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So this one was going to be about a sociopathic robot, broken fallen king, and a cow

Her father always talked about the wars in legends, about how at one point armies larger than kingdoms would wage war against one another, of grand empires of countless species. The Duke liked him, so did the Clergy, and the Merchants, everyone did, but when the blight hits, all the money, prayer, and medicine can’t help you. Of all the stories he told her, and all he copied and printed for everyone there was one that he seemed to love the most. The War in Heaven, the war between the humans and their fallen counterparts.

That story as her mother would call it, myth as Merchants would, legends for dukes, and recount as the clergy did. The only difference between them is what they called the “humans”. For mother they were just another fantastic creature, of the merchants they were a long dead race, for the dukes they were caution given form, and to the clergy they were angels. Supposedly the humans had some disagreement and wiped themselves out, a warning of pride.

The War in Heaven was no mere story. The great prince of man was very real, as was his father, and his treacherous sister. The stars quivered and died under their war, armies without end, battles without number. As the legend went the great prince gave his life and banished mankind to a new world to save this one.

The thing is, the prince never died, and the young maiden Helen of Mattenfeld would soon find that out.

Helen trotted through the wrinkled fields to the west of the port city, her father said this place was once thought to be the brow of the earth-mother, to some ancient culture. The thought amuses her as she wondered how much the place resembled her grandfather’s wrinkled back. Her tail swaying back and forth as she mulled around on her hooves. She pondered over her sister’s fiance, a tall strong bull with a coat as white as snow and eyes red like rubies, despite his unusual appearance to say, he was the son of a major merchant, one on the board of maritime trade no less. The more she thinks about it the more she realizes that the union is only being permitted because of the ties father made in life.

Mother had not even considered to marry Helen off yet. She could not understand as to why, and that made her constantly frustrated. All of her friends married years ago, so why would the eldest daughter of a prestigious family be unwed?

She stomps the earth in her frustration. As the sound of an ancient lock breaking fills the air Helen falls down the hatch she opened.

The passage she’s in is dimly lit by what seems to be glowing bricks. What remains of the latter up is corroded into a fine metallic powder on the ground. Helen squints looking around the room, trying to make out anything remotely familiar. The air is dry as a desert and as cold and drafty as a mountaintop. She staggers back onto her hooves and begins to search for an entrance. Finding none she begins down the hallway.

As she leaves the welcoming warmth of the sun the feeling of dread washes over her. She feels eyes on her, not like a predator but the way a cat observes its master. Smells of steam and what seems to be bone fill her nose along the metallic scent that seems to linger in the hall. Out of the corner of her eye she swears she can see the glint of a metallic something moving.

“Foul Spirits begone” She shouts into the silent hall clasping her maiden’s braid.

A voice speaks back “There are no foul spirits here girl, only the long dead and the sleeping.”

She searches for the voice rushing down the hall. Trying to catch a glimpse of the voice she rounds a corner into black passage. The sight causes her to freeze.

Dark.

Bad.

Dark Bad.

Two yellow lights flash at the end. The chance of catching this alien voice arouses her curiosity more than her fear of the dark repels her. She shuffles down the hall. Her hoof hits something cold, something hard. As it does a light brighter than any torch but less than the sun flashes on.

“Sorry girl, I forgot organics required light to see.” Says the figure at the end of the all.

A sense of dread worse than any other rises in Helen. Before her was what seemed to be an armored creature. Something about it is off, it seems too thin, too tall, too metal. It’s eyes glowed like molten sulfur and it had teeth engraved onto it’s helmet, which seemed to model the skull of another species.

“You seem scared gi-gi-gi-gi-gir-gir-girl” It stammers revealing it’s helmet to be its head it voice sounded twisted and faintly pained.

“What are you?” Helen demands choking on her words.

“A humble servant” It responds slowly and menacingly.

“Can you show me how to leave th-thi-this place?” Helen demands, stuttering.

“Why? These halls are already littered with the dead, what does one more mean to me.” It asks with the same menace as before.

“Please?” She asks hoping for some miraculous change of heart from the metal monster

“Perhaps if you can do something more for me.” It suggests raising it’s clawed four fingered hand to its chin.

“I am a pure maiden monster. I would rather die than give that to you!” Helen shouts, embarrassed, her knees shaking.

“Girl I have no desire nor capability to indulge upon that.” The monster sneers seemingly angered at the proposition.

