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The kingdom of Carcosa was a sight Derek had grown fond of.
The villages specifically, how they overwhelmed the senses in the best way possible. The smell of bread in a windowsill, the sound of a small band playing around the bend, the feel of a casual tunic replacing his heavy golden armor, children running around in the streets. It was a journey every time he entered the towns under the leadership of King Hastur.
Sadly, today’s visit was not a casual one.
Derek had been given a task from the King’s mouth himself. A man who he had not spoken a word towards after he was “dishonorably discharged” from his position as General in the Carcosa Royal Army. That day he was cast out of his quarters in the palace, the King’s grace allowing him to stay in Carcosa under the condition he never entered the castle grounds again unless he was called for personally. It was a damming decree, destroying any bonds he had built within the guard and leaving him to fend for himself…
Derek gently smacked his helmet with a gauntlet, not caring about the nail biting sound it created. Now was no time to dwell on the past. King Hastur had given him a chance to redeem himself, to elevate his family to a life where they would never again want for anything. He wouldn’t dare waste his last chance to give them what they deserved.
He had kneeled in front of the King immediately after entering the great hall, his eyes locking onto the yellow threaded carpet. “Your excellency, you summoned me?” He had heard the man stand up, his footsteps echoing until Derek could see the ends of his yellow robe.
“Sir Hutchins, you were once the greatest general in my force. A feared man, known for your strategic mind and admirable determination.” As much as hearing the King’s voice had aggravated him these past two years, it made his heart feel light as feather to hear the King praise him once more. “Of course, you squarely ruined it, but today I will give you a chance to redeem yourself.”
Derek’s working wing twitched in excitement, his head bowing lower than he thought possible. “Any task you have for me, I will complete it, My King.”
King Hastur laughed, a sound of pity he gave when a noble told a terrible joke and the room had fallen silent. “I know you would, Sir Hutchins.” The King’s voice became a sudden low whispers as he bent at the waist. “If you utter a word about what I will say, I will have you executed for treason. Understood?”
Derek nodded, his wing partially fanning out as a sign of submission. “Not a word of this will leave this room. I swear to it.” The King seemed to be satisfied with that answer. Derek assumed to task to be something combat related given his prowess. He could not have been more wrong.
“I require you to bring home my lost heir.”
King Hastur had explained to him that Prince Avery had ran away from the palace two days ago after bribing a guard to look the other way. He hadn’t been given any details besides the appearance of the missing heir and the places he would most likely go.
“You will not be able to miss his royal presence. He is a slime-kin of a honey coloration. I would not put it past him to attempt to sneak into one of those “Skywars” tournaments. He would always beg me to watch the players fight no matter how many times I corrected him.”
Derek was familiar with Skywars. It was a combat tournament that started in the Hypxil kingdom but spread to many others over the years, Carcosa included. It was not well received by most, gaining a reputation of its events being for “academy dropouts” and “kids who wanted to play general”. It had become a playground for mercenaries, swords-for-hire, and all ill manners of seedy individuals.
Derek had never seen the appeal of such unnecessary violence.
The tournaments were held at the edge of town in an abandoned military encampment. The banners of Carcosa had been taken down and replaced by a floating chunk of grass with a sword in the ground. He would allow himself to admit it was quite the artistic piece, but no more than that. He could hear the sound of drunken yelling and smell the mead from the window. No one was outside to guard or check visitors in, so Derek opened the wooden doors with his guard kept high.
The inside did not reflect the buildings origins in the slightest. What would have been the common area of the home was transformed into a tavern and waiting zone. Most of the men were sitting at the bar on the wall, pointing at bottles and barrels filled with alcohol. The waiting area was quaint, a few seats and some gambling tables. In the very back corner that contained a grindstone, an anvil, and a forge. Derek had not a single clue how they pulled that off.
He took a seat at the end of the bar, tapping to get the bartenders attention. She was a burly Piglin woman with a prisoner tattoo on the back of her neck. It interested him, but he wasn’t here for small talk.
“When is the next tournament?” He asked, his voice stern and callous from years of serious conversation. The Piglin woman pointed to the paper pinned to the wall behind her. Twenty minutes time from now then. She almost went back towards the other patrons but paused when she noticed his dilapidated wing.
“We got a cleric in the back if you need a tune up,” she suggested with a thick Netherese accent before filling another patrons mug. Derek respected the quick offer, but there was nothing any cleric could do for his wing. He had accepted that a long time ago.
Not needing anything else from the bar, he stood up to scope out the waiting area. On the wall above the gamblers was a listing of todays 12 participants. Most of the competitors were uninteresting humans, but a few caught his eye. An Enderman with a custom helmet that covered his eyes, a younger male Piglin, a retired Vindicator, and-
A Slime-kin.
