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cassiedangerclouds · 5 years

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Soldier Poet King {BBS}

For many a century, war had raged between the two factions.

It was said in the tales told by the elders that there will be a group consisting of a soldier, who carries a mighty sword, a poet, whose weapon is his word and a ruler, whose brow is laid in thorn.

It is only when the three meet that the land will be at peace once more.

This will be known as the next coming of Christ for the many Christians that live among our ranks, but for the rest of us, it will be asscention to the next life....

Soldier

"You dare assassinate the Prince, fiend?" the knight quiried, the tip of his iron sword pressed against the accused throat.

The male accused stared down at sword, carful not to move, "You misunderstand valiant knight, for I wish not to harm the Prince. He is but one of the things I fight for."

The knight raised a brow, looking the male up and down, "But you dress of our ENEMY, why would a protector of our nobel highness don this attire?"

The accused gulped, feeling his Adam's apple against the blade, his fingers stretched desperately for his hidden dagger, "I don the attire of my kingdom valiant knight, but I would die for your Prince if I had to choose between my land and his life."

"Sir Wine, what is the matter of all of this racus?" a thick accent rang down the empty halls, as footstep approached fast, alerting the two males of a new presence in their battle.

The knight stared at the brown haired Prince, "Sir, I haf found a heathen on royal lands. How does thou decree the fellon be prosecuted?" he questioned, not moving his sword an inch.

The Prince cracked a wide small, glancing up at the knight and down at the fellon, "I decree, that the mighty knight don a smile and put thou sword away. Leave the fellon for he is no crook."

The knight, sworn to obey the words of his ruler obeyed begrudgingly. "But sir, the fiend dons the attire of our sworn enemies, the Trollès. For by the word of your mother and father, he shall be sleign," he protested, sheathing his sword and sending a wary glance at the accused.

The accused still didn't move his eyes staring pleadingly at the Prince, the enemy of his people and the ruler of his very own heart.

"Sir Wine, this fiend is here of my accord, he-"

"Is he a spy then?" the knight interjected, realising his mistake, "My-my good Prince."

The Prince shook his head, letting out a chuckle, "No good knight. Listen and listen well Tyler, my parents may never here a word of what I speak now. This fiend, his only crime is that of my heart. He is here on my request."

The knight looked between his Prince and the accused, "But good Prince, it is foresworn that we are enemies of the Trollès, for how hath this fiend stolen thy heart? He must be a witch! He must be hung!"

The accused gulped, feeling his blood run cold, "I-I assure you oh valiant knight that I am not a witch for those are the dirtiest of scum and must be hung! I am simply a soldier, loyal to my heart and thou Prince has mine."

The knight glanced between the two once more, letting out a huff he turned his attention back to his Prince, "I am sworn to protect you Prince Luke, for I shall not speak a word of this to the king or queen. But, your knight must be carful to not be caught by the other knights," he warned, eyeing his enemy up and down. "For they will not hesitate as I hath, for sure they will kill your love."

Prince Luke nodded, "I understand, thank you Sir Wine. Tyler, seriously, thank you. Come Sir Fanning," grabbing the accused hand, he dragged the other knight away.

Sir Wine shook his head, going back to his post, he noticed a small roll of parchment near the entrance hall door.

Causiously he approached, picking up the scroll.

Stamped with the red seal of the lands of Trollès, he assumed that it must be from the other knight until in flowing letters a name could be seen.

Sir Tyler Wine, Valiant Knight of Kingdom Raggè.

Poet

He had waited, many a months for the chance to speak his heart. For the knight that had captured his soul be of the enemy. While scribes, messengers and poets be not of a side, nobles and knights had a common belief of whomever's court they are born under be where they belong to.

So thus for the raven haired poet, his luck be drawn short, for he was born of the Trollès court. His soul however, bound to the hands of a Raggè knight.

Of course he volunteered when the nobel knight of his court asked for someone to travel to the lands of Raggè with him, for he would but get a better look at the knight who had bu pillaged his small village in the lands of the kingdom Trollè.

"Sir Fanning, you hath told a lie. You state that not a soul tavelled with thee and yet here stands a man," a posh voice cut the poet out of his thoughts, making him scarcely aware of the scene around him.

