiths can produce. You also enjoy the fact that you're not being searched for too diligently after you murder some shady individual. Or fifteen of them, as it happens sometimes." Vannard didn't even blink. "Such a long-term agreement would be out of the question with any other High Lord, I'm pretty sure of that. Also, they are not known for their generosity."
"I see. Is there any chance that you are telling me this because you want me to help you and you don't want me to kill you?"
"Obviously. It doesn't invalidate anything I said."
"I'm aware of that. It is the reason I didn't kill you yet. I just wanted to make you squirm a bit, but you disappointed me, as usual."
"So sorry. Well then, are you in or not?"
"I'm in, I guess. Until I get bored, at least. Or annoyed. Or I stumble upon a black cat with white spots. Or..."
"All right, all right, I get it. So, back to the matter at hand. A good metaphor would be that I am in a tree and a lot of angry dogs are waiting below. I am safe, but there will be a moment when I have to leave this tree. You know what I mean?"
"Yes. My master once told me: if you fall from a tree, don't fall on the ground, because it is hard and unforgiving and you might break some bones. Don't fall on a king, because he might have a crown with pointy bits which may stab you in delicate body parts, and also some knights might be accompanying him, and they might object to you falling on their king. Object by using their swords. Don't fall on a knight either, because an armour is a really uncomfortable thing to fall on, and the bit about the swords still applies, especially if he has friends around. Also try not to fall on a peasant, who, while better than the other choices, might be rather skinny and wouldn't cushion the fall too much. Such a peasant might be also carrying some fun farming implement, a pitchfork for example, falling on which might be extremely unpleasant. Instead, try falling on a fat merchant. They are unlikely to have pointy bits, and cushion falls quite well. Also, their guards are less likely to attack you afterwards. Especially if you share the merchant's goods with them. Or just pretend to share, and kill them afterwards, but backstabbing isn't the topic of today's lesson."
"I have some questions regarding your story," the General said. "And I will ask them, despite well knowing that it is not a good idea."
"Ask away. I am more than happy to share my wisdom with you."
Roseduck groaned inwardly at the mention of Vannard's 'wisdom', but he plunged ahead anyway. "So, how often do you have that many options when falling from a tree? And how often one of the options is a fat merchant?"
"Luring fat merchants under a tree you are falling down from was a different lesson. I must admit that the whole discipline is a bit... esoteric."
"To say the least. And did you, or your master, ever test this in practice?"
"The only time I partook in a somewhat similar experience was when I pushed my master from a rather high tower. Unfortunately, I am unable to say what would he fall on, because he grabbed an albatross in mid-flight and scrambled to safety."
/> "That aroused even more questions in my tormented mind. Let's start with the fact that you mentioned once that your master was a three-headed giant. I can't really see a three-headed giant being saved from a fall by an albatross."
"Me neither. My master was a small, green creature with grammar problems. Light enough for an albatross."
"So not a three-headed giant?"
"No."
"And not a one-winged dragon, like you told me the time before you told me about the giant? Also, not an insane ninja-wizard, neither an aged levitating porcupine, nor a pirate fairy?"
"I could have had many masters, you know. Or I could have lied a bit. By the way, you forgot about a particularly vicious bunny rabbit."
"Lied a bit. Yes." Eneumerius had absolutely no idea if the assassin was lying or not. Most of what he said was highly improbable, but on the other hand, it was also hard to believe that he made up all this. How could he even consider something like being an apprentice to a 'particularly vicious bunny rabbit'? Rabbits are not vicious! What could one teach him!? "One more question, asking which I will regret even more, but here it goes. Why did you push your small green creature master from a tower?"
"I was quite upset with him at the time, because he took away my rubber ducky."
"A rubber ducky? What is a rubber ducky?"
"You of all the people should know what a rubber ducky is, Ducky." Ducky apparently didn't. "It is a small, rather simplified sculpture of a common duck, made from a squishy material. It would make an amusing noise when squished, and could float on water. Nice to have during bath time."
"So... sort of a... toy?" Roseduck tried to make heads or tails out of what Vannard was saying.
"Yes, a toy. His name was Felix."
Roseduck eyed the assassin suspiciously. Did one of the most dangerous people alive just tell him that he had a toy duck named Felix?! It didn't sound like him at all. On the other hand, pushing his master from a tower sounded way too much like him. Vannard's face showed neither amusement nor embarrassment, so the General just couldn't work out if he was being serious or not. Then an odd thought struck him.
"How old were you then?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe five, or six."