• The day was bright, uncommonly so for Spring this close to the equator. The street of the castle town of Vahn Sprign, cobblestone and painstakingly cleaned each day by thieves unlucky enough to be caught by the royalty's guards, lead to a large castle, grey with glints of the veins of silver within the rocks. Save for the guards posted in front of the stone entranceway, eloquently decorated by expensive coloured glass of every colour imaginable, the street held only one person. Hooded and cloaked in a blue-grey threadbare robe, the face was shadowed in the midafternoon sky. It seemed as if no weapon could possibly be concealed, as the cloak's cloth was almost more sheer than royal ladies' veils in the empire of King Abdulah. However, when the person's foot hit the sun in it's slow approach to the gate, a glint of silver metal would draw the eye to the foot.

    The person gazed up at the over-beautified palace through long eyelashes. Shielding their eyes from the sun, they revealed golden brown, heavily scarred skin on the arms, and large calloused hands. They had seen little or no days of luxury.

    The figure gave a small sigh, the rush of air interrupting the still air around them, through full lips, as if resigned to whatever fate had in store for him. His thin worn leather shoes slapped against the hot stone as he finally approached the castle.

    "Excuse me, sir, but I must inquire as to your motive for entering the palace." The guard on the left said politely.

    The figure stopped as told, and sized them up. The one on the left is definitely peasant breed, that's for sure. He figured. A spiteful smirk, hidden from the guards, slowly blossomed on his face. A new one, too. He's only skin and bones, not even the heavy meals served here has had any effect on his build yet. Now for Big Boy here, He turned his attention on the one on the right next. He was born and raised royal. No peasant would become that bulky, no matter how long he or she was with the Royal Arms. The only reason they have him here is for intimidation, he knows how to look that way, being raised with every whim attended to.

    I could take these clowns easily. He finally surmised. The smirk widened; he felt nothing but contempt for this lucky piece of land called Vahn Sprign.

    The smile dropped from his face.
    Then why am I here, then? He refused to admit to it, but the main reason he was here was only because of the guilt that had been festering within him for months on end. He wasn't used to the feeling of regret, ominously sinking down his stomach. He had lost all appetite, choking down only the barest minimum needed to survive. The toned muscles that once rippled gracefully underneath his skins had wasted to nothing. He'd done nothing but lock himself in his study, trying to distract himself with his many polished wooden shelves of books, scrolls and letters. But even the beautifully illuminated pages of his most sacred books did nothing for him. The one thing that ended up breaking the camel's back, however, was his wife. The pain he felt when she tried to cheer him up or comfort him, the duteous preparation of what he did eat, the way she rarely left his side, and finally the night where he slid under silken sheets, only to hear the normally peaceful breathing of her sleep broken into sobs, was what put him over the edge.

    "I'm here to confess." He finally said, a lilting accent revealing his lifelong home. Slowly, he lifted his hood, and put it on his back, revealing a man of about 30 or 40 years. He had a sharp, angled face, and slanted eyes, but looked like he had come from King Abdulah himself. His eyes were hard, and his face unreadable. His hair, thick, black, and curly, was pulled back loosely with a spare piece of twine, reaching his shoulders easily. Even though it looked as if he had spent most of his life in the wild, he had an air of authority, and carried himself that way as well.

    "Confess to what?" The second guard, the big one, asked. He had slowly started reaching towards the sword hanging from a leather sheath on his waist. The man's eyes flicked to it, then back to the man's face. The guard's double chin wobbled, and he shifted anxiously, straightening his posture.

    "Confess to killing my rival, the Old King of Vahn Sprign, in an unsportsmanlike way." He said, smiling at the shocked expressions on the two pathetic guards.

    "You mean..you are.." The guards started to say at the same time, stumbling over their words.

    "My friends and family call my Abu. I figure we will be spending much time together, but I doubt we will become very close during my stay. No, I definitely won't consider you to be my friends, so you may call me Abdulah. King Abdulah."