The Second Verse

Isenbard’s chest swelled with pride as he waltzed into the throne room. The vaulted spires above were adorned with majestic statues of legendary heroes. The men – all men – were of such monumental status as to be made into actual monuments. The figures gazed down upon the gathering with stony expressions both literal and figurative. Noble guests from every corner of the kingdom – elves, humans, dwarves, centaurs, and various other creatures too numerous to enumerate gathered in anticipation.
A din of excitement rose through the assembly as Isenbard, resplendent in his plate armor, strode through their ranks.

At the head of the room was a raised dais upon which sat the venerable, wise, sensible, and imminently capable King Ligart. The king was clad in purple and gold robes. Next to him sat Queen Finnea, his super-hot elven wife, dressed in a glittering turquoise gown. She may have been an even more wise and capable ruler than Ligart, but because she was so hot, it was unnecessary to describe any of her other attributes.

The king and queen’s union was truly one for the storybooks. It had secured an alliance between the most attractive races of Elves and Humans, and made peace with the ok-looking races like dwarves. It had also produced Princess Claristine.

She was a stunning beauty courted by every nobleman, available or otherwise. She sat to one side, wearing a white dress personifying her purity. So pure was her purity that the whitest winter’s snow was a splattering of hog shit by comparison.

Today, Isenbard expected, he would receive the only reward befitting a hero of his stature: Princess Claristine’s betrothal. Though he had never spoken a single word to her, she was the object… of his undying affection. It was his undying specifically, for countless comrades had in fact died upon his numerous quests that he had dedicated to her honor.

Their sacrifice had been great, but Isenbard mused that perhaps his own sacrifice had been the greater. He was, after all, still alive to mourn his comrades, and they were all dead.

The pain he thought he felt – for he could not be certain as pain was not something very manly men like himself expressed or felt – would soon be comforted by the warm embrace of Princess Claristine. Isenbard understood that in this case, embrace was a euphemism for sex, and purity was a euphemism for her virginity. At the thought, his chest again swelled with pride, but so did other parts, and he was grateful for his armor.

Isenbard needed a distraction, and thus his gaze found Archbishop Kadmiel opposite the Princess. Kadmiel had been his comrade in questing and had never expressed an interest in the Princess. He was, therefore, an ideal quest comrade. The holy man had called upon the power of Anir, God of Justice, to heal Isenbard’s battle wounds on countless occasions. Kadmiel’s reward for all the questing was an appointment to chief advisor to the King and Queen, which seemed like a stupid reward to Isenbard, but Kadmiel was fine with it. He would perform the ceremony of Isenbard and Claristine’s wedding, and would, no doubt, use the opportunity to say a lot of boring shit about Anir, God of Justice… which was, regrettably, his way of things.

Sir Terrick, Captain of the Guard, stepped from the dais and greeted Isenbard with a hearty handshake. He drew his steel sword like a bad-ass and raised it above his head. In response, the room fell silent, and the Lords and Ladies found their seats.

“All hail King Ligart and Queen Finnea!” Sir Terrick bellowed. In response, three synchronous cheers of praise erupted from the crowd, and Terrick sheathed his blade, also in a bad-ass way. Isenbard had practiced Terrick’s moves, and he admired how awesome they looked.

King Ligart rose from his throne with an expression that spoke of sage-like wisdom. Isenbard’s mind, having been wandering between Princess Claristine’s embrace and looking awesome with a sword, focused. The room – anxious to hear the wisdom of their very wise king – quieted again.

This was Isenbard’s moment.

“Praise, be to our hero! Against great peril, Isenbard has triumphed over evil and retrieved the Crown of Truth from the Mountain Fortress of Dark Lord Drazroth,” King Ligart gestured to a nearby plinth upon which rested the powerful artifact. “Truly, there can be no question, the prophecy is clear: ‘Against great peril, the Chosen One will triumph over evil and retrieve the Crown of Truth from the mountain fortress of the Dark Lord.’ Isenbard did that, so he is The Chosen One!”

