The Hero

Chapter 31

The camp was nothing near the Champion had expected: a true display of elvish and dwarven culture. He wished to see sculptures found nowhere near the human kingdom, but all he found was utter blandness. Tents, more tents, and all the guards were still just leaning or sitting down. It was as if they had come here to talk and survey the land for no other reason except for fun.

"They don't seem particularly interested in laying siege to our kingdom," Nam'ill commented, as he stood near the Champion, who continued to scan his surroundings. The elf escort in the lead had his way of making everything seem like an exhibit by how he fanned his gauntlets around and spoke like a guide.

"And over there is yet another example of the raleinst pruvian..."

Can't you see I don't care? the Champion thought bitterly, trying to drown out the escort's rather irritating voice.

"I don't know if it's just me, but these elves have quite the nice body," Nam'ill declared randomly, which made the Champion look at him. "What? They do."

"Aren't you supposed to be assigned to Shimmer and nobody else?" the Champion asked. When he glanced around, he did see many pairs of eyes going his way. Most looked away upon detection, either out of embarrassment or fear. Definitely fear.

"Well, I'm just stating a fact," Nam'ill claimed, before silence could spell out clear defeat. "Yes, they have nice bodies and pretty eyes, but," he stuck up his finger, "Shimmer will indeed be the only one my heart truly belongs to. Nobody else!"

"Huhuh," the Champion muttered, his gaze set straight ahead at the sight of a larger tent. There were even two guards at the entrance, though they were in full armor that hid their whole face.

"And here is the Royal Tent," the escort announced, after pointing out at least a dozen other things that had gone unheard. "Both kings share it, so it's a very tranquil and lovable place." He abruptly halted a handful of feet away from the entrance, forcefully coughing. "The dwarven king can make it quite the opposite, however. Do be patient with his mean temper and whatnot. He's a very easy fellow to anger."

The Champion stepped past the irritating guide to examine the enormous tent before him. It stretched high up to the sky far more than the others around it. A crest shield was placed on the left side of the entrance with a green emblem of a sprouting plant with roots under the ground. On the right was another shield but with a more gray and darker tone to it. 

"Oh! Before you go in, make sure to treat Hea'ot with utmost respect and gratitude," the elf added, though it was of little importance.

"Hm," the Champion replied distantly, then proceeded toward the tent. He could not see very well inside of it from how the flaps were guarding it in a very secretive manner. Even the guards outside made sure not to give any hints away, like it were some grand secret.

Before he could enter, one of the guards stopped him with the shaft of their feathered spear with a sharp, green line running across the dark oak shaft.

"Do not bother entering with that provocative armor on," she spoke, not even looking at him.

"I will enter as I wish," he responded, so close to just breaking the spear and barging inside. What was there to stop him?

"You cannot disgrace the gracious Monarch like that," she argued, resting her visor on him. The guard next to her also began to look at him. It was incredibly irritating and just asking to be taught proper respect. He was a king after all.

"Excuse my friend," Nam'ill suddenly declared, moments before the Champion could state his proposal that involved death and broken weaponry. He leaned against him in an utmost casual state. "I promise I'll keep him in check. Nothing will come of your brilliant Monarch except for love and respect."