The Humiliation of Kings and a HalfMature

The moon was centralized by the time the pair galloped through the gates of the encampment. They had taken little supplies, travelling light was an Elvish tradition. That is why their armour rivals a feathers weight, and their swords little more than a quill.

The stars provided all the guidance they needed, not that Sigurd required any. There was an old Elvish proverd that the Elf continously said with bathed breath: "An Elf can always see his way home, through mist, fog, fire or rain, storms, wars and all mans pain."

The Halfling quized Sigurd on what it could mean, to which the Elf replied with: "Everyone finds a different meaning in words, mine would only corrupt yours."

Despite Sigurds will to travel straight through the night and forward t'ward dawn, the horses needed rest, as they lacked the will of the rider.

"Sigurd, we need to stop." Barked Racieus, "unlike us, we cannot expect the horses to continue the entire night, it is nearing the third hour past midnight."

Sigurd sighed and grumbled to himself before announcing his plan. "So beit. We shall rest till dawn and then continue onward. I shall take the first hours watch, try catch some sleep little one."

Racieus cursed inaudibly and repeated the words "little one" to himself. "Smaller targets are harder to hit, and with your ego, your head couldn't be an easier target." The Hafling quipped.

"Sleep, you requested the rest. Make use of it."

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The Halfling woke Sigurd as the first rays of moon light retreated, and the shadows cast by the sun began to progress further on the earthen field. He prodded Sigurd with a stick, causing him to jerk upwards. "Ah Villentious, so glad you decided to wake up."

"It would seem the choice was not mine," Sigurd yamned. "Are the horses ready to continue?"

"But of course, I can't imagine they want to, but they're ready."

Sigurd leaned aginst his staff, with his bow over his left shoulder, and Racieus standing to his right. "We are no further than two days travel till we reach Riverwall, from there it should be no more than a week to Followier. Give or take."

The Halfling was unsure what to say, thus allowing the Elf to continue.

"Once we reach Riverwall, we will rest for a day before the final stretch. However," Sigurd turned his head and looked Racieus up and down, "we will need to find a tailor that can work swiftly before departing for the Kings Court."

Racieus scoffed at the comment. "You're not looking to good yourself there, I've seen Orcs in finer dress then that."

"And I've seen people die for comments lesser than that." Sigurd turned to get onto his horse, his back to the Halfling. "Some advice my friend, which might be obvious to most but..." The Elf coughed, "don't insult the King."

"I'll have you kno..."

"No insulting the King." Sigurd interrupted. "I don't know what it is like with Halfling society, but if you had a Half-King I wouldn't insult him."

Sigurd mounted his horse, with the Halfling following suit, and they rode towards the small trading town of Riverwall with the Elf telling tales of the city.

Riverwall town is guarded by an ancient wall of Dragon Stone, a glisteningly red marble that could match diamond in strength, and a raging torrent on the opposite side, that has ended more invaders than the towns guard.

Riverwalls most impressive feature, would be Riverwall Hall, dubbed 'The Dragons Belly'. Much like the walls, it too is crafted from Dragon Stone, and could allow a thousand men to feast inside her stomach. But more uniquely, rare green, dwarven gems were crushed into millions of glittering pebbles during construction, and added to the walls of the Belly.

Rumours suggest each pebble contains a soul, and each soul a way of passage, and each passage completed gains the victor an army of undefeatable soldiers. But should the challenger lose, The Dragons Belly devours him, adding another glisteningly tale to the walls.

The End

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