The Unknown Emperor
A Countdown to Final Ragnarok short story
By Dan Wright
By Dan Wright
Luther frantically pulled his cloak over his shoulders where it had slightly slid down. It was savagely cold tonight, and the thin cloth did little to protect him against the biting wind. He coughed once or twice, his mouth dry and his voice little more than a croak. It had been two days since he last ate and his stomach threatened to turn on itself if he did not get sustenance. He only managed to quench his thirst yesterday when it rained and he was able to capture some of it in a bowl. Drinking rain water wasn’t recommended, but when you were as desperate as Luther, you had to take what you could get.
He shuffled his backside on the stone step, trying to get comfortable – yet comfort eluded him no matter how hard he tried. He pulled his cloak around him tighter in a losing battle against the cold. A crowd of people walked towards his general direction. He held out a hand and spoke words that he knew by heart, having recited them for most of his life.
“Spare some change, please?”
Most of them didn’t even glance in his direction; the few that did scoffed at him, one even spat at his open palm. Yet no coin crossed his palm.
Luther cursed his circumstance – why had the dragons befell this fate upon him? What had he really done to deserve this? It wasn’t his fault that his mother had gone insane and abandoned him as a child. He told everyone that his mother was dead, but to him she was as good as dead. For all he knew, she probably was dead. All his life he had lived on the streets; abandoned, lost, unloved. What had he really done?
Luther coughed a few times more and then gazed towards the statue in the middle of the town centre. Emperor Finn Taurok – the first shadori to gain such title, stood in the middle of the city, his arms out as if wanting to embrace the people. Next to it was a statue of his wife, Rana Dragonkin (who apparently the Emperor insisted should be by his side), her smile as warming as Finn’s. The statue seemed to suggest that life would be better now after the reign of Emperor Gothon.
Luther spat towards the statue; yet did not get close to it. His ribs still ached from the last time he had did that. Emperor Taurok said that he would make everything in the Empire better and that he would do his bit to help. But where was he now when he needed him? Where was the help that was promised?
At least when Gothon was Emperor, he had a purpose. Whereas everyone hated the idea of fighting for that tyrant, to Luther it was a blessing in disguise. When he was in the army, he was fed and looked after – as long as he spilled blood in the name of the Empire. He didn’t mind that; as long as he had food and shelter he was happy for others to taste his blade. But when the war ended, no one seemed to want him in the army anymore – so he was flung out back to the streets.
Bastard, Luther thought, if I had my way you’d be choking on your own blood.
His stomach growled again, Luther clenched his stomach hard. But the pain did not subside or abate. So, hungry.
Luther jumped as something dropped by his feet, wrapped in cloth. A shadow loomed over him. The shadow belonged to a figure dressed in exotic armour, and she was the slimmest, most slender woman he had ever seen. Over one eye was a lock of white hair, the other one looking down at Luther – not with disdain, but pity.
“Eat,” said the figure. His voice was a little too deep to be female as Luther first thought – but he had never seen any man look so feminine. The figure aimed one eye towards the sack.
Luther gingerly unwrapped the cloth, his eyes bulging with shock. Within the wrap was a loaf of freshly cooked bread – the warm smell making Luther swoon. There was also a drinking skin with it, inflated due to whatever was inside.
His hunger took over and he didn’t waste a second. Luther picked up the bread with his cold fingers and his teeth started ripping pieces off from it. Before he knew it, only half the loaf remained. He took the drinking skin and downed at least half of it. The liquid had a strong alcoholic taste to it, which warmed him up inside. Wine. He used to drink wine like water back in the old days. How refreshing it was.
“Thank you,” his voice croaked once more, “I do not know who you are, but I am grateful for this meal.”
“Do not think anything of it,” the shadori said to him, “I could not let the true Emperor go hungry.”
Luther stifled a chuckle. “You are mistaken, I am no Emperor. Though, I wish I could be.”
“Oh, but you are,” said the shadori. “There is more to your heritage than you realise – Luther Gothon.”