He didn’t match the description exactly, his coloration a light green instead of golden yellow, but it was enough to make Derek suspicious. Some slimes did have the ability to change their colorations depending on what they ate, so it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. With a scan around the room, he noticed the Vindicator sitting alone with a set of Mojang tiles, and decided to take the initiative and sit across from him.
“Feeling lucky?” It was a question with a double meaning, his feelings on both the game and today’s match being interrogated. It was an inconspicuous conversation starter, but enough to make it known he wasn’t here to he social.
The Vindicator smirked and began laying out the tiles. “You could say so. You a newcomer?” He shook his head, and that answer seemed to disappoint the man. “Damn. You seem like a fun guy to fight. Haven’t had new meat since slime guy showed up.”
Derek accepted the tiles slid his way. His helmet hid his eye’s twitch of interest. “Him?” He points behind the man towards the picture on the wall, the Slime-kin smiling like a doofus.
“Yep. Themo Stmayo he says. Sounds fake, but we ain’t strangers to people who don’t wanna reveal too much.” The Vindicator shrugged his shoulders, his face not revealing how he felt about the newcomer.
“He any good?”
“For a newbie, yeah. Hasn’t lost a match since his third game. Not a good team player though.” There was bitterness in his voice, likely a personal issue, but Derek didn’t question it. He got what he needed; name (or at least an alias), skill level, and a general overview of his attitude.
A horn blared outside, causing the Vindicator to push his tiles to the center of the table. “Nice chat. I’m afraid I gotta head into the ring.”
“Best of luck.” Derek gave the man a two finger salute and watched him exit through a door he hadn’t noticed before. No one else in the common area had moved, so Derek stayed in his seat, mentally compiling everything he currently knew about his current suspect.
He was going by the name of “Themo Stmayo”, potentially his real name but more than likely a false monicker to separate his everyday life from his participation in Skywars; whether his life outside of these tournaments was regular or more regal in nature. He was skilled from the record he had been given, though not knowing the total games he had participated in, his skill could be between having extreme luck to being a potential issue should they engage in combat. He did not know much more than that, his only glimpse into his personality being that he “wasn’t a team player” (which could not be ruled out as personal bias).
A much louder horn rang out from the outside, causing the remaining occupants of the room to begin filing out the back doors. Derek joined the crowd, ignoring those who pushed ahead of him to claim the better seats.
The doors led to a cliff edge, and Derek was immensely confused before realizing that coliseum styled seats had been carved into the rock as well as various staircases leading deeper into a shore-lined pit. Either this operation was more professional than he had expected, or some carver needed emeralds badly. Derek took a seat near the middle, close enough that he could easily see the action but far enough that he was not in the potential line of fire.
The “area” was… strange. Twelve “islands” made of wooden scaffolding surrounded a larger center islands. Each base contained only a chest and a player on, and the slime he was searching for was positioned on the left-most podium. An announcer was currently stood on the center island, looking at the audience intently before grinning and bowing.
“Welcome, welcome one and all, to the 24th official Carcosa Skywars Tournament!” The crowd boomed around him and Derek’s working wing wrapped around his side, a self soothing instinct the Academy hadn’t been able to train out of him. “We have many familiar faces in this tournament, but none have gained more excitement than our very own THEMO STMAYO!”
The smaller wings currently trapped inside his helmet moved to cover his ears to he could better focus on the slime. He looked different than his official portrait, his body now an ombré that began as green from the top, then traveled through shades of yellow to end off as orange at his hands, feet, and the ends of his “hair”. When he turned to face the announcer, he could see a small tail with the same ombré present as well. Curious.
“Mr. Stmayo has been with us for the past fifteen games, and has been our 11 times unbeaten champion!” He had been participating since the tenth tournament then if his calculations were correct. His skills should be impressive, and for once Derek was grateful he had the foresight to sharpen his sword before beginning his investigation. “Will he defend his crown once more, or finally be dethroned? Let the game begin!” The announcer climbed off the platform, blowing a horn as soon as his feet touched the ground.
Derek’s eyes were on Themo, who dug through his chest and threw on a helmet. No other pieces of armor, just a helmet. He was slime, so perhaps an arrow to any other part of his body wasn’t as fatal as it was to most species. Most of the other contestants pulled out swords, axes, one even equipped a bow and a quiver full of arrows. Themo reached to the bottom of the chest and pulled out…
A fishing rod?!