A joyful riot filled the chamber. When the room quieted, the King spoke again. “Princess Claristine…”

The princess rose to take her father’s hand. As she did so, she smiled softly at Isenbard with a smile so pure that all other smiles were like a person chewing with their mouth open.

“I could never hope for a worthier suitor, my dear,” The King began. “It is my greatest honor to decree, upon this day…”

“Wait!” A booming voice boomed.

The nobles gasped and turned to a cloaked figure who had appeared, as if by magic, at the entry to the throne room. He was flanked by an entourage of ugly orcs clad in black armor. Interspersed about the orcs were beady-eyed goblins, who were also ugly but short too.

“Lord Drazroth!” Sir Terrick drew his sword. A dozen armored knights positioned near the dais moved to surround the royal family. Isenbard drew his blade, and shoved some royal guard out of the way as he took position next to Kadmiel – who would be needed if he were to become wounded. One never wanted to stray too far from one’s healer.

“Yes!” Bellowed Lord Drazroth, “it is I, Lord Drazroth!”

  “How dare you interrupt this royal court.” Wise King Ligart bellowed back in a way that was much louder than Drazroth’s bellow. “This happens far too often, and always when I’m about to say something important. What do you want, Dark Lord?”

“First!” Lord Drazroth stepped into the throne room with his entourage in tow. The goblins giggled in a way that suggested they were not joking. The assembled nobility shrunk away. “I have undergone some rebranding, and I am no longer The Dark Lord who lives in his mountain fortress. I have come here to say that I am now Benevolent Lord Drazroth aloft his mountain retreat. I offer travel and room packages for a modest price as well as round-the-clock valet and room service.”

“That sounds nice!” Shouted King Ligart angrily. “How do I make a reservation?”

“Send a missive!” Snarled Benevolent Lord Drazroth, indicating he had abandoned trying to out-yell the King. “My staff of orcs and goblins will handle everything.”

King Ligart turned to his super-hot elven wife, “Does this sound like a fun vacation and not a trap to you?”

To which Queen Finnea slowly nodded, “Well… he is benevolent.”

“We’ll book a few days in late spring!” King Ligart whirled on Drazroth with his own snarl. “I hope reservations are still available.”

A sinister grin came over Drazroth’s face, where grins happen. “There will be, my King… there will be.”

A long stretch of silence befell the room.

“What else do you want, asshole?” Shrieked Isenbard, unable to contain his incredulity.

“Quite keen of you to recall that marketing and promotion was not my only objective in coming here today.” Drazroth’s tone was wry. “I did say, ‘First’, did I not?”

“I am famed across the realms for being keen,” Isenbard replied with his own wryness, though Drazroth was far more experienced at being wry, and had sounded much wryer. T’was a rare defeat that stung Isenbard sharply. 

“I have concluded my first, and my second is thus… yet there are three parts to it!” Drazroth rose his arms dramatically, and the room recoiled. There had been legends that The Dark Lord could put three things into a single thing through his unmatched wizardry. None knew what devilry this hereto unknown Benevolent Lord was capable of.

“Against great peril, the Chosen One will triumph over evil and retrieve the Crown of Truth from the Mountain Fortress of the Dark Lord.” The former Dark Lord recited the well-known prophecy. “But that is not all, is it… Kadmiel?”

All eyes turned to Archbishop Kadmiel, and palpable anticipation filled the throne room.

With hands within his robes, Kadmiel stepped forth with great piety. He appraised the audience for an extremely long period before speaking. “I was not paying attention. Can you repeat the question?”

Drazroth did so verbatim.

“It is true! There is a second verse to the prophecy. It is known to all followers of Anir,” Kadmiel replied. The prophecy had, after all, been the divine word of Anir, and everyone knew well that Kadmiel had a major hard-on for the God of Justice.

Isenbard could not recall the second verse to the prophecy himself, having largely focused on the first.

Kadmiel continued. “The Chosen One shall be named by breaking the circle of logic, his quest shall be just in all ways, and his legend shall pass the Trial of Bechdel.”

Drazroth crossed his arms in what Isenbard thought was a really smug and dickish way. Awe murmured through those in attendance. The Benevolent Lord had, as his predecessor had many times before, indeed combined three things into a single, second thing: the prophecy itself.