“Then what do you want from me?” Helen asks now, curious as to what the monster means..

“I need you to simply lift a finger and press a single button.” The creature says with a hollow tone.

It turns and beckons Helen to follow, waving one of his claws. The hallway winds like a labyrinth, to the side and on the corners creatures similar to the monster lay obviously dead.

“Uh… Mr. Monster what are you?” Helen asks, trying to keep up with the oddly swift monster.

“A relic of a long lost time girl.” He responds.

“I meant like your race.” Helen protests.

“Robot, automaton, a sentient machine, all things can describe me girl.” It responds seemingly annoyed.

“Are those on the floor also like you?” Helen asks in her now infinite curiosity.

“The dead soldiers? Ha, I wish, the gift of death is one I am unable to accept.” It mocks kicking one of the corpses adorned with red bands and sash bearing a golden ellipse with a sworked.

“You can’t die?” Haley asks

“I am not alive, yet I cannot think and feel like the mortal organics.” The monster groans.

Helen stops her questioning and simply follows the “robot” once more letting the monster navigate the labyrinthine halls of what Helen now believes is a tomb. The monster stops outside a massive metal gate.

“You see that green button on the wall girl” the monster points.

“Yes” Helen stammers.

“Press it now” The monster says seemingly excitedly.

Helen hesitates for a second before pressing the button. She flinches as she does expecting some sort of pain to follow. As gates hiss the monster clacks his claw-fingers together. Helen takes a deep breath, nervous over something she doesn’t even know. Perhaps that’s why it’s nerve racking.

The door opens to reveal an untold number of blue tubes. Thousands if not more monsters just like him patrol the area. Some are far larger and serpentine, others swarm together like ants, all seem to be tending to the blue opaque tubes.

“What is in those tubes?” Helen asks frantically.

“Most are families, waiting to be woken up, and they will in due time, but I am here for a far greater prize.” It answers seeming to grin

“What is that? Helen cries as a massive centipede-like construct rises to meet the pair.

“The prize?” The monster asks slyly.

“N-n-no the creature!” Helen cries.

“A fellow caregiver, follow.” The monster commands.

After what feels like an eternity of walking past the blue tube the pair comes to something that Helen thinks is almost like the hall of a lord. The monster puts his hand up signaling Helen to stop. “Look up to the throne girl.” it commands.

Atop what seems to be a throne, wrapped in vines of metal and wire, lies what seems to be another metal monster. “Kneel to the master of mankind girl.” He commands.

The monster forces Helen to her knees with a powerful metal hand, Helen stares at the throne the fear she felt when she began her unwilling entrance of the maze of metal corridors culminating before this being.

“Now girl, approach the Master of Man and pull the lever above his throne.” The monster commands.

Helen approaches the throne, as she does two metal figures emerge from the shadows. Each bears a wicked looking weapon, one a pair of blades, the other some sort of polearm. The scariest thing is that while the monster bears a skeletal appearance these two bear faces that seem to fleshed out, each calm, at rest, sleeping or peacefully dead.

They stand by the “Master of Mankind” seemingly ready to kill on a moment’s notice. Helen struggles to reach to lever her cleavage pressing intensely into the head of man on the throne. Once the switch is flipped Helen stumbles to the floor as the metal construct beneath her begins to move.

Helen sits on her knees as she watches the metal construct rise from his throne, the metal wrapped around him hiss and drop from his person. It raises its arms to its head, and with a twist that should’ve broken its neck it removes its helmet.

Pale skin with hair the color of summer wheat falls in locks as the helmet is removed. A set of piercing emerald eyes looks Helen over. The sense of dread seems to leave around Helen as he approaches her.

“What a lovely sight to wake up to.” He says placing a hand on Helens chin. He kisses her forehead as a father would a daughter and references for the monster to rise from his bow.

“Scipio, what has happened in my rest.” He demands.

“Too much to say.” He responds almost afraid of this figure.

“Where are my armies, how goes the war? He demands of “Scipio”

“The war has been over for more than ten thousand years my lord.”

“What of the empire at large?” He demands coldly.

“All communications cut roughly six thousand years after your rest began.” The machine says cowering.

“What was the message Scipio?” The man asks murder on his lips.

