Lightstar Family/Xarnelf/Roleplay 89
The High King's Present
(Roleplay from Tharion de Ravenal)
"Duke Xarnelf, I humbly present this gift from the High King to his eternal and treasured friend."
The messenger bowed deeply and with as much exaggeration as possible, his forehead leaving a mark where it brushed the ground they stood upon. As the bemused Duke looked on a score of fully armed soldiers marched forward in battlefield formation normally adopted when they were tasked with guarding the High King himself. Instead a hobbled old man walked slowly amongst them, a long item held in his hands and covered with a length of the finest fabric that bore the Mark of Greater Aenilia.
The group came to a sudden halt in front of the Duke and as one the soldiers raised their arms in salute before they parted and allowed the old man to slowly walk forward, the gift held out before him as if it were a relic of the Aenil themselves. As he reached the Duke he bowed his head and indicated that the Duke should claim his prize.
The messenger continued the speech that he had been instructed to perform.
"Don't think I'd let this slip by you old bas..." He broke off with a guilty look. "I don't think I'm comfortable saying that even if it was the High King".
Duke Xarnelf was the proud new owner of perhaps the finest walking stick to ever grace the Far East.
The hero could not believe his eyes, as the old man revealed himself and walked forwards with a... walking stick?! Xarnelf's jaw dropped open and he started sputtering as he tried to grasp for words that would not come. Meanwhile, the messenger delivered the final line of his prepared missive, and all in attendance waited for the duke to claim his present.
"Why, that... that... rascally young hoodlum!" he finally exclaimed, shaking his fist in the air for dramatic effect. "And here I thought that he had forgotten my birthday!"
He huffed as he reached out with both hands to gingerly receive the item. Then, Xarnelf shook his head slowly with a snort. He could not decide whether to thank the man or to smack him the next time they crossed paths, but the thoughts were short-lived. Even though the idea of the gift was surely made in good-natured jest, the gift itself was actually quite marvelously exquisite in design and detail.
As he further examined its long length--almost akin to a short staff--a new idea formed in Xarnelf's crafty mind. Yes, he could indeed make grand use of this new toy, but not in the way it was originally intended, of course; he was not that old and feeble yet...
A few days later...
"Captain Udo, how many of the decaying things are in the area?"
"Roughly a score and a half by the last estimate, m'lord."
"Ah, most excellent... it shall be a fine day indeed! Hm, before I forget, break one of the spare lances in half for me."
"Uhh, m'lord? I do not understa--"
"Just do it."
The captain stared back dubiously, but finally complied and ordered the strange task to be done. He soon returned with the two halves, and Xarnelf grabbed the shaft end. He eyed it with a grin.
"Yes, this shall do nicely..."
"Uh, what should I do with the other half, m'lord?"
"Hm? Oh... Use it as a javelin or just toss it away. I care not."
"Hey guys, what's His Grace holding in his shield hand?"
"Looks like a shortened lance... maybe it's a javelin?"
"Nah, don't think so, 'cause it looks more like a staff to me..."
"Heh, you guys didn't hear? His Royal Majesty gave Duke Lightstar a walking stick before we left!"
"What?! You're surely jesting!"
"Yea, that's a lie if I ever heard one!"
"I kid you not, my friends, 'tis true, or I'm a monkey's uncle!"
"But you are a monkey's--"
"Pfft, shut your mouth! Benjy is surely a handful, but no ape!"
"Yeah, shut up Edward. Now John, tell us more of this event."
"Well, I only heard bits and pieces back in Ornaz. Cap'n was telling the Sarges about it. I think he mentioned it was a gift or something."
"Interesting... wonder what he's going to do with it..."
A loud warhorn sounded then, from up front on the field.
"Oh by Helios's Bloody Scythe, ready your lances, boys! Time to kill what's already dead!"
A moment later, the hero casually examined his weapons as he waited for his men to line up in front of him. The pungent smell of rotten corpses filled the air, but he paid it no heed. In his left hand, Xarnelf grasped his newest prize--the gift from Tharion--near the center of its length, while his customary kite shield was strapped upon his arm. In his right hand, he held the broken half-lance, with its jagged edge facing down to the ground.
Both items measured about the same size and drew many curious eyes from the line of lancers. Noticing with his peripheral vision that his men were more or less ready to begin, he nodded to himself and held both arms up high. The duke looked left and right, finding all eyes upon him, and then grinned as he turned about to face the slowly oncoming horde.
To the side, he noticed Angus and his infantry rushing to catch up and help, but the hero was not about to wait for his friend to arrive, so he waved his walking stick at the Count of Anrimap in greeting. To his unit, he simply called out:
"Let us go bowling, boys!"
Everyone tried to react quickly to that unusual warcry, but the hero had not given them much time, for he had already taken off at a gallop. With his hands held wide, he almost looked like he wanted to hug the undead creatures! Soon enough, however, his tactic became apparent to all those behind, as his horizontally-held staves connected with devastating force against the necks of half a dozen zombies on the front line.
Their heads simply flew off their fragile necks, and those in the next line did likewise! Meanwhile, Xarnelf's armoured horse lowered its head to ram through those foes directly in front of the duke. A long breath later, his men caught up and smashed against the thin wall of undead, their lances spearing through multiple enemies easily. However, most of those lances were also caught fast in stubborn rib cages, causing more than a few to become dragged off their mounts by those still-grinning, and still-animated, zombies.
It took more than a lance to the heart to re-kill these monstrosities, for their hearts did not even beat! Soon enough, though, the soldiers learned that a solid whack to the head usually took care of the problem. They eyed their commander with newfound and open respect after the skirmish was over, since he had singlehandedly destroyed nigh a dozen of the things on his first contact before breaking completely through the thin line!
Surely all of them had heard many interesting stories of the man's unorthodox behaviours on the battlefield, but to witness it firsthand was something else entirely!