“What trickery are you playing at?!” Cried Captain of the Guard, Sir Terrick. Isenbard was grateful that someone asked for an explanation because he too was confused. Sir Terrick was good about phrasing questions in a cool way, which Isenbard emulated whenever possible.

“Your Chosen One is a fraud.” Drazroth leveled his gaze upon Isenbard. The room gasped.

Isenbard glared back at Drazroth and delivered his most scathing retort, “fuck you!”

“Kadmiel,” Drazroth, unscathed, addressed the holy man, this time with a long pause to ensure he had the attention of everyone in the room. “What does it mean to ‘break the circle of logic’?”

Kadmiel smiled the kind of smile one smiles when they get to talk about something they really love, but no one else particularly cares for. “Our revered scholars have examined the prophecy at great length…”

Isenbard sighed, for this all seemed really important, yet Kadmiel was bound to turn it into a whole big production. Isenbard really just wanted Kadmiel around to heal him when he needed and to get things moving regarding his betrothal to the princess.

“Wise Archbishop…” The King interrupted mercifully. “…can you just give us the gist?”

“Um… I suppose.” Kadmiel’s feelings seemed kinda hurt.

“Fear not!” Drazroth hissed, “you will need to explain my two other things after this… and perhaps more.”

“Shit,” Isenbard sighed.

“Certainly…” Kadmiel eyed Drazroth suspiciously, though his hurtful expression vanished. “…to break the circle of logic means that the Chosen One cannot be the Chosen One simply because he retrieves the Crown of Truth. The circle of logic remains prophetically unbroken if the axiom is thus: the Crown of Truth is retrieved by the Chosen One, therefore the Chosen One is he who retrieves the Crown of Truth.”

“That’s me! That’s what I did!” Isenbard declared. “I’m the Chosen One!”

Kadmiel’s expression was one Isenbard often recognized as a mixture of annoyance and sadness. It frequently preceded further explanation, which was conducted in a tone one uses when speaking to children. Isenbard usually just ignored Kadmiel, but since this seemed to refer to the subject of his status as the Chosen One, he endeavored to listen… for now.

“No…” Kadmiel said the word with a drawn-out ‘o’ sound with a slight rise in pitch at the end, and Isenbard knew the Archbishop was about to dive into a painfully long and boring explanation. “It means someone who retrieves the Crown of Truth is only The Chosen One if they satisfy all other parts of the prophecy. Upon reflection, this may have been overlooked. The circle of logic remains intact…”

“Knowledgeable Archbishop,” Interrupted King Ligart. “Might Isenbard have broken the circle of logic accidentally without realizing it? Perhaps he did so on a previous quest, and no one noticed?”

“I did!” Added Isenbard. “I’ve broken many things on my numerous quests. A circle of logic has to have been broken at some point.”

Kadmiel blinked first at the King, and then at Isenbard. The tension within the room grew until Kadmiel eventually replied. “I’m afraid not.”

“But that is not all, is it?” Drazroth shrieked inappropriately. “What does it mean for a quest to be ‘just in all ways’”?

“It means I kicked your ass!” Isenbard punched the air with his free hand while swinging his sword recklessly toward some nearby nobles. Those nobles screamed, but other nobles who were not in fear for their lives nodded in appreciation of Isenbard’s storied ass-kicking of the former Dark Lord.

“Indeed,” Drazroth paced around his orcish guardsmen in a way that suggested he had not really meant ‘indeed’. “You did invade my Mountain Retreat…”

“Mountain Fortress!” Isenbard corrected. “Do not ply your trickery here, Benevolent Lord Drazroth. It was still your Mountain Fortress at the time… and you were still the Dark Lord…”

“You did invade what was formerly known as my Mountain Fortress,” Drazroth conceded. “And you slaughtered many of my employees before ultimately retrieving the Crown of Truth and returning triumphantly to your King. But was that quest just?”

“No!” Isenbard knew that Drazroth had expected him to say ‘yes’, but he had chosen to say ‘no’ in an effort to outsmart him. The confusion upon Drazroth’s face indicated that the gamble had paid off.