The machine’s voice changes to something almost like a fellow cow. “Hello imperials, my name is Admiral Richard Verlong. How many of us are left fighting for the dream of Earth? For those left who can hear this please switch to Quantum-Phase based devices, here at Vasta II all new ships have dropped the antiquated radio since the old hubs of the golden age don’t work much anymore. To remnant holds from the war, this is goodbye, may your maintainers do you well.”

Recorded the seventh of Jul-y-i-y-y-i drie-thousand fem hundred Twenty-quatro '' The monster is even more alien than normal.

The gold-haired man seems to almost growl. He looks up to the ceiling rubbing two points on the side of his head. He mumbles something, and then jerks his head to look at Helen.

“Who? What?” He says looking at Helen

In her confusion she looks at the man’s face. That was a mistake. The man studies her as one would inspect a good. He mumbles things about “the project was a far greater success than I ever would’ve thought.”

Helen rises to her feet, her hooves clacking against the cold metal floor as she approaches the monster called Scipio. “You promised me the exit, where is it?” She demands seemingly on the verge of tears.

“I am afraid I am no longer able to fulfill that request.” It says it’s voice changing to what seems to be a mockery of a female voice halfway through.

The man glares at Scipio “We are men of our word machine, though trusting you to keep your word was always beyond you.” He remarks coldly.

The machine leers “I was made to rip the heart from men’s chest, to make blood run in rivers. NOT to be a glorified butler… My lord.” It rants, catching itself before saying something that may get it killed.

“Yes Scipio, an outdated, outclassed, and now ancient warmachine, you would be recycled and reforged, or perhaps given your circumstance having your cpus removed and displayed in a museum on Mars.” The man snarls.

Scipion nods his head admitting some unspoken defeat before the Man once more turns to Helen. “Do pardon Scipio young miss, he is a bit longing for his days on the front, but he did promise you the exit. May I escort you home?” He asks in a very cordial tone.

Helen falls down on her rear and looks around to the robots mulling about before answering. “I-uhh-I-uhh s-sh-sure?” She stutters.

The “Master of Mankind” reaches a hand to her, pulling her up with a gentle firmness. The man seems almost surprised as he pulls Helen bosom first into his chest. He says a quick apology and leads her down the hall still holding her hand.

Helen is a bit of a mess, a mix of fear, relief, shock, and curiosity fills her head. “Mr. Master of Mankind, what race are you?”

The man stops cold and turns to Helen clearly confused. “What do you mean by that young miss?” The man asks.

Helen too is now taken aback “I mean I’m Cowman, the people across the channel are Foxish, and the merchant kingdoms on the archipelagos are Parrotian.”

The man’s stare sharpens. “Elaborate” he whispers tursky.

“What *species* are you” She says in a hushed voice as if what she asked is taboo.

The man uses his right hand and wipes down his face. “Has it really been six thousand years” he mumbles agitatedly. He takes a deep breath “A human, a caucasoid to be exact with a drop of african blood from some long dead ancestor whose name was forgotten long before I was born” He answers seemingly bothered.

“What’s an Africa?” Helen blurts out trying to process the fact that the man before her was, no, is a human.

“Last I checked a mix of glass, irradiated jungle, and former failed states. OH! and famine,” The man says before turning to Helen. “Actually young miss, What is your name?” he asks seemingly with intrigue.

“Helen” She says while trying to catch a good view of one of the corpses on the floor. Without looking up at the man “Say are all of these metal men also dead humans?’ She asks.

The man clearly bothered by that question answers “Yes, I was to be the ruler of all mankind, but my whore of a sister spread her legs to half the damn generals and got them to rebel against me. They were good men, these soldiers, loyal to a fault, but to the wrong woman.” He laments. He also turns to Helen “Also call me Victor.”

“Okay... “ Helen says offhandedly and aggravating Prince Victor even more

Is this cow-girl stupid, arrogant, or just lost in the moment Victor thinks. He stretches his back and tries to get a good view of the woman’s rear. Well if she’s as dumb as a rock at least she’s hot Victor thinks. If Helen could hear Victor’s thoughts she would’ve slapped him, or at least she’d like to think that. Regardless of Helen’s fantastical hopeful heroics Victor remains agitated, he hasn’t had a single happy thought since he woke up about a half and hour ago.

