chapter 2

chapter 2
Far away from the craggy cliffs of the town, there dwelt a kingdom called Christofsen. It was actually a bustling and crowded metropolis, with stone structures reaching into the clouds. It was truely enormous. At least 1 million people lived in Christofsen. It lay in the heart of the northlands. The Castle of Christofsen sat about 200 yards from the rest of the kingdom, but it was considered part of the metropolis. Christofsen's king, a large jolly nobelman with white hair and a grey white trimed beard, had ruled for twenty four and a half years. He was a good king, merciful and true to his people. He made sure that no one went hungry and that justice prevailed within the borders of his kingdom.
When necessary, and only rarely, he used his mighty armies to fend of attacks from trolls and other mercinaries trying to plunder the cities great riches. For the most part, peace reigned through out the kingdom of Christofsen. The castle was the tallest structer in the entire kingdom, far too tall to measure. But it was taller than any of the tallest trees within the border. At the very top of the castle was the throne room/lookout tower. The king stayed in it when ruling, with his servants and messengers. Christoff, the kings name, had a private study one story below the throne room.
On this particular day, king Christoff say lazily in his easy chair smoking his pipe near a crackling fire. A fat book sat opened on his lap. He took a puff and slowly exhaled, watching the smoke rings swirl above his capped head. He puffed a few more times, then lowered his pipe into it's holder and pulled the long quail feather from his hat and returned his attention to the book in his lap. Christoff inked the quill pen and began to write once again. "Hmmm..." he mused, thinking aloud. "three hundred horses and bulls sold to prince Daniel of Levenpool...two hundred mules to farmer Edmond in Edon, and...hmmm....let me see....oh, sixty five bags of grain sold to the Garland caravan when it came through last thursday....Yes". And in return Christofsen recieved the jewel of devine fate.
The king held up his free hand and gazed at the precious stone on the ring finger adoringly. He kissed it and chuckled. "May it bring our kingdom happiness and plenty," he said, grinning from ear to ear. A moment later, there came a knock at his chamber door. rap rap rap. "Now...who could this be at such an hour," he thought, annoyence in his words. It was almost twenty passed eleven. There shouldn't have been anyone at his door at this late hour. "Yes?" he answered, "Who goes there?" The person on the other side of the door hesitated. A thick silence hung in the air. The king quickly closed his book and set it aside on a small wooden table beside his easy chair. Again the king called out, "Who goes there?" He slowly stood up and tied up his robe at his waist, staring at his chamber door. Who could it be?
Finally a thin weak voice broke the silence. It was the voice of his top advisor, Piett. "My Lord," said Piett. "It is I." The king breathed a sigh of relief and strode over to the door to open it. Upon doing so, he found himself staring into the eyes of someone who bore some bad news. News the king did not want to hear, nor was he ready to hear it. "What's wrong, Piett, my friend? Do tell me." Piett shook his head sadly and wearily. "My king," he stated. "It's your son, Anthony." A single tear appeared in Piett's eye. The king's own eyes widened. "What about Tony?" he asked, gruffly. There was another long silence, then the advider finally said, almost inaudibly, "Deceased....your Tony is deceased...I...I'm so sorry...my king..."
Piett's words trailed off as he turned away. He could not face his king. His own words seemed to stab him through his very soul. The messenger began to sob uncontrollably. The king stood silently, saying nothing. Somehow, he knew it was true. "My boy..." he whispered. "Gone...just like that." A hundred questions filled his mind, but he couldn't seem to speak. Suddenly, it seemed as if the angel of death was surrouding him. He found he could not move, either. He stood there for what seemed an eternity, then collapsed with a moan. The last thing he heard was Piett calling to him. "My king! My king! What is wrong, my king?" Christoff could not respond. His conciousness swirled into darkness until nothing remained.