Desperate Matters...

"All rise for the entry of his majesty, Lord Mortimor Hemlock!" a herald exclaims as the doors burst open and a man in rich purple robes limps down a bright red plush carpet towards a throne.

Hemlock doffs his deep purple cape and holds it out. Razal sighs and walks from his post at the foot of the throne and takes it in his arms, folding it over his arm. He begins to descend the steps.

"Hold, Razal. Why don't you stay here? Sit," Hemlock commands, motioning towards the steps.

"As my Lord Hemlock commands," Razal replies monotonously, taking a cautious seat on the steps.

"Don't be such a stiff, Razal," Hemlock laughs, nudging Razal obnoxiously as he sits down on the throne. "You know you can call me Morty!"

"Yeah. Morty," Razal grumbles. He tosses his head of black-and-blue hair and sighs. Why him?

Because of his family, that's why. When his parents, the last of the only other noble line of golems, were killed by the Hemlock forces, he was taken in to 'purge' any thoughts of revolution and tainting the blood line from his head. Esthalia, however, the bastard daughter of his mother, was saved, if only because of her impure blood. Mortimor Hemlock, when he came to power, made certain that Razal knew of his family's ill-fated history and felt rightfully grateful for the Hemlock family's intervention on his life. Curse him. Curse his family. Curse them all.

"All rise for the Mother Hemlock!" the herald declares.

The masses rise and bow, and Mortimor Hemlock's mother, Selphania, the aged and wisened power behind her son's reign, makes her graceful way to the head of the room. She curtsies deeply and takes her place at a smaller throne on Mortimor's left.

"All rise for Lady Esthalia Perventio!"

Razal watches with the assumed detatched interest as Esthalia enters the throne room. She stands with elegant pride in a shimmering silver gown tailored to fit her perfectly. She holds her head high and defiantly as she meets Mortimor Hemlock's stare.

"Ahh... my dear Lady Perventio! What a plea-"

"I'm not going to marry you," Esthalia interrupts Lord Hemlock's greeting crisply.

"What do y-"

"I love another. I will not betray my heart."

Lord Hemlock chuckles, and others of the court join in lightly. "I don't think you understand," he says sternly. "You don't have a choice. You either wed me, or we kill you."

"You can't bear heirs that way," Esthalia observes. "Don't you need a golem woman of noble birth? Aren't I the closest you have?"

"Then I shall kill Razal, your brother."

"Go ahead. I don't know him. I have no qualms over that." Esthalia watches Razal carefully as he sits stone still on the stairs, simply observing.

Razal knows Mortimor Hemlock can not kill him, nor any of his forces. As the last male Perventio, Razal knows the dangers of his enemies in whose den he dwells, and he has taken precautions against them. Furthermore, he has allies amongst those thought loyal only to the Hemlock line. He has not grown stupid in his years as a hostage.

"So be it. Razal! Come forwards!" Lord Hemlock commands.

Silently, not even rustling the fabric of his uniform, Razal rises and decends the stairs to stand before the throne. He inclines his head slightly, staring at Mortimor Hemlock's feet.

"You have served me well, Razal, and given me great pleasure in the meantime. However, due to your sister's insubordinance, you will be punished. Do you accept this decree?"

"I do, my lord," Razal replies monotonously.

"One stroke of a sword to your neck. You understand the conditions?"

"Yes, my lord." After all, it wasn't the first time Mortimor had tried to kill him. Razal figured, most of the time, that Mortimor just wanted a cheap shot at killing him. Unfortunately, Razal's skin was thicker than most golems', and so, the strokes never did anything but shatter the swords used against him.

"Very well, then. Threntin. Perform the stroke."

A paler golem steps forwards and draws his sword. He bows his head to Lord Hemlock and draws back his arm, swinging his blade in a long, slow arc. Then, with sudden intensity, he drives it home.

Esthalia jumps a little as the sword rebounds off Razal's neck, but he remains still for a long time, allowing the sword's blade to fracture and crumble to the ground in a light, musical manner. Finaly, Razal raises his head.

"Well, Razal. I suppose we'll see you in a month, eh?" Mortimor Hemlock asks, smirking.

"As you command, my lord," Razal replies simply. He hands Lord Hemlock's cloak to Threntin and stalks out of the throne room.

"Well, I suppose it's just us now, isn't it, Lady Perven-"

"I'm still not going to marry you," Esthalia interrupts again.

"Because you have another lover?"

"Quite."

"Gypsem, bring him in."

A nondescript member of the guard enters the throne room, dragging Pent down the red carpet. He throws him to the ground and watches as he performs a charming face-plant on the floor. Esthalia tenses noticeably.

"Pent!" Esthalia exclaims, dropping to her knees by him. She leans over him and asks quietly, "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

Pent groans. "Lia?" he asks weakly. "What'd you do with Lia?"

Esthalia glares up at Lord Hemlock. "You!" she seethes.