“Indeed,” Drazroth said, though it sounded to Isenbard as if he meant it the right way this time. “Tell me, noble King, do you allow your subjects to just break into your castle and take your things?”

“I do not!” Declared the King. “This is a kingdom of laws!”

“So, would you say that when Isenbard broke into my home and stole my Crown of Truth, the quest was just?” Drazroth did not give The King time to respond and continued speaking rudely. “Would you say that when Isenbard broke into my home and killed my employees he was, in fact, committing murder? Does that sound just to you, noble King?” This time there was a pause which indicated the King could now respond.

Ligart stroked his brown and grey-flecked beard as he thought. “Your Mountain Keep and your employees have been rivals to this Kingdom for generations. You often interrupt my court with all kinds of bullshit, and there are always rumors suggesting you are up to no good.”

“And your employees are all ugly!” Added Isenbard. The room nodded in agreement. Drazroth’s employees were very ugly, and ugly things were bad.

“Does being a neighbor to this kingdom make one a rival? Does interrupting court with important news justify theft?” Drazroth’s tone became emotional. “Does being ugly make one deserving of murder?”

“Yes!” Isenbard endeavored to beat Drazroth at his own game, and pointed at several nobles who were far less attractive than the rest.

“No!” Kadmiel corrected Isenbard

“No!” The King and all the nobles agreed. “No!” they repeated.

“No, definitely not!” Isenbard added his voice to that of the crowd, and he looked around for the fool who had declared otherwise.

“So,” Drazroth continued after the room quieted. “We agree, Isenbard’s quest was not just, and he’s not the Chosen One!”

“Let’s go back to that one.” Isenbard recommended, “We’re covering a lot of ground and I’m not completely sold on the idea that ugly things shouldn’t be killed.”

“Very well, I shall continue to the third thing from my second thing.” Drazroth paced confidently in a way that Isenbard did not like one bit.

“’His legend will pass the Trial of Bechdel.’” Drazroth stated plainly as if everyone in the room would know what that even meant.

“What does that even mean?” Sir Terrick snarled.

Again, Isenbard was grateful for the question.

“The Trial of Bechdel…” Kadmiel offered, “…requires that two prominent women within the Kingdom hold audience…” The Archbishop paused for dramatic effect. “…but during this audience, they speak of no man.”

A din of fear and confusion washed over the room. “What else would they talk about?” Cried someone. “Impossible!” Cried someone else. “Absolutely ridiculous!” Cried someone who was neither of the previous two people who had cried.

“Shut up!” thundered the King. “We have two prominent women right here; my super-hot elven wife, and my daughter so pure that all are rotting garbage by comparison. Can we conquer this trial right now?”

All eyes turned to Queen Finnea and Princess Claristine. In response the two women stood in unison to address the room.

“Wait!” Interrupted Isenbard heroically. “Nothing like this has ever happened before. Do they know what to do?”

Queen Finnea opened her mouth to respond.

“They’ve been here the whole time,” Kadmiel suggested before Queen Finnea had an opportunity to speak. “They’ve overheard everything that’s been said. It seems pretty obvious.”

Princess Claristine nodded, and she too began to mouth words.

“All the same!” King Ligart cut his daughter off with his own words of wisdom. “Should we explain it to them in thorough detail as a precaution… A description of details that only a man – unencumbered by feminine hotness or purity – could understand.”

“A man-scription!” Sir Terrick announced in anticipation of the Princess or the Queen offering their own input, honorably saving them the effort.

“Yes!” King Ligart announced as he took his wife’s hand. His eyes shone with emotion, but in a manly way. “Dear Queen, despite your hotness, do you believe that you might face the Trial of Bechdel with the aid of a manscription?”

Before the Queen could answer, the King turned to his daughter. “Purest Princess, your purity has always been the only reward I, your father, could ever hope to offer to the Chosen One. You truly have no other attributes worth describing since they are all total shit compared to your purity… but now. the horrible Benevolent Lord Drazroth has twisted the prophecy against us. Though you are so very pure, could you overcome this trial if we man-scribe exactly what you need to do?”