Before the soldier could reply, the poet explained himself, "Excuse me, mighty Prince Luke of the Raggè lands, do not scold the good knight Ryan. For I am a humble poet and I wish no harm. I am shunned for being born on Trollès land, but us poets are not bound by such ties as knights and royalty," he explained himself.

The Prince looked the poet up and down once more, before nodding his head in agreeance. "Fine, Ry, be careful to not get caught and have a safe trip back home," he pecked the night on the cheek before turning on his heel and walking away.

The knight smiled, standing almost in a daze.

"Sir Fanning, we must leave for the royal watch will be doing their rounds soon. If we wish to keep our lives, we must not be caught," the poet reminded the knight, grabbing his hand, pulling him towards the shadows.

After a long trip through the town square, the poet and the knight made it to a small village, on the outskirts of the Trollès land. Before they could cross the border, they were stopped by a man with brown hair and shining brown eyes in a robe.

"Evan, thank god you hath made it back without being caught," he stated, ingnoring the knight, addressing the poet.

The poet had a small smile on his lips, his brown eyes shimmering in the moonlight, "Yes. I also still have your letter for the Prince. I hope you don't mind a few days for thee's reply, for my Prince is a little bit harsh and does not take well to Poets."

"Of course not Evan, take thy time in getting a response, I am sure that the Prince will see that you are excused from his prejedice," the other man replied.

"Evan, we really must be going. My apologies poet, but we wish not to get caught by anyone," the knight stated, looking at the man's attire.

The man nodded his head, "Farewell friend, I hope to see you again soon," he watched as the poet and knight walked away.

The poet looked at the knight, "You must get back to your post, please make sure to give this," he handed the knight a scroll, "to the Prince, it is from my poet friend. Do not read it, for thou is not who the letter is for."

The knight bowed his head in honour, "I swear upon the great work of our Protector that I shan't read the letter and that the Prince will receive the scroll," the knight said, continuing his quest to his castle, leaving the poet in his small village.

The poet starred up at the moon, wondering if the one who had his soul would read his letter.

King

The Prince couldn't believe his eyes. The throneroom was a disaster, his parent both slain, lying across their thrones.

"Master Hanby, you are now the King of Trollès," the court councillor stated.

The Prince still stood shocked, King...how could I be King?

The townsfolk starred at the Prince as he was coronated. He counted the seconds until the moment would end. 99, 100.

"King Brian of the Trollès land," the court councillor declared, placing the crown upon the young man's head.

The crowd cheered but the King paid it no attention, he was to busy staring at the back church. A hooded figure sat in the last row of seats, next to him was a poet with a wide smile.

As soon as he was excused, the King rushed to the back of the church, much to the protest of the nobles.

"What are you doing here? Why did you bring him?" the King's tone was that of worry.

The Poet's smile faded, replaced be a grim look, "He wished to come my lord, I begged of him not to and he protested, accompanying me. He believed a letter was not the right articulate of congratulations," the raven haired man explained.

The hooded figure concealed a smile under his hood, reaching his hands out, placing them on the King's, "Of you I congratulate, my fair and noble King."

"SIN! OUR NOBLE KING HATH SINNED!" a townsperson hollered out, pointing at the King and the hodded figures hand.

The hooded figure retracted his hands quickly, keeping his head down.

"Fair people fear not for-"

"UNMASK YOURSELF FIEND! REVEAL THOU IDENTITY THAT DARE TAINT OUR RULER!" another townsperson yelled.

The hooded figure shuffled his feet, swallowing hastily, he removed his hood, revealing his messy brown hair.

"THE WHOLE CLOAK FIEND!" the first townsperson roared, accompanied by the cheers from the rest of the church, excluding the Poet and the King.

"Dear townsfolk and nobles fear not, for this man means you no harm. He is just here to congratulate our noble and righteous King and be on his way," the Poet explained, trying to save his friend.

"Nobody cares for words of a filthy Poet, be gone from our sight and take your filth with you," the second townsperson hissed, degrading the Poet.

The King kept his lips sewn shut, he did not wish to anger his people more, but wanted so badly to help his friends.

With a sigh of defeat, the hooded figure removed his robe, reavealing but plain townsfolk dress, with one key difference to the surrounding court.

"HE DON THE MARK OF THE ENEMY, HE MUST BE BURNT AT THE STAKE!" the first townsperson roared, gaining agreeance from the court.