Victor reflected on his life, he should be dead, long dead at that. He tries to put six thousand years before his life into perspective. Six thousand years before he was born David was king of the Jews, the Latins had yet to found Rome, the Iron age had just begun. Now he is as old as that. The birth of Jesus, the founding of Rome, all the men from grade school; Alexander, Caesar, Constantine, Justinian, Martin Luther, Frederik, Peter, and Napoleon, Custer Lee, and Roosevelt, Victor’s ancestors, and now the descendants of his family.

He pondered whether or not he had any bastards from his university days that perhaps he outlived a hundred generations of people. The thought made him nauseous. He had missed out on so much progress.

Helen was at the crossroads of a panic attack and euphoria, on one horn she had discovered the Prince of the Humans, on the other, he seemed cold, distant, and calculated to the point of cruelty scaring what she thought was a monster into submission. She didn’t want to think of what may happen if the man followed her back to the city with a metal army. She felt the need to pant, a new kind of anxiety she had never felt before, the urge to be as near to her people was never stronger. The hair on her back raised and she began to look around more frantically, her hoof like nails dug deeper into her clenched hands as the pair approached the end of what seemed to be a dead ended corridor.

Victor presses a button and the wall splits in two with a hiss. Before her were great pillars of black glass on the left and right walls, in the center expanding outwards was a great contraption of hundreds of floating rings all centered around a floating green light. “Sorcery” was all Helen’s mind could stand to think

With the flip of an unseen switch Helen unknowing witnesses what was once the height of the human’s power. She jumps and reaches her hands out as if by some miracle a fellow Cowman will come to press shoulder to shoulder with her. Her fear quickly turns to awe as some of the rings begin to turn while others spin on impossible axises. Unlike Victor who at least held a vague understanding of the technology, Helen could only wonder what sort of spells and magics were at play. Victor pressed a button next to the switch, and in a flash of green light the spinning rings vanished, leaving only static violet bands in their place.

As Victor offered his hand to Helen to walk down the great staircase to the main floor of the town sized room. She reluctantly takes it.

Victor looks to Helen “I have misled you Helen” He with genuine remorse.

“What do you mean?!” Helen recoils, prying her hand from Victor’s oddly strong grip.

Victor turns to look her in the eye in what can best be described as passive malice. “I wanted you to watch my empire awaken. before letting you go to wherever you call home.” He says with all the innuendo of a priest denouncing a heretic. Helen’s eyes go wide. She now understood that humans weren’t some noble proud race, not some heavenly guides, nor fake in the slightest. Humans were very, very real, and like all things real, it was far from expected and a very unwanted surprise.

“Follow.” Victor asks, though it unknowingly comes off as a demand

Helen follows down the metal steps with great discomfort, something felt wrong on an instinctual level. Victor passes to where the rings are and waves Helen forwards.

“Place your hand on the metal pad and think of the food you want most.” Victor instructs Helen.

She thinks of her grandmother’s hashmak, a mix of boiled potato sticks fried in olive oil, topped with shredded mak fruit and covered in a thick fruit sauce made from fermented figs, cherries, blackberries, and honey. She looks to the great metal slate before her as it seems to fade into reality itself. As all transparency is lost the smell grows. Victor presses a button and it slides on it’s own over to Helen.

Magic. That’s the only reason Helen can think of for how that just happened. She stares at Victor who seems to be casually sitting on a bench looking over to one of the glass towers.

“How.” Helen demands.

“How what?” Victor responds.

“The rings, the food. How.” She demands just as quickly her confusion and fear throughout the day now translating to anger.

“This was the peak of mankind’s six thousand years ago, I imagine it was a different time.” He responds.

“That’s not a how.” Helen says approaching Victor

“I don’t understand the science fully myself Miss Helen. One of the early members of my dynasty ordered the project to be created. So, for over a thousand years scientists studied and developed, luckily it was ready by the time of my birth and was bestowed upon me by the loyal factions of the Empire. BUT, it does use pure energy from the space in between dimensions to infinitely power itself and create what is asked of it.” Victor explains with all the clarity of a drunken professor.

“That sounds like magic” Helen presses.

“May as well be, hell back during my Duty we brought nations to their knees by simply arriving.” Victor says, trying to lighten the mood. Upon realizing that the very angry cow woman was brushing her hoof against the floor he quickly tries to turn her attention away. “Eat, the food won’t be hot forever.” He says forcing a smile.