The King backed away with a bowed head in anticipation of their reply. Another silence befell the room as the Queen and Princess joined hands, shared a long glance, and stepped forth.

“No,” said the Queen with extreme hotness. “No,” said the Princess in a voice so pure that all other voices were exactly like a dying cow.

“All is lost!” Sir Terrick fell to his knees.

“The Princess and I were going to embrace,” Isenbard wailed. “We should still try! We could man-scribe really hard.”

“No!” Commanded the King. “The Queen is too hot and the Princess is too pure. We could never hope to overcome such an impossible trial.” He turned to Isenbard in defeat. “We’ve failed. You’re not the Chosen One, you’re just a shitty murdering thief.”

Intense whining filled the throne room, mostly from Isenbard. At that moment Drazroth produced a shining silver crown from his robes.

Isenbard’s whining changed pitch with his confusion.

“Ah, but I have a third thing, also with three parts,” Stated Drazroth.

“Begone, wizard!” Pouted King Ligart. “I can bear your machinations no longer!”

“Please, King Ligart,” Kadmiel placed a comforting hand upon the King’s shoulder. “We must hear Benevolent Lord Drazroth out.”

Kadmiel then offered his other hand to Isenbard, who took it, but squeezed tightly so Kadmiel would know he was still very manly despite his whiney outburst.

“Fine!” Said the King.

Isenbard wiped what were definitely not tears from his eyes. “What is this third thing with three things of which you speak?”

“I have retrieved the Crown of Truth from the Mountain Fortress.” Declared Drazroth as he held the silver crown aloft. “I rebranded the fortress after I retrieved the crown!”

“Wait, no!” Isenbard dashed to the nearby plinth and retrieved the crown that sat there. “I retrieved The Crown of Truth!”

“Did you?” Asked Drazroth, and Isenbard wondered if Drazroth already knew the answer to that question. “Was the crown you retrieved within a lava-filled chamber upon an island inhabited by zombies? To get to that chamber, did you have to fight your way through a labyrinth guarded by orc warriors?”

Isenbard looked at Kadmiel for confirmation. Kadmiel furrowed his brow as he answered. “Ya! We lost like, six guys on that quest.”

“That wasn’t the Crown of Truth.” Said Drazroth as he brandished the crown he had retrieved from his robes. “That’s some other crown I keep lying around. I have the crown right here. It’s the most powerful artifact in all of history. Why would I just leave it in a room instead of keeping it with me?”

“If that’s true, then you have broken the circle of logic! The circle of logic…” Kadmiel began to expound unnecessarily.

“This exposition is unnecessary.” Interrupted the King. “You still have two more things to this third thing, Benevolent Lord Drazroth. Let’s get a move on!”

Isenbard wanted to protest, but the larger part of him was fine with moving on.

“We already have.” Drazroth quipped.

“Have we?” Isenbard quipped back in the form of a question.

“The Crown of Truth belongs to me; therefore, I am just in doing whatever I wish with it,” Drazroth stated plainly as he spun the crown around one finger. “I removed it from my fortress. Here it is.”

A terrible notion overcame Isenbard. “Are you…” He stammered first at Drazroth, and then at Kadmiel. “…is he trying to be the Chosen One?”

Kadmiel nodded solemnly. “I believe so.”

“My King!” Isenbard rushed to Ligart, who was briefly frightened by a guy in armor and brandishing a sword suddenly rushing at him. “He’s trying to embrace the Princess!”

“Silence!” Screamed the King. “There is still the third thing of his third thing: The Trial of Bechdel.”

In response, Drazroth turned to his guard. Two orcs marched forth with snarling expressions. “My guards…women!” Drazroth stated.

“They’re ugly! Slay them!” Isenbard commanded.

No one moved to slay the guardswomen.

“What are you doing this weekend, Loren?” Asked one of the female Orcs to the other.

“I’m going to hunt Unicorns in the Charmed Forest. Would you like to come, Heidi?” Replied Loren.

“Yes, I would.” Answered Heidi. “Is this a poisoned crossbow type of hunt, or a cursed spear type of hunt?”

“Whatever you prefer.” Said Loren. “The hunt begins at…”

“That’s not exactly what the Trial of…” Kadmiel began.

