Saturday, 19 July 2025
Dulcetta’s Decidedly Deadly Dreams
Saturday, 12 July 2025
The Fifteen Year Onslaught
After each battle, each victory, King Urdurel offered the best of the vanquished a place at his side. All they had to do was swear absolute fealty to him and, when offered the headsman’s axe as the alternative, most did. And so, with each triumph, his army grew considerably larger and more powerful.
Leading his opposition, less than a thousand yards away across the valley, two figures, armoured in the silver their land is renowned for, stand beside the large tent displaying their colours. Two figures of about the same age as King Urdurel was when he killed King Vagitus. A young man and a young woman. Twins. Their army is impressive and large enough to offer a real challenge to his own armed forces. King Urdurel was confident of a victory, but the lay of the land offered no strategic advantage to either side and, regardless of tactics, hundreds, if not thousands of men would die this day.
Much to King Urdurel’s surprise though, the twins mount their horses and, riding under a white flag, without guards, gallop toward him.
Intrigued rather than intimidated, the Stowanian army part before them and, once dismounted, escort them to King Urdurel’s own command tent.
Inside, King Urdurel receives them with only two of his most trusted captains for protection.
The two nobles remove their plumed, silver helmets in the kind of coordinated motion only twins are capable of. They’re both tall and beautiful, with pale blond hair and eyes as blue as sapphires. It’s the young man who speaks first but King Urdurel can hardly drag his gaze away from the young woman. A woman barely half his age.
“King Urdurel, we are here to broker a peace between our Kingdoms.”
King Urdurel laughs.
“Peace? I don’t want peace. I want to see your parents’ heads on spikes. I want to see your skull crushed beneath my iron heel. I want all the fabled silver in your land transferred to my own coffers.”
Then the young woman takes her turn.
“Our parents are dead. My twin brother and I now lead our people and we would not have them die on this field. Take our silver, make our realm a vassal state and rule over us, but don’t let your bloodlust go any further.”
King Urdurel stops laughing.
“Why should I do that? What assurances would I have that you wouldn’t just plot against me from your position of safety?”
It’s the young queen who responds again, her voice sweet but firm.
“You leave my brother; Lucius here to govern in your name and I will submit to you as your prisoner. If my brother makes a move against you, no matter how seemingly insignificant or subtle, you can have my head.”
Taking her in, from her delicate features to her slender but obviously shapely frame under her ornate armour, King Urdurel stops, amazed with himself that he’s actually considering her proposition.
“What is your name?”
The beautiful young woman, sensing a glimmer of hope, smiles faintly for the first time. A smile so warm, so disarming, that King Urdurel’s heart seems to stop mid- beat within his chest.
“My name? My name is Dulcetta.”
Saturday, 5 July 2025
Becoming what you Hate
Holding a bloody crown in his hands and looking down from his lofty balcony, Urdurel takes in the cheers and applause from the chanting crowd below.
“The King is dead. Long live the King!”
At just eighteen-years-old, Urdurel had already succeeded in the first two of his promises; he’d killed the drunken Captain Glabella while he’d been naked and distracted in a brothel and, after raising a small army, he’d beheaded King Vagitus the IV during a well organised coup. All of the royals in the castle; men, women and children, were given the axe with the surviving soldiers and servants offered a simple choice; Serve under Urdurel or share their Master’s fate.
He wasn’t finished though, not even remotely. If he was going to retain this Kingdom, he’d need to destroy all who would oppose him and that meant any remaining enemies within his realm and the royal families of all six of the Kingdoms along their border. Stowan’s largest boundary though, stretched along the Fey wilds, a land that he could safely ignore whilst warring against all the other Human realms.
Below him the large crowd continued to chant his name.
“Long live King Urdurel! Long live King Urdurel! Long live King Urdurel!”
His expression momentarily souring, Urdurel considers his new title. Would it be so wrong to be called ‘King’? Surely it was different if their King was one of them, one of the common people and not some high-born, inbred and entitled popinjay?!
Urged on by the crowd, Urdurel takes Vagitus’ blood splattered crown, raises it over his head and then pulls it down, firmly into place.
King Urdurel?
He could learn to live with that.
Saturday, 28 June 2025
Way Back When Story
Urdurel was a young man. Barely a man at all at just fourteen, but a man he must be, as his parents were now both dead. Killed by the hand of their King’s chief enforcer, merely because they dared speak out against the ever increasing tax burden to fund King Vagitus the IV’s extravagant and pampered lifestyle.
The Brutish Captain Glabella had spared his life, not out of mercy but as an added insult. As a son of two millers, Urdurel had strength but no combat skill and was easily beaten down by the professional soldier.
Lying in the dirt beside his parents’ butchered bodies, Urdurel swore revenge. Revenge against his parents’ killer. Revenge against his Lord and master. Revenge against all the bloated and self-indulgent aristocracy.
He would recover his strength. He would train with the sword. He would kill every titled blue-blood in Stowan and all the surrounding realms.
Saturday, 21 June 2025
Favoured Son
Saturday, 14 June 2025
Saturday, 7 June 2025
Dancing with Death
“You were amazing sir! The best I’ve ever seen you! You were truly inspired tonight!”
Visibly shaken, the veteran actor makes his way back to the privacy of his dressing room, leans heavily on the mirrored vanity table and stares deeply into his own, grease-painted reflection.
‘Best they’d ever seen him perform’?
He couldn’t even remember being on stage. It was as if he’d been possessed by something… otherworldly, for the entirety of his performance. From his opening monologue until his dramatic closing speech.
Carefully removing his long golden, pre-plaited wig and starting to disrobe, a shudder runs through his thin Elven frame. A standing ovation is a wonderful thing to receive, but disconcerting when you know it wasn’t truly for you.
Still, the play he’d just performed was lightweight; barely more than an expanded children’s pantomime show really.
Dulcetta’s Decidedly Deadly Dreams
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