Race for The Throne

By ChaosWithImagination All Rights Reserved ©

Adventure / Fantasy

Death of the Old.

In The Castillian Dungeons.

The Oracle hung from thick chains; his body stick thin from lack of food and torture. The Tyrant Overlord stood in front of him with one hand would tightly into his blood matted hair while the other held a dagger pressed just under his rib cage. Just a few steps away the Dungeon Master looked on, bored by the whole business already, but not daring to show it while his Overlord was present. The Tyrant Overlord pressed the dagger upward nicking skin but the Oracle barely flinched. Clear blue eyes, still very much alive despite the condition of his body, gazed unafraid at the Tyrant Overlord.

“Tell me where it is,” the Tyrant Overlord asked, “I know that you know its location. It is in vain you try to stop me with this silence. I have everything in my hand; your land, your Regalia and your King. Even now my people scour the land searching. I will find it Oracle. This attempt to delay the inevitable is foolish. See how it has caused you and your Soul Bond much pain? Tell me where it is and it will all end.”

A soft wheezing noise shook from the cracked lips of the Oracle. It was a few seconds before the Tyrant Overlord realized the Oracle was laughing.

“This is not your land and the people will never accept you until you wear the Regalia,” the Oracle paused to take in a tortured breath, “The Prince is not and never will be King. As for the Clip, you will never find it. My silence is almost at an end Tyrant Overlord because my sacrifice has accomplished what it was meant to. The time is here and all things are in place.”

The Tyrant Overlord rammed the dagger up further the blade sliding under bone and into soft tissue. “What do you mean?” he hissed. The Oracle smiled as the pain begant o make his body tremble.

“It means,” he gurgled a bit and then a real laugh escaped from his lips, “Your time is over.” The laugh ended abruptly as the Tyrant Overlord shoved the rest of the dagger violently upward. There was a short, loud snap of bone as the Tyrant Overlord yanked the dagger back out. Then silence that was broken only by the soft pattering of blood drops on the stone floor. The Tyrant Overlord sighed and then snapped his head toward the Dungeon Master.

“Gather your men,” he stated calmly but in a tone that sent chills down the Dungeon Master’s spine, “Find me another Oracle.”

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