This must be some kind of “gag” he associated with himself, as the crowd irrupted in excited applause. By the time he began racing to the center, two contestants were already knocked off and gaining their bearings in the sand below. The Vindicator pushed another two off almost simultaneously, though his eyes were set on Themo.
Themo was attacked by one of the human competitors, but managed to outmaneuver him. With hysterical laughter, he hooked the sinker onto the back of the humans tunic and pulled him off the edge. It wasn’t the optimal play, but if this man was a 11th time undefeated winner, then he must have perfected it to some degree. He proceeded to jump to a different players “island”, stealing a round of arrows despite not having a bow nor a quiver- did he just stick them into his own body?
“Is that allowed?” He overheard one of the people behind him whisper. Derek had the same question, but it must have been considering the announcer hadn’t called any sort of foul.
The total challengers were now down to half, including Themo and the Vindicator he talked with earlier. That number was quickly split again as Themo and the Vindicator both launched a player off at the same time. Another player was harshly thrown off by the Enderman, who got his five seconds of celebration before being shoulder-checked into the pit.
It was now Themo and the Vindicator alone fighting for the win.
After observing how he faced his opponents so far, he expected Themo to try to get around the Vindicator and attempt his fishing-line tactic; a tactic would most likely fail as the Vindicator would be much heavier then the other competitors. To his surprise, the slime-kin instead jumped to the opposing platform and waited for his opponent to chase him. Predictably, the Vindicator took the bait and began following him, always one jump behind.
“Come on Vinnie, you can’t still be mad at me for shooting you! It was an accident! Mostly!” The slime taunted, his body bouncing in a circle around the arena. The Vindicator only made a low noise in return, panting slightly when he caught up to Themo. He aimed a punch at the slime, before attempting to pull the fishing rod out of his hands.
What started as an attempt to disarm his opponent turned quickly turned into a tug-of-war for the stick. Derek was almost amused at the childish grumbling from both men. It reminded him of his time as a squire watching the others shallowly insult each other’s swords and “swords”. Eventually the Vindicator did manage to gain the advantage and chuck the weapon into the pit, grinning like a maniac.
“Not so tough without your secret weapon, are you?” The man cracked his knuckles, and Derek was expected an all out brawl to begin, one he unfortunately believed the slime would lose. Even so, Themo didn’t have an inch of fear on his face. Derek’s respect for this man only grew by the moment, Prince or not.
“I don’t have to be tough,” the slime replied, one hand inching behind him. “I just have to crafty.” The Vindicator lunged forward, which appeared to be exactly what he wanted. With an unneeded (but undeniably entertaining) front-flip, Themo took two arrows from his back and stuck them into the mans interscapular region before using the momentum to of his opponent to pull him backwards and then let go, sending him tumbling off the edge.
The crowd was silent for a moment, gasps and whispers echoing through the crowd in a moment of worry. Not for the Vindicator, Derek knew that much, but for the possibility of the announcer calling an illegitimate win.
The concern was unfounded, as the announcer only climbed onto the center platform and raised one of the slimes hands into the air.
“Ladies and Gentleman, give it up for our now 12 time undefeated champion, Themo Stmayo!”
While the crowd became an uproar of screams and claps, Derek had tunnel vision.
When the slime was in the air, Derek had noticed a symbol on the back of his neck, seemingly hidden by his “hair”. The symbol of the Royal House of Carcosa. That, combined with the semi-familiar voice he had heard briefly during his past patrols through the castle halls, made him certain that his suspicion was the truth.
This “Themo Stmayo” was indeed Prince Avery.
He didn’t have any external reaction to the discovery, maintaining neutral body language as he walked up the cliff-side with the rest of the crowd. His eyes tracked “Themo” as he sifted through the crowd, receiving congratulations and high-fives from all manners of people. The rest of the contestants filed behind him, their faces bitter and full of contempt. The Enderman stayed near the back of the crowd, sticking a long leg out in front of the slime and causing him to trip.
Before he could hit the ground, Derek had rushed over and caught him in his arms.
The slime didn’t feel as wet or cold as he expected, but then again the texture was muffled by his armor. The man laughed awkwardly but somehow kept to good spirits. “Thanks for the save man, my body’s gone into-“ he froze when he looked up and saw his helmeted face, his eyes flashing between recognition, distress, and fear.
“You’re not a very hard guy to catch,” he whispered, leaning in close so only the Prince could hear his words. “Avery.” He let go of the slime casually, walking back towards the makeshift tavern before sending a look over his shoulder. A look that, even when covered by his helmet, server as a warning.
Follow me, or I will use force.