Helen begrudgingly cedes that point to the man and begins to eat much to the relief of Victor who quickly creates a small amount of caviar and some sushi to eat himself.

Before eating Victor says a quick prayer and then turns to Helen. “If you want more, just make some.” He says before sitting on a ledge and digging into his ocean-themed meal. Where Helen seems to feast on her food, Victor eats with the same methodical finesse that nearly saw the war he fought to the end. After finishing her Hashmuk, Helen creates a small plate of stuffed vegetables, the filling being a mix of rice, okra, spices, carrots, and beans. Helen glares at Victor as she eats the peppers whole, her looks all but bouncing off the man as he is now lost in thought.

There is but one name on his mind. Catherine. His love, his lady, what he intended to make his future queen. A deer who he had known since he was but a child. His lips curl into a small smile as he recalls the night of his confession, he was 23 at the time, the raw passion of it all. He remembers how primal it felt to kiss just about everything north of the shoulers. His glare hardens as he remembers waking up the next morning not to the song of birds and rumble of cicadas, but the pounding of metal on wood and cries of “DEATH TO THE FALSE PRINCE”,

Helen notices the light flash and wink out in Victor’s eyes, but what scares her is the fact that he has seemed to switch into another person entirely. Helen considers making a break for it, trying to wind her way back out. Something about the change in the Prince’s mind seems to convince Helen to stay, albeit at a distance. Though one thing about that day is burned into his eyelids.

It was one of ancestor’s supersoldiers, a man older than the palace he lived in, with blonde hair and deep green eyes he looked no older than thirty. He was noble in combat, merciful to his foes, but there was something so profoundly odd about those he did kill. They were all drained of blood. On that morning, his eyes grew blank, he seemed to sprout fangs, and just as the traitors were going to catch up with them, he was knocked to the floor. Upon seeing the severed arm of a child, still clasping tight to its silver cross, he became little more than an animal. He cried “LUCIFER” before eating a blast that should’ve severed his jaw. He didn’t even notice as he tore the head from the shoulders of the nearest man. He sank his fangs into the next man, and as the raisin-like corpse fell he seemed to heal from his wound. For all the damage he took, he just drained another corpse. The scariest thing was that it was an entire division that assailed Victor.

Scarier still, Victor saw the same man three years later, just as regal as ever. He’s still somewhere in this facility, sleeping, waiting to be called upon once more for another fight.

Helen looks at Victor again. She thinks that Victor is afraid, but of what?”

“Hey Human! What’s scaring you?” She asks bluntly.

Victor looks at the cow girl, letting his eyes rest on her sizable breast before feeling confident enough to speak. “You know Scipio? My machine, well he’s rather far down the list of scary things in this place, he’s just one of the few that are both awake and active.” Victor says.

“Birdshit” Helen says, her confidence absolute.

Victor turns to Helen and tells her of the man he saw in great detail and of his actions on this planet before he went to sleep. He feels a smirk creep on the edge of his mouth as Helen begins to frantically for a deranged noble vampire supersoldier.

Helen becomes twitchy, her hooved feet clack against the polished concrete. The mood of this place was like that of an ancient crypt before she was, coerced to say, into awaking the prince of mankind, but now she’s been told that the glass pillars are little more the catacombs that can return the dead to the realm of flesh. The prince is nothing like she expected, and far from what she wanted. She wanted a noble, benevolent man larger than life, one that would bestow blessings with one hand and in the other clasp onto a blade of fire. Rather she got a master of monsters, more akin to a prince of demons than the humans she was taught in church. She was surprised that he was so, well, given his posture, kind and that he was able to use such powerful sorcery.

Victor seems to snap from his trance, no doubt the stress of magic wearing off thinks Helen. “So, can you take me to the surface?” She asks politely.

Victor shrugs his shoulders. “Sure, but please take a snack home.” He says before placing his hand on the summoning plate and conjuring a brown tubular object. He places the thing in a basket and hands it to Helen with a “Here.”

Victor begins to walk towards another hingeless door Helen following close behind. The door opens before him, further proving the might of his magic to Helen. Victor, is entirely unaware of what he’s portraying to Helen, to him all the things he’s done would be considered normal. In the room is nothing, yet Victor gets in anyway. Helen is reluctant regardless, and only after Victor gestures to get in does she, even though she hesitates to do it..

