Today, I received an email from fellow wordsmith, Horton Deakins (author of science fiction novel Time Pullers). When I opened said email, I was not expecting to find the piece of Fan Fiction within that I did. But - alas! he had attached the very thing: For while reading my fantasy novel, Empyreal Fate, Mr. Deakins became inspired to write a rather humorous account of Rhothdyn's demise. (For those of you who don't yet know, King Rhothdyn is the corrupt ruler of man in Llathala's realm. He is the royalblood of the kingdom of Erandor, and he rules with an iron fist. Nasty figure, he.) Therefore, when I read the Fan-piece on the king's death, I could not help but laugh aloud - and chuckle to myself.
Don't worry - this is not a spoiler for the story and is in no way a part of it at all. Rather, it is the kind and humorous writing from a fellow reader and writer who thought Rhothdyn deserved a sorry end. Enjoy~
Rhothdyn's Demise (A Fan-Fic)
As Rhothdyn retreated angrily into the castle keep, he sensed a presence in the shadows and halted abruptly.
“Who is there? Show yourself at once or submit to my ultimate wrath!”
But the darkness remained mute.
Rhothdyn drew his dagger. “Come, now, and kneel before your king and beg his forgiveness for your impudence. Fail me in this, and you will taste my steel.”
“Right behind you, Kingy-baby.”
“Who dares address his king —” but Rhothdyn’s words were cut short. As Rhothdyn spun around to meet his confronter, Horton, known as the farmer who does not speak, moved inside the king's grasp, making it impossible for the insulting tyrant to stab him. With one harmonious, swift action, he grabbed the king's greasy locks, pulling his head back and exposing his throat. Simultaneously, Horton brought his right hand high up behind his ear, and, with lightning speed, he struck Rhothdyn’s larynx with a deftly-placed, one-knuckle punch, crushing it.
Rhothdyn fell to his knees and released his hold on the dagger. He seized his throat with both hands, his eyes pleading with his assailant for mercy as he gurgled, drowning in his own blood. But mercy was taking the day off.
“That was a little something the elves taught me. They said it comes from some island called ‘Okinawa.’”
Rhothdyn fell to the ground in a mass of royal robes. The farmer who does not speak grasped the deceased monarch by his collar and dragged him to the courtyard where the assembly still lingered.
“Hey, dudes, ding dong! The king is dead. Like, no more starvation, and that stuff. I mean, you know, you can go out and celebrate now, ‘cause he can’t, like, threaten you or anything like that, right? Come on now, have a drink, cheer, or something. You get to elect a king now. How cool is that? Huh? Dudes, come on, who’s with me? I’m going down to the tavern and toss back a few. The first round’s on me.”
Jen rolled her eyes and whispered to her husband, “Now we know wherefore he hath not afore spoken.”
Thank you, Mr. Deakins, for that enjoyable piece. I can say I enjoyed a fair chuckle with that one!
Stay tuned for an upcoming interview with Horton Deakins relating to his debut sci-fi novel, Time Pullers. In the meantime, feel free to enter his Goodreads Giveaway here.
Until Next Time!