Engage, Dilyniant!

The wide doors of the Great Hall stood before Fulcher and Schon. Ravage’s claws clattered against the stone floor as Arrow’s ears swiveled at the distant noises of combat coming from the entrance of the keep. Fulcher stared down at his gauntlets, and at the ringcasters showing from the knuckles. He took a deep breath as Ravage peered back at him, tilting his head and trilling. He reached forward to pat the raptor’s neck as his gaze landed on Schon.

“Can you do it?” she asked. Surprised, Fulcher blinked a few times as he tried to decipher her meaning.

“Do what?...” he asked.

“Can you take him out?” she questioned, her eyes roaming over his face.

“What? I-... sure, I…” he stuttered, trying to find an answer. “We captured The Huntmaster! I’ll just… put Dilyniant in a block of ice too…”

“No,” Schon said sternly. “He is The King. If he persists after today, you’ll never have power here. The old loyalists will never come around. He must fall.”

Fulcher looked at his gauntlets again, tools that remained unnaturally clean despite the fact they had all been fighting this entire time. So far he had been fine with Ravage or Arrow doing whatever was needed in combat, they were animals after all. But if it came down to just he and The King, his confidence faltered.

“I’ll do it,” Schon offered. Fulcher looked over at the armored girl who smiled back at him.

“I understand that this isn’t something you’re… used to. I’ll take care of it,” Schon said. She reached for the door handle, steeling herself before looking back up to Fulcher.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Ready,” he replied softly.

“Ready…” echoed a voice from behind them. Fulcher and Schon turned as a thin layer of smoke swept across the stone floor. Fulcher squinted as a shadowy figure emerged from beyond the layer of artificial fog. The light streaming in from the window caught the glittering metal of a crow-shaped helmet.

“Benedict!” Fulcher said, turning Ravage towards the form of his friend.

“Wait,” Schon said meekly, gripping her warhammer as Arrow growled harshly.
The figure stepped out of the billowing fog, yellow-striped cloth juxtaposed against the now red blades that hung at his side. As Bobagem strolled from the smoke wearing Corvidrop’s helmet, his cruel grin stretched beyond humanity.

“The jester?” Fulcher stammered. Ravage rumbled as he lowered his head, the raptor’s lips twitching.

“Oh-hohohoooo! The Jester indeed!” Bobagem giggled, taking Corvidrop’s helmet off and sliding it across the floor towards them. “What fun the little bird was to pluck! But don’t worry little princeling, I’ve left room for dessert.” The jester licked his lips as a purple liquid slipped down the center of his blades, dripping onto the floor.

In a flash Schon ran forward, swinging the warhammer down towards the harlequin. Bobagem leapt backwards into the diminishing smoke, as Schon’s warhammer cracked the stone floor he was standing on. Before he could retaliate Schon took off to the side of the room, sprinting up the staircase that led towards her and Fulcher’s bedrooms.

“Go!” she shouted as she vanished up the stairs.

“Schon, wait!” Fulcher called out.

“GO!” she echoed. Bobagem sneered as she disappeared up the stairs, looking back to Fulcher with a new smile.

“Don’t worry Fulcher, I won’t kill her…” he offered, a deep chuckle filling the room as he skipped to the staircase, following Schon into the depths of the castle.

Fulcher stared at the door to The Great Hall.

Benedict… I’m sorry, he thought, I promise to do right by your people. He slipped off Ravage and approached the door, the gauntlet gripping the handle.

Akaj, Vardia, Schon, hang in there, he hoped, closing his eyes. Mnguni too, please hold out. I’ll stop the battle here and now.

He pulled the Hall doors open at last, revealing the tormented room inside. The tapestries that once lined the walls around the keep had been discarded into a pile in the corner of the room, save for Dilyniant’s which now hung above the throne in the center of the Hall. The dining table Fulcher had stood at for the advisor meeting had been turned on its side, sitting opposite to the pile of tapestries with the chairs scattered around the area. Discarded pastries and breads lay scattered around the floor, with most being piled to the right of Dilyniant’s throne where the tyrant sat. His regal attire was covered in crumbs and spilt wine as he sat slumped against an armrest, a long barrel resting against his arm. Fulcher took in the details as quickly as he could, but he could not quite figure out what kind of weapon the King had resting against him.

Some kind of prototype blunderbuss? he thought, none of the soldiers had anything that looked like that.

“So, the problem child returns,” Dilyniant said, a slight slur to his speech. He stood and looked at Fulcher, sneering at the sight. “And I see you’ve brought yet another dirty beast into my home. How you disappoint me.”