The King could not take the scene much longer, "If you hang this man then thee must hang I also, for this Poet only be here because I hath his heart as he hath mine."

The church fell silent, much of a pin being dropped would be the loudest fo noise.

"THEN BURN YOU SHALL BOTH. FOR LOVE OF A MAN AND A MAN IS A SIN BY THE NAME OF GOD HIMSELF!"

The court cheered at the decree of the Lord of the land.

The hooded figure stared at the King with wide eyes, a feeling of dread settling in his stomach as he realised that he had got both his and his lovers lives lost.

"GUARDS SEIZE THESE FIENDS AND GET THEM READY FOR THEIR PENALTY, DEATH BY STAKE!" The Lord yelled as the gaurds rushed in and shackled the hooded figure and the King leading them away, leaving the Poet alone in the church.

Soldier, Poet, King: The Return Of The Great Transcendence

The Prince had not believed for a second when he heard the word that his old childhood friend was going to venture to the enemy lands to congratulate his lover.

He had made sure to follow the poor soul, even if it meant his life be damned.

Unfortunately, Sir Wine, his loyal knight and his squire had caught the Prince trying to escape. He agreed to come along for the protection of them both.

Once arrived in the kingdom town, he found it deserted.

"The coronation must have began." he commented, heading towards the tall church building.

The Squire followed in silence, afraid of the outcome of being found, surely the penalty would be to be burnt at the stake.

As they approached the church, a load roar echoed across the empty street, the sound of many footsteps seemed to make the ground shake.

The Squire pulled the Prince into an alley in the shadows and signalled for him to be quiet.

Trailing behind the mob of angry people, the Poet and the Knight quietly conversed about the scene at hand.

The Prince went to call out when he saw his love but was stopped by the Squire.

The Squire shook his head taking out his sword he used to sun's light to catch the attention of the Knight.

The Knight saw the glimmering out of the corner of his eye and turned his attention away from the Poet to try find the source of the shining light.

He spotted the Squire and grabbed the Poet's arm, dragging him towards the two hiding enemy.

"But Ryan, we must go with them. We have to save them, we hath no time for delay!" The Poet protested, trying to pull away.

"Who's in trouble?" the Prince asked curiously, catching the Poet's attention first.

The Knight smiled to himself, before his features turned sour. "What are you both doing here? You could get thouself killed."

Ignroing the Knight's words, the Prince turned his attention to the Poet.

"Great Prince Luke of Raggè, my townspeople have found out that the noble King Brian gives his heart to a man, and so they wish for him to be nailed to a stake to burn in the sun." The Poet explained, feeling his heart racing.

"To who does his heart belong, Poet?" the Squire queried, looking between the Prince and the Poet.

The Poet turned his attention to the knight, noticing that it was the noble man who hath his soul.

"I fought for him not to come, begged on my hands and knees, but alas he persisted," the Poet explained, dodging the actual question.

"To answer your question plainly good Knight, they have sentenced King Brian and his lover, the humble Poet Brock Barrus to death by stake." The Knight bluntly stated.

The Prince felt the colour drain from his face, his childhood friend had been sentenced to death for falling in love.

"This is preposturous! We must go now and aid our friends to freedom," he stated, not waiting a second more, marching out of the alley and towards the direction the mob had gone but minutes earlier.

The Knight, Squire and Poet followed silently, not wanting to leave the Prince alone in his quest, but knowing that following meant certain death.

The group arrived as the Lord was placing a crown of thorns upon the king head.

"Enough of these monstrosities!" The Prince hollered, attracting the attention of all of the attendees.

"We need not listen to you, Raggè scum!" a townswoman close the group spat, referencing the read tie around the Prince's waist.

The Prince smirked, ripping off his cloak, "Thou shall not harm one of my loyal townsfolk!" he roared.

"THE PRINCE OF OUR ENEMY DARE STEP FOOT ON SACRED TROLLÈ LAND? GAURDS, SEIZE THEM ALL FOR THEY ARE ALL SINNERS OF SORTS!" The Lord screamed.

The knights charged towards the group, swords at the ready.

The Knight jumped in front of the Prince, "Move back my Prince!" he declared, fighting off as many knights as he could.

