A Temperate Night in Mardon

[Old Man Boiendl 1454]

 

 

A Temperate Night in Mardon

An Introduction of a Prince

 

                 On the eve of the Summer months, where the days grow so long and nights so short, a young boy no more than eight years of age emerges from the doors leading into the Throne Room of Mardon. His head was of fire, much like the hair that adorned the first Emperor. He was neither tall nor short, but average in many respects. 

                 When the sun meets the City walls, this is when the boy feels most comfortable coming out of his enclosure and into the City. Adorned in a red vest and white undershirt, his leather shoes given to him by the finest cobbler tapped against the stone steps as he descended onto the City Streets. His eyes dance from building to building, scanning the streets for his next adventure. A saying runs through his head over and over, “Mischief builds Worldly Men.” Who told him he knows not, but it stuck.

                  A gentle breeze passes through the gates of the city, not minding the guards who stand at attention despite the hour of the evening  and it gently brushes up against the boy. Cooling the air around him he takes a deep breath. It was a fine night for a boy and his fellow-scoundrels to make trouble. 

                  He turns around to admire the Palace in the glow of the sun. A palace is no place for a boy. The walls feel closer everyday and he longs to be amongst the people who till the earth, who pace the streets and fill the tavern halls with the jubilant sound of laughter, the sound only countrymen who share drink could make when in each others presence. 

                  Thoughts of the new faces that filled the palace raced through the boy's mind. It had not been long since the declaration of a new Empire and with the the declaration brought a round of newcomers into the City. While it was nice for a time to have this change, the boy longed for the days where things would settle down.

                  The Boy turns back towards the city. He pushes on, growing farther from the Palace. He stops short, casting his eyes upwards, he puts his hand out in front above his eyes to shield his gaze from the setting sun as he tries to make out the reason for his stopping. 

                  It was the Arc de Johannes. It had not been long since the ruination of the City of Johannesburg and it had been before the time of the boy, but it still had an ever-looming figure on him. In Fact the City in which he stood was nearly a mini-replica of Johannesburg. He had heard the stories time and time again. 

                  In the last hours of the Fifth Empire, where Man pitted against Man struggled to push their way of life upon another, an Emperor, perhaps mad but perhaps courageous stood in the Throne Room of Johannesburg. It is said that when the love of Country outstrips the love of Self, that is when the most courageous acts occur. Be this courage or be this selfishness only the fallen Emperor knows. But in those waning hours he stood amongst his nearest soldiers and councilors as he made an oath to never give up the Jewel of the Empire to scoundrels and vagrants. This was told through the rungs of his family, over and over. 

                 The boy pushes on, leaving the Arc behind him. He paces the streets, families begin to return to their homes where the women of the house has prepared a dinner that could be found within the Palace.  He comes upon the City Tavern, The Snoring Bear. Draped down its columns are the purple and black banners of the Horen House. He peers inside, knowing better to fully immerse himself. Within are various colors, bright and exciting. He longs to join the fellows of all shape and sizes who position themselves on stools around the table. They call for the barmaids and serving wenches with great bosoms and tease and prod as they approach them with drink. They were the people he longed to be with, they were his countrymen. 

                 As the moon finally took the place of the sun and the stars replaced the glow of sun rays. The boy leaves the tavern porthole and moves to a tree by a lowly building. He climbs the tree, watching his footing and other branches. He makes it slightly above the roof, and from his position on the tree he blindly leaps, hoping to make it onto the roof. It would so have it that on this night, be it God or the fate He crafted was not in the favor of the boy. His leap falls short and he lands in the grass below the tree. A guardsman who saw the blind leap and subsequent fall rushes over. He looks down at the boy, in a short moment he recognizes him. 

                “Tonight is no night for a boy-prince, young William.” the guard says, lifting William up off the grass.

 

                “But it is a night to visit my people and live amongst them! I hate the palace, it is no place for me.” William crosses his arms and mumbles “Besides, I shall be King.”

           

                “Mayhaps, but for now you are just the Crown Prince, the Boy Prince of Mardon, William James.”

             

              And so with William in tow, the guardsman turns towards the Palace and makes his way there. Ending the escape for William who so longed to be in the temperate night, and who so longed to be in Mardon.

 

...

 

(A little intro to my new character.)

[Dreek 1633]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.