Power, Knowledge, and Control — The necessities that are required to rule a kingdom, to nurture it into prosperity, and to allow the people to be showered with joy.
The cost, however, is tremendous. It requires the competence of numerous individuals applied at once. And this competence that eradicates poverty, humiliation, and devastation comes through the great minds that present themselves in different ways.
On the contrary, though, there stands the faces of those individuals who shall drive themselves and others to ruin.
The Rule of the Iron Fist of a King who ascended onto the golden throne through shedding the blood of his own. His face stoic and his mind unchanging. The glory of being a monarch overcomes him and keep the title he shall, no matter what comes his way.
The prince, who spends his days indulging in excessive tomfoolery, foodstuffs, and alcohol. He enjoys his meal garnished with saffron. Born to a harlot mother, yet still unconcerned in nature due to his lavish upbringing and favor by his father. Under the gauze of nourishment, he passes without guilt.
The Merchant who seeks wealth beyond comparison. Power accompanied by immense riches holds utmost value in his eyes. His arms adorned with green jewels that he wears proudly, yet with paranoia. He shall go through thick and thin to achieve his goals, but he remains adamant in hoarding what he has.
The Bard who seeks none but pleasure. The song that entertains, engulfed by a life of secrecy and avoidance. Pleasure comes foremost, laughter and joy are paramount, even if their cost shall bring harm to those who surround him. He dresses in foreign garb, wearing a pink scarf around his neck, likely from his newest endeavor. He laughs and laughs, not any other emotion shall come forth from him.
The Duke offers insights like no other, radical and shameless in his critiques. He stands firm in his beliefs choosing to challenge anything that goes against his will. The harbinger of justice, he calls himself. His uniform drenched in the color of the blood that boils within his body. Though his bold declamations fall on deaf ears, simply because none remain to hear them, but he never falters.
The Paladin whose gaze lingers on those around him, he desires for much, yet he is worth little more than a drudging peasant. Unable to determine his value, he waits for the judgement of the authority that look down on him to recognize his place, which to them — means nothing. Carrying the small blue flag as he is instructed, he values it nonetheless of his own feeble assertions, may loyalty be the sole thing that brings him purpose.
The Sage, whose skin creeps under the pressure of time, sits without concern. He is indifferent to the blabbering of the privileged he believes to be worthless. His robe a darker color of white, dust embalmed and uncared for. He murmurs silently under his breath, wishing for a force that brings the greater good, yet his focus remains scattered or nowhere at all.
The seven men sit in court as the gates to the ceremonial site open with justified haste. A man runs across the hall and bows down to the king, addressing him as 'Your Majesty'. He is reprimanded for his clumsy mannerism but he argues that the current circumstances call for it.
He opens a scroll and with his right knees kissing the palace's floor and he reads it aloud, addressing the ones present in a formal tone.
"Addressing the greatness of his majesty, I incur." He speaks in a tone imitating the mightiness with which it was written, "The sea of soldiers have fallen prey to the devious actions of our neighboring kingdom. They seek to achieve domination through bloodshed. Our Chariots have fallen and our people are despondent. If I so imprudently ask of you, your majesty, grant us the powers to overcome this obstacle, that remains a mere hurdle in your eyes."
The Duke stands up, his arms unfolding as he releases the words he holds to himself, "The sheer foolishness that this displays! Your majesty, are they not aware of the great famine that stands before us? The treasury dwindles and so does the livelihood for our people, yet they ask for assistance against the battle with a weaker enemy?"
From the corner, a soft voice speaks in a mocking tone, hidden under the disguise of mere jest, "Indeed! Isn't it truuuly fascinating? Suffering was unprecedented in such a scenario, for his highnessss himself was the creator of the forces that fight at the border! And now the fly struggles when faceddd with the wrath of a hundred ants. Oh how unforeseen this may beee!! Aren't I correct, your highness?"
"Ha! As if! They struggle to keep a falling dynasty afloat then how will they boast about their winnings? The winnings will only come to us. Aint a day they will live after the Majesty's forces overcome them." The man dressed in business attire speaks up. He wears a top hat and keeps his left hand in his pocket, playing with the gold coin that lies within.
"Silence." The aged man declares, "We are mere mortals....We shall wait patiently, and when the time comes.....the apostle of the great goddess shall answer us." He pauses, "When he appears, the war shall cease....and with it shall go, any sign that it existed."
The paladin serves as nothing more than an observer, he wished he had the power to speak, for his values and thoughts may have brought the necessary change. Instead, he remains still.
The prince has no part to play, or so he says. He doesn't watch nor does he hear, he remains in the realm that entices and keeps him alive. He eats to his heart's content and aims to exit the court and return to his chambers until the matter is settled.
All voices go silent, some by force, others by intrigue and amusement as the fist of the King rises and so does he. He makes his way to the messenger, as he hurls the scroll to witness it with his own eyes, his winces transform into bewilderment as the text fades, seemingly seeping into the parchment.
He scowls at the messenger, "How dare, the one who brings me the news of hardship, fool me with such nonsense! Do you seek to belittle me? Your kin find joy in seeing me falter and wilt. I shall make sure you understand your place, a lowly commoner has no right to undermine my authority as the emperor!" He grabs his hair and calls for the guards.
The messenger is hurled out of the palace as the king gazes down at the scroll once more. Bold letters written in impressive writing containing few words, yet of tremendous significance. The king reads with importance he has given none before, "Of all men that remain here, one wears a disguise. He has no willings he must pursue, no light he seeks. He appears and disappears when called for, but remains protected. He is the caller of divine will that foresees all and the one that shall bring judgement on the souls that reside within the great walls."
Voices once again drown the court. The arguments of chivalry intertwined and at odds with the amazement and ponder of the situation that stands before them. The call for immediate action that has no relation with the prayers that ensures no interreference in god's will and the golden throne that rides in fury of embarrassment when no solution presents itself.
Until, the voices halt, the bodies come to a stop and stay still, as if they are no more than statues. The air stagnates as a voice without an evident speaker beckons them from above.
The day of judgement has arrived.