The Squire tapped the Prince's shoulder, handing hand a sword, "Here my Prince, for I always carry a spare sword in case of combat."

The Prince nodded thankfully, before springing it action next to the Knight, the Squire joining them not long after.

Three knight surrounded the Poet, all with swords pointed at throat.

The Poet remained as calm as he could and closed his eyes, he whistled a tune, simple three notes and the knights were knocked back.

The knights moved back towards the Poet.

"For legend tells of a song that may be stronger then any sword,

For all it takes is three simple chord." the Poet sang out, knocking them back once more.

"For a fight so hard,

May be finished by simple bard."

The knights all fell, leaving the Knight, Squire and Prince in awe of the feat the Poet had just displayed.

A few knight lay struck by sword in a slow death, the light slowly fading from their eyes.

The Lord was red in the face as he watched half of the kingdoms knight fall to a simple poem. "SEIZE THEM! SOMEBODY SEIZE THESE FIENDS!"

Most of the townspeople scattered, not wanting to face the Bard mainly.

A handful of townspeople charged for the group.

"STOP!" A voice echoed across the square, causind everyone to turn in the direction of the noise.

There stood a young Princess, her eyes shining like diamonds.

"Do you not all see? For a legend has come true, a prophecy for the centuries of heartache,"

"Shut up you brat, no one asked for your opinion," The Lord growled.

The Princess ignored him, walking towards the group. Reaching them, she offered her hand to the Prince.

"Mighty and noble Prince, please follow me to your townsfolk, for he has no right to be staked." she explained, grabbing the Prince's hand.

The Knight kept his cool, not wanting to draw attention to himself, but deep down he was angry at the young lady who had just touched the man that hath his heart in such a tender way.

"Valiant Knight, noble Squire and intelligent Bard, thou must also follow and aid," the Princess informed the rest of the group.

The mob of townspeople stepped out of the Princess' way, frightened of her. The Prince, the Knight, the Squire and the Bard could not see how someone so petite could scare grown men, but they did not question it.

They all arrived in front of the King and the Poet who don crowns of thorn upon their heads.

The young Princess turned to face the angry Lord. "For you my lord, the fiends have been seized," she flicked her head and the knight came and tied the group up, gagging the Bard.

"For by the end of the next hour, thou shall be begging for mercy from the nobles of the lands of Trollès." the young Princess declared, a devilish smile upon her lips.

The knights tied the Prince and the Knight on one stake as they had done to the King and the Poet, leaving the Bard and the Squire on the last stake.

Upon all of their heads laid crowns of thorn, for they had all sinned that day.

The Bard tapped in the stake with his boot heel, creating a small tune to fill in the deafening silence that surround the sinners.

The Knight smiled sympathetically at the Bard, knowing that he would not have been in this situation if it weren't for him.

"First will come a soldier," the Squire murmered, realising the beat the Bard was tapping went with the old rhyme and legend; For there will be a Soldier, a Poet and a King, "who carries a mighty sword."

"He will tear your city down," the Knight replied, shooting a smirk the the Knight.

"Next will come a Poet, whose weapon be his word," the Poet continued, shooting a sorry glance at the Bard, "he will slay you with his word."

"Finally a ruler, whose brow be laid in thorns," the Prince realyed, hanging his head in shame.

"Smeared with oil like David's boy," the King replied the final line of the fable.

"They will bring the city down, o lei o lai o lord," the group were caught off guard by the young Princess' voice joining to reciet the end of the poem. She made quick work undoing the ropes that held the group hostage.

"You must be quick, the people of this kingdom are not ready for the next coming. They fear change," the young Princess informed them, "go to the fair Princes' kingdom, for his people are seeking change."

"How does thee know that this is so?" The Prince questioned.

"A might lord has told me so, but you must go quick, the townspeople are starting to whisper," the young Princess stated, as whsipers grew into audible words.

"Thank you fair Princess, for how shall I repay you?" The Prince asked, as the others had already started their escape to the kingdom gates.

The Princess smiled, "Repay you shall not, for I shall join your kingdom soon and be with my Lord."

The Prince simply nodded, not knowing how to respond to the Princess' statement. He ran after his friends.

The Princess smiled as she watched them go, "For an angel will aid them in their coming, o lei o lai o lord," she whispered, knowing that the right thing had been done.

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