Broken Portal

Part 11 The Winner is?

Part 11 The Winner Is?

The City of Rhime perched, some would say precariously on the edge of the Pathagon continent, lurking near the tides edge and tittering on the brink of falling into the depths of the ocean. A top the tallest and grandest of the exotic barbicans, Unmar the Mighty’s, massive veranda sat overlooking the vast sea expanse to the west, Genkarriss was somewhere over that way, off into the distance, but out of sight and sometimes out of mind, that was the way Unmar the Mighty liked it sometimes, but other times when the merchants, traders and fisherman brought him his strange and usually taste, well strange in other people’s eyes, but not to Unmar, occasionally he was glad he could catch a blurry glimpse of the Genkarriss shore line with his long range and all seeing eye glass.

Hothar the Worthy, picked up his dealt hand, cautiously from the marble table with both sets of fingers and fanned them out in a neat and regimented order, into the palm of his hand, as if he was arranging his soldiers back home, on the Strait. His eyes bulged with excitement as he saw the faces of the historic kings, looking back at him.

The top card was, Goront the Wise, he almost looked like he was smiling back at his descendant, the previous, King of the Strait, two reigns ago, with his big wide and bushy coal coloured hair, not to dissimilar to Hothar’s, but his card glamorised him as much slimmer than Hothar, almost athletic like, Hothar had never remember his Grand Father being that slim. But the floral and florescent garb of the King of the Strait, certainly hadn’t changed, as Hothar was wearing a very similar lime green and lilac dress, covered with a cloak of mauve flora.

Poking underneath Goront’s card, was Paran the Peaceful, looking angelic and godly, with his bony thin hands raised high above his head in prayer, he had been a terrible King to the small population of Eron, plunging the island into desperate times, for years he was telling his people, that eating was a sin to the Gods, which ended in thousands of them dying, he inevitably died from malnutrition himself shortly after. That couldn’t be said of his successor, who sat almost sleepily across the polished table from me with his head nodding into his hand of cards.

Elmick the Red, was a fat rotund King, who it seemed had been compensating for his father’s lack of appetite, by having both their lifetimes share of food, he slumped in his chair and needed his squires to wrench him up to his feet, whenever he needed the toilet, the only thing that detracted, anyone from his weight, was his gigantic sized triple braided scarlet beard and equally sized colourful mop on his head. Hothar studied, Paran’s card again, confused by the Peaceful ones murky black locks.

Underneath Paran’s card, he could see the golden toothed grim of Senmar the golden smile, he still scolded at the former so called King of Pathagon, for what he did to the people of the Strait, when he murdered, Hothar’s father, he’d have liked to have knocked all of his golden teeth from his mouth for that, and more, but at least now he had made peace with his son and host, Unmar, who exuded the same expensive tastes as his father, although he had only covered half of his teeth with gold, the card of the former King, showed a remarkable resemblance to his son sitting at the head of the marble table.

They both had olive coloured skin with golden brown curly long hair that fell well below their shoulders, their yellow tunics both adored golden buttons, with Unmar’s straining at the fabric, trying to revel his pot-bellied stomach, his father card, Senmar, didn’t show such a bulge, but again that could have been the artist discretion, rather than the truth.