“Shut up!” Benevolent Lord Drazroth hissed. “There’s only so much space in a short story to explain the Trial of Bechdel! Gender equity is featured in the action plans of every department within my mountain retreat. Prominent women – many in positions of leadership – speak to each other on numerous topics that rarely have anything to do with men. Just because we don’t parade our social progress in front of you for validation doesn’t mean it’s not happening. If you aren’t aware of it, you might need to reconsider your level of engagement with important cultural issues.”

Kadmiel shrunk at the rebuke.

“I don’t understand any of what you just said!” barked Isenbard. “Especially the last part! When do we fight?”

In response Drazroth’s ugly guards instantly assembled into a menacing phalanx of steel blades, armor, and ugliness. The King’s bodyguard did the same around those upon the dais, though in a much more attractive way. On looks alone, it was clear to Isenbard who the good guys were.

The nobles had, by now, mostly trickled out of the throne room.

“There is no need for violence,” Drazroth said. “This is all very simple. I am the Chosen One, and I have fulfilled the prophecy. Would Anir, God of Justice approve of a woefully unjust attempt to kill the Chosen One?”

Everyone again looked at Kadmiel. Since the King would betroth the Princess to The Chosen One, and Drazroth appeared to be the Chosen One, Isenbard hoped Kadmiel would say Anir would be totally cool with killing the Chosen One. It was all the more crushing when Kadmiel answered immediately. “No. Anir, God of Justice, would not approve of this.”

“Damnit!” Isenbard pouted masculinely, “Isn’t there a loophole?”

“No,” Kadmiel replied somberly as he exchanged glances with the King.

“Princess Claristine, so pure that all are dog vomit in your presence,” Announced King Ligart. “I swore that I would one day betroth you to the Chosen One. I am devastated, but I must keep my oath and betroth you to Drazroth. My sacrifice of your purity to this monster is almost too much to bear. But, without further delay, I decree upon this day…”

“Wait!” Shouted Drazroth in a way that delayed what the King was going to say.

“Lord Drazroth!” The King was exasperated. “I have been waiting since before the Princess was even born to betroth her to the Chosen One.”

“That is very messed up.” Said Lord Drazroth with a thoughtful nod, “But regardless, I am already married… to Kind Lord Kage.”

“Who is Kind Lord Kage?” Isenbard had heard of Cruel Lord Kage, but not Kind Lord Kage, who, being kind instead of cruel, sounded much better.

“He is my husband, and he is also undergoing a rebranding effort. He’s renovated his Manor of Tortured Souls into a bed and breakfast.” Replied Drazroth.

“But, Lord Kage is a man!” Isenbard shouted. “That means…”

“Yes.” Lord Drazroth nodded.

“Benevolent Lord Drazroth is a woman!”

“No,” Lord Drazroth furrowed his brow in what Isenbard could only assume was confusion. “We’ve been battling for years… I’m married to a man and you… you didn’t know I was…”

“A woman…” Isenbard, for lack of any other possibilities, repeated.

“No…” Drazroth’s expression changed to one of genuine concern. “I’m a man who is married to Lord Kage who is…” Drazroth paused to allow Isenbard to finish the thought.

“A woman?” Isenbard asked.

“Fair well,” In triumphant defeat, Drazroth turned to leave with his entourage. “I shall take my leave, and await the King’s reservations.”

“Wait! What about the prophecy?” Kadmiel called after Drazroth. “Who will the Princess be betrothed to?”

Lord Drazroth turned back to the throne room. “Have you considered that all this prophecy, heroes, Chosen One nonsense, questing, betrothing, purity, fighting villains, and killing things you consider ugly may not be a story that speaks to everyone?”

“No!” Isenbard frothed at the mouth as he replied. “That’s way too much to think about. Ugly things should be killed! I deserve the Princess’s embrace! Villains like you must be defeated or the story doesn’t make any sense! My story doesn’t make any sense! All these changes have ruined everything for me!”

“Perhaps,” Drazroth turned back to the exit but spoke as he did so. “That was because you are the villain in the stories of others.”

 

The End.