"Yes. Well. Take him away, Gypsem." Gypsem does as he is told. "You, Lady Perventio, will either wed me or have your man put to the sword. Something tells me that he won't be so sturdy as your brother, either."

"I -"

"Ah-ah-ah! No more saying you won't wed me. You lack trumps, my dear. We will wed in three months' time. In the meantime, I have a gift for you. Bring it in."

A group of guards carry in a large, yellowish egg with many speckles on it of different colors. They set it down before Esthalia. Then, they withdraw.

"A dragon?" Eshtalia asks, trying not to sound unimpressed.

"Quite. He should keep you company well enough. Meanwhile, my mother will escort you to your chambers, and you are to remain there until I say otherwise. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystaline," Esthalia replies coldly. She turns on her heel and marches from the throne room, followed by the guards, the egg, and the Mother Hemlock. This was going to be a long stay, she could tell.

Pent groans as his eyes come to focus as a man is pouring a spicy liquid down his throat. He startles and chokes. He notices, with crips sharpness, that he is in a cell of some sort.

"Oh good. Lover-boy's finally decided to wake up. You've been out for a good three days; it's really rough force-feeding you, too," the man says, pulling back and letting Pent sit up.

Pent stares at the man, who seems to be a swordsman, judging by his muscular structure, and a well-to-do, despite his commoner's tunic. He has broad shoulders and a mischevous glint in his sepia eyes, which are the same color as Esthalia's. His greyish skin is complimented by his blue-and-black hair, which is longish and vaguely wavy. "Who are you?" Pent asks, finally.

The man grins, revealing nearly perfect teeth and a very charming smile. "I am Razal Perventio, heir to the Perventio throne and unwilling minion of Mortimor Hemlock. You, on the other hand, are a man with no last name because of your common birth. Pent, though, is an odd name; I've not heard of one called such except for a legendary general who slew the last of the grey dragons, forever weakening the golem races."

Pent groans and rubs his temples. "Too much information. Who are you again?"

"Your lover's brother, Razal."

"That's all I wanted to know, thanks."

"My pleasure."

"So... Razal... where are we? What are you doing here? What's going on? Where's 'Lia?"

"Esthalia is safe; Mortimer won't harm her. It's not in his interest to do so. We are in the dungeon of the Hemlock Castle as security that Esthalia marries Mortimer. I'm here because Lord Hemlock sees it not in his interest to see me around here. Anything else?"

"Yeah. It's really bright in here; aren't dungeons usually below the castle?"

"Hemlock castle did not have a dungeon in its original construction, due to the hard stone on which it is built. Even the cold cellars are miniscule in comparison to other, more practical castles. Thus, when it was decided that there ought to be a royal prison, it was constructed on the ground floor. We get the best morning sunlight out of the entire castle. It's truly breathtaking."

"Or blinding. You know a lot about this place. How long have you been in prison?"

"This is my seventeenth time. Mortimer likes to keep me out of his hair and his politcal schemes by 'killing' me and sending me here for a month or three. He's a lot off his rocker, if you ask me."

"Then why do you stay? You said you were the heir to another throne."

"I'm here as a hostage to keep my clan from attacking his, which is a moot action, considering he destroyed my clan in its entirety when Esthalia and I were very young. I've been raised here ever since and have learned to hate it immensely."

"I don't understand... At least, I don't think I do."

"Don't worry about it. It's not important. All that's important right now is you getting your strength back so we can rescue 'Lia."

"And how do you propose we do that?"

"I've been known to have a plan or two in my time. Don't you worry, Romelion."

"My name's Pent, not Romelion."

"Huh. Haven't read that one, eh? You really are uncultured."

"Oh, shut up, you."

Razal shrugs and smiles. He leans against the wall, basking in a pool of sunlight, his hands behind his head. "No big deal."

"I have a question."

"So ask it already." Razal closes his eyes contentedly.

"How did you know I don't have a last name?"

Razal's smile tips up on one side. "You didn't think my sister was the only one with more ludicrous talents as a mage, did you? How do you think I managed to stay alive in the den of my enemy for so long? Surely it wasn't because of my dashing good looks, though, granted, that did hav-"

"I get the point."

"Of course you do. I just haven't talked to someone whom I wanted to impale in a good, oh, six days now."

"Ah..."

"And now, my good and noble gentleman, you must sleep."

"I just woke up!"

"You don't think we can plot in broad daylight, do you? No. Sleep. Then I can lay to rest your fears, we can rescue your sister, kill my nemesis, and all will be right in the world again."

Pent sighs, but he admits sleep is a good idea. He ducks under a mat of clean hay and closes his eyes, shutting out the sunlight. Soon, he falls asleep again, feeling dejected and beaten, despite his cellmate's vitality and relative cheer.

Razal, for his part, does not sleep. Rather, he closes his eyes and meditates on the subject at hand. His breathing slows to near imperceptable measures, and he seeks the answers to his dilemma on a more spiritual plane. He must stop Mortimer from taking Esthalia to wife.