The Kingsfolk’s Blues, part.2

Thank you for following us this far into THE KINGSFOLK’S BLUES! In this page, I would like to share  a fun fact; that is ALL of the characters are based on friends of mine I’ve met in China. Especially thanks to my dear friend of an exiled nobleman, but also to my awesome Seafolk roomate and his commandable paramour (a warrior of her own right), and of course to my fellow kingsmen, love you all.

It is difficult to realise the true Way just through sword-fencing. Know the smallest things and the biggest things, the shallowest things and the deepest things.

Miyamoto Musashi

Walking right into the Bourg of the Mockingjay, Borothar and his dog wolfdog Kiba didn’t have any worry in the world. Following his heart rather than his wisdom, the squire had decided to find more of this pipe, whose plant could be harvested in Dragon’s Bay. The jester’s tip helped a lot, Borothar acknowledged.

At the Gathering, Borothar made some unlikely encounterings, from sharing a pipe with a goofie and friendly jester, even meeting disgraced hero Dantena van Torquaz. When Master Melrag praised this man, I imagined a dashing hero, audacious and fiery as his Ravenclaw sword. I never considered that being flayed left you so pitiful, poor Torquaz. He is a good, brave kingsman. Also, he had seen with his own eyes some great jousts and dazzling melees. For some reason, his heart wasn’t still filled with admiration. Words from his past echoed as he walked down the street. Remembering lessons of the past, Wellington truly changed his views, back then.

Catching himself smiling for no reason, Borothar remembered the pipe’s effects, remembering the jester’s views on civilization which suddenly made him laugh. There is logic in his nonsense, Wellington would think of him as a kingsman as well. 

Barking, Kiba angrily agitated himself. Following the dog’s intuition, Borothar observed his surroudings. A fisherman’s town, this small bourgade in the Imperial City’s region had something charming about it. All townsfolk looked at him with curisitoty, a feeling he shared towards them. These had nothing to do with the Riverlands’ grumpy fellas, and they all smiled despite the harships. A positive sight seems to makes the hardest lives brighter. Borothar should take exemple on these townsfolk, he convinced himself of.

Again, Kiba barked.

Raising his eyes, Borothar saw a wooden bridge separating two buildings carved in the bay, where three men, bound and gagged, shivered in fear, pissing themselves through the wood. Slash! Recognizing this sound, Borothar quickly associated it with what he saw. One of the men got his troat sliced, and his body fell right before his eyes, into the sea, his piss’ stank following his fall. Plouf!

Kiba had barked once more that Borothar fearfully muttered an order: ‘Shut it, Kiba!’ The dog didn’t obey, afraid himself.

“There”, a brutal voice from the bridge said. “A brat and his hound!’

‘- Take them’, a colder voice ordered.”

Frozen for an instant, Borothar remembered he carried his one-handed sword, before acknowledging he might not be ready to cut a man just yet. Chosing instead to back off, Borothar became suddenly haunted with the fate of these unfortunate souls. Drawing his blade as he was driven by an inspyring madness, Borothar yelled:

“Justice!” A pretty descent war cry I think, it is my trademark from now on.

Before he could even finish to think, a strike got him in the back of the skull, making him stumble, barely standing on his feet. Grabbed by strong hands, Borothar tried to keep his eyes open, his panic making him want to fall and throw up, while he listened to Kiba’s barking.

“The dog’s running away’ a thug cynically commented.

‘- The dog’s innocent, let it go die somewhere else. The seafolk eats dogs”, his companion cynically added.

Feeling his body being dragged on stairs, Borothar gathered enough strength to resist their vile embrace, when he dropped on the wooden bridge, after sensing one of the cutthroats stealing Wellington’s sword.

Raising his eyes upon a cold man wearing glasses, Borothar shivered himself. Nothing in this man seemed rational, even though he dressed like a professor. Wellington taught me how to see through masks. This man is wrath incarnate. 

Yelling in his ear, one of the outlaws said:

“Bow to ser Thomas Kent, knight of the Prime Order, and slayer of the Greyfallows.”

Looking at the former, Borothar spat on the floor, laughing as he struggle to say:

“If this guy is a knight, then you guys are jesters!”

Noticing Kent’s eyebrow frowning, Borothar bursted out of laugher, smiling. A true kingsman dies happy with himself. I could have done better in this life, but there is always room for improvement. See you all on the Other Side!

They slit his throat, and the blood ran down to the sea.

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