Victor presses a button and a beeping fills the room at a seemingly set rate tied to the number on the wall that goes down from seven. The floor seems less stable but other than that nothing has changed. With a different ding the doors open once more, they were at the mouth of a cave, Victor pulls what seems to be the hilt and crossguard of a sword off his belt.

With a flick of his hand the room fills with orange light. A sword of fire. The legends were true. The prince of man wielded great magics and a sword of fire.

“Should I walk you home?” He says. He then stretches, the metal plates of his armor clinking as they bang against the helmet on his waist. In the firelight he looks more like a hermit knight rather than the broken prince Helen thought the man was.

“Please.” She answers for some reason she has yet to know. “But do don your helm.”

The pair don’t speak as they leave the cave, nor do they as they walk through the former trenches of the wrinkled fields illuminated in the green light of the moon. Victor only knew the moon to be a frozen ball of ice, but the copper from all the battle raged over this world. Helen noticed the Prince staring at the moon. She was puzzled as to why the Prince would do so.

The pair approach the gates, Helen whispering for Victor to stay out of sight of the two halberd armed guards.

“Bit late, aren't we ‘elen.” Snorts one of the guards lowering his arm.

“Oy, Braxter, if yous gonna do whats I think yous gonna do you’ll be made into a steer by next mass.” His comrade warns in a drunken stupor.

“Oning that familee they’d probs give me a set of gold earrings.” Braxter sneers before leering towards Helen.

Helen knows what’s going to happen as a meaty hand the size of her shoulder grips her collarbone. Just before Baxter’s other hand would grab her breast a set of glowing yellow eyes appears to the right of them.

“Oh this will be far too easy.” Says Scipio gleefully raising a metal claw.

“And whos the fuck are yous shiny man.” Snorts Baxter.

“An Emissary.” Scipio replies with a smile. “Now, please let go of the girl.”

“Or what?” Baxter remarks.

“You’ll be given the privilege to die.” Scipio cheers.

“Is that a threat, little metal man?” Baxter sorts, blowing hot air into Scipio’s unfeeling face.

“No, it's a promise.” Says Scipio doing his damnedest to provoke him.

Helen is unsure as to what to do, but she does decide to speak up. “Private Baxter, this is Scipio, a famed warrior and herald of the Humans.” She says doing her best to prevent her facade of confidence from dropping.

“The humans? You take for an altar boy or an idiot?” Baxter growls.

“Please come into the light my lord.” Smiles Scipio.

The other guard, while calm, is rather apathetic to the whole scene, having resided himself to the arms of lady liquor for the night, and beyond that is far too drunk to do anything anymore as is. Just as he falls to the ground with a mix of metallic ting and meaty thud, the prince emerges from the blackness of the night, his red robes concealing his armored form.

“That’s a fuckin’ human, eh? Looks like a beakless parrot in a suit of used armor and ratty cloak.” Baxtor remarks approaching Victor.

With a flick of Victor’s wrist the orange blade on his hip comes to life once more, the color of flames and dusk returning to the night. Baxter seems unfettered though, and just starts laughing.

“Oh, noooooooo the big bad prince the humans will smite me now won’t he ‘Elen. What sorts of royal bullshit did yer old man fill ya with?” Baxter says his nostrils flaring in annoyance.

He raises his halberd to a position he can swing with. The moment the blade is past his shoulder it swings down towards the Prince like a mousetrap The prince steps to the side and looks to Scipio who nods in response.

Baxter’s ego ridden smile quickly snaps into that of agony. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!” He screams. He spins to face Scipio, revealing a maze-like pattern of injuries of every kind across his now furless back. Baxter swings at Scipio who promptly breaks the pole of the weapon over his knee. Scipio bears his mouthful of metal fangs snapping at Baxter who’s all but lost his composure.

“Remember Scipio, we are emissaries not guerilla’s today.” Victor says without turning to look at him

“Understood my lord.” Scipio says cordially before turning to Helen and whispering “Now he’s awake fully, and things are about to get very scary very quickly, even by my already high standards.”

Victor walks over to the crouched mumbling form of Baxter. “Get up you mumbling coward.” He demands. Baxter doesn’t change. “I said get up.” Victor commands. This time Baxter listends and rises to his feet. “Good, good. Now, tell your lord that a king will arrive to parlay at midday tomorrow.” Victor says before reaching for something under his cloak. Upon finding it he opens Baxter’s hand and whispers something in his ear.