King Marcus The King

On the warm southern sea, Where the leviathans roamed free, A mighty kingdom floated And this must be duly noted; The kingdom's name was Eastengard. In times of peril, when life was hard, Many kings and moons ago When dragons flew high and low, A woodcutter named Marcus Controlled his shapeshifting, and thus, United the lands and saved its populace From the danger that was the Draconian race. This was the first account from the first king Of an empire of which the bards still sing. He chose a name that signified the start of an age Of kings from his noble bloodline: Moonmage. The seventieth year of King Marcus the Thirteenth's reign had been prosperous, as all the others had been. On one night in late August, the rain struck down particularly …show more content…

They came close to the bearded face, but retreated quickly, leaving the unblinking king unscathed. "Do tell." Conrad sighed and dropped onto a large leather armchair. King Marcus turned around and sunk gracefully upon one across his son. The runes embroidered onto his lapis lazuli robe shifted a little, reflecting the king's change in mood. Though not anybody in the kingdom was known to be able to decipher the lost language, besides the king, whenever they changed, one could guess that the king had a change in emotional state too. That was, unfortunately, not very common for the hardheaded king. "Father, I've heard rumours," he began cautiously. He may have been the prince, and a sorcerer as well, but that didn't mean that he could survive a magical outburst. "You've heard rumours plenty of times before. Shapeshifting... it's still an abomination in my eyes." The king remembered all too well... it was like an old scar that hurt again. The Werewolf Uprising... the blood... fire. The fire beside them sputtered and hissed like a cat that had had a pail of water thrown onto it. King Marcus snapped back into the …show more content…

"I just had to know... what if someone was controlling that dream? It's possible." "It is," the king said. "But that's ridiculous." Conrad pushed his ebony hair back; silver was beginning to creep from the roots. "Not too ridiculous. We all know Alan is your favourite." The king made no reply to that, only the embroidery on his lapis lazuli robes let out a little shimmer. The flames were dancing around, so it could've been that. "Well?" "Well, I love--care about my grandsons equal--fairly." He combed his smooth slate beard. "And... I... I think Alan would make a better leader than Marcus." "Why? He's too shy. He can't do much." Prince Conrad sunk down on one of the red leather armchairs and let out a little sigh. "He's proper. He doesn't run around Mount. Brenton trapping dragons. You know?" The prince sighed, again, ruffling his hair. "But none of my other sons trap dragons either." A weak argument, he knew. The king fixed him with a cold stare. "Is that all you wanted to say tonight?" He sat down on the opposite armchair. "I suppose that is." Conrad stood up, bowed, and left the room. The door opened again, and he reached in to snatch his cloak, before slamming the door