Luther stopped halfway through a bite and turned to the shadori slowly. His expression was like he had told Luther he only had a few days left to live. “What… did you say?”
Abyss knelt down, his one good eye looking at Luther, as if staring into his soul. “Eat up, Your Excellency. You and I have much to discuss.”
He shuffled his backside on the stone step, trying to get comfortable – yet comfort eluded him no matter how hard he tried. He pulled his cloak around him tighter in a losing battle against the cold. A crowd of people walked towards his general direction. He held out a hand and spoke words that he knew by heart, having recited them for most of his life.
“Spare some change, please?”
Most of them didn’t even glance in his direction; the few that did scoffed at him, one even spat at his open palm. Yet no coin crossed his palm.
Luther cursed his circumstance – why had the dragons befell this fate upon him? What had he really done to deserve this? It wasn’t his fault that his mother had gone insane and abandoned him as a child. He told everyone that his mother was dead, but to him she was as good as dead. For all he knew, she probably was dead. All his life he had lived on the streets; abandoned, lost, unloved. What had he really done?
Luther coughed a few times more and then gazed towards the statue in the middle of the town centre. Emperor Finn Taurok – the first shadori to gain such title, stood in the middle of the city, his arms out as if wanting to embrace the people. Next to it was a statue of his wife, Rana Dragonkin (who apparently the Emperor insisted should be by his side), her smile as warming as Finn’s. The statue seemed to suggest that life would be better now after the reign of Emperor Gothon.
Luther spat towards the statue; yet did not get close to it. His ribs still ached from the last time he had did that. Emperor Taurok said that he would make everything in the Empire better and that he would do his bit to help. But where was he now when he needed him? Where was the help that was promised?
At least when Gothon was Emperor, he had a purpose. Whereas everyone hated the idea of fighting for that tyrant, to Luther it was a blessing in disguise. When he was in the army, he was fed and looked after – as long as he spilled blood in the name of the Empire. He didn’t mind that; as long as he had food and shelter he was happy for others to taste his blade. But when the war ended, no one seemed to want him in the army anymore – so he was flung out back to the streets.
Bastard, Luther thought, if I had my way you’d be choking on your own blood.
His stomach growled again, Luther clenched his stomach hard. But the pain did not subside or abate. So, hungry.
Luther jumped as something dropped by his feet, wrapped in cloth. A shadow loomed over him. The shadow belonged to a figure dressed in exotic armour, and she was the slimmest, most slender woman he had ever seen. Over one eye was a lock of white hair, the other one looking down at Luther – not with disdain, but pity.
“Eat,” said the figure. His voice was a little too deep to be female as Luther first thought – but he had never seen any man look so feminine. The figure aimed one eye towards the sack.
Luther gingerly unwrapped the cloth, his eyes bulging with shock. Within the wrap was a loaf of freshly cooked bread – the warm smell making Luther swoon. There was also a drinking skin with it, inflated due to whatever was inside.
His hunger took over and he didn’t waste a second. Luther picked up the bread with his cold fingers and his teeth started ripping pieces off from it. Before he knew it, only half the loaf remained. He took the drinking skin and downed at least half of it. The liquid had a strong alcoholic taste to it, which warmed him up inside. Wine. He used to drink wine like water back in the old days. How refreshing it was.
“Thank you,” his voice croaked once more, “I do not know who you are, but I am grateful for this meal.”
“Do not think anything of it,” the shadori said to him, “I could not let the true Emperor go hungry.”
Luther stifled a chuckle. “You are mistaken, I am no Emperor. Though, I wish I could be.”
“Oh, but you are,” said the shadori. “There is more to your heritage than you realise – Luther Gothon.”
Luther stopped halfway through a bite and turned to the shadori slowly. His expression was like he had told Luther he only had a few days left to live. “What… did you say?”
Abyss knelt down, his one good eye looking at Luther, as if staring into his soul. “Eat up, Your Excellency. You and I have much to discuss.”