He didn’t stick around to see a reaction. He knew the slime would find him. If not out of fear, then out of curiosity. So many questions must be running through his malleable head. Questions only Derek had the answer to. He would come, in time, he just needed to wait. Thankfully, he thought as he again sat at the end of the bar, patience was a virtue he practiced often.
It took ten minutes for the chair beside him to slide close. He didn’t need to turn his head to know it was the man he was expecting. He could feel the fear radiating off the man, but also the determination. It would not be easy to convince him to return.
Derek’s hopes of solving this diplomatically were slowly dwindling.
“Who are you, and what do you want with me?” Straight to the point. Derek appreciated that, the Prince once again defying his expectations in the best way.
“Your father wants you back.” He schooled his voice to a factual expression, not expressing his potential excitement at completing his quest nor his hesitation to hurt the Prince if the two came to fight.
The slime of the Prince’s body spiked, a sign of frustration but not quite aggression if he recalled correctly. “Well I’m not going back. I’m happy here. Whatever riches or power he offered you can’t make up for…” His eyes drifted to his broken wing. “…Everything else about him.”
Derek’s working wing puffed out at the reminder of the… incident. King Hastur may not be the most empathic or understanding man, but Carcosa flourished under his rule in a way it had not in centuries. For the good of his kingdom, he could allow himself to ignore the King’s less than savory personality. He couldn’t understand why the Prince, the supposed apple of the King’s eye, could not do the same.
Before he could further attempt his peaceful negotiations, the two were approached by the Vindicator, who was flanked by three of the other losing players on each side. Derek himself was ignored in favor of the man invading the Prince’s personal space.
“You think you’re mister big-shot now? Just cause you have your little toys?” He gestured to the remaining arrows stuck in his back. “Well, little man, I have some “tricks” of my own.”
In the blink of an eye, Avery was picked up and thrown into the rack of alcohol.
Derek unsheathed his sword in an instant, vaulting over the bar and make sure the Prince was okay. Judging from the Vindicators outraged face, thugs were not going to back down. The knight groaned, hoisting the Prince to his feet before handing him a dagger. The King would have his head if anything happened to Avery, and it went against his code to allow senseless violence to occur without repercussions.
He didn’t allow the gang to take another swing before jumping back over the bar and kicking one straight in the face. The Vindicator attempted to tackle him to the floor but was intercepted by Avery. They were allies now, for the duration of this fight at the very least.
Derek was used to having his attention split in multiple places on the battlefield, keeping on eye on both his own opponents and Avery, observing carefully enough to notice the innate difference in the way they fought. Derek was strategic, analyzing the most painful area to hit and not letting his opponents get their bearings. Even then he wasn’t afraid to play dirty if need be, his armor-clad knee meeting one mans groin before he slamed his head against the bar. A lethal combination of his knight training and time spent as a sword-for-hire.
Avery meanwhile fought like a street rat. He used unconventional and downright absurd techniques and managed to make them work. At times he was even downright ruthless. Derek watched in near-awe as he stuck the gifted dagger into the stomach of one thug, using it as a stepping stone for his foot before launching off the thugs chest and sending him into the bar. He didn’t even flinch at the fleshy noise of the dagger exiting muscle and skin before using it to parry an axe swing.
Derek focused back on his own enemy, his drifting focus causing the next kick to send his sword across the room. He didn’t hesitate, grabbing two bottles behind him and shattering them against his helmet. Right when the man was about to follow-up, he jammed the shattered glass into the mans chest and neck, leaving him bleeding on the floor.
Sounds of struggle caught his ear, his head whipping to see the Enderman from earlier had Avery pinned to the floor with his own dagger held to his throat. His anger grew seeing the Prince in danger, rushing to reclaim his lost sword.
The Vindicator tackled him to the ground before he got the chance. Both of his hands were around his throat, his blunt nails digging into the flesh of the body underneath. He kicked and clawed at the oaf who only laughed at his struggle.
“You strayed too far from the nest, little birdie.” The taunt was not as insulting as the man could have made it, but that did not mean it wasn’t patronizing or uncomfortable. Derek could feel the air trapped from entering his lungs, his body slowly losing the energy to fight back.
“Goldie!”
His eyes snapped towards the nickname, seeing Avery on his feet and his attacker unconscious beside him. The slime was holding arrows in both hands, his face more focused on determined than it was during the game. Derek understood what the plan was through his eyes. Even with his slowly fading senses, his mustered all his remaining strength to his legs and kicked the Vindicator in the stomach. The kick was powerful enough to send the man flying backwards-
-and impaling himself on Avery’s arrows.
He the final attacker fell to the floor, Avery wasted no time helping him to his feet. “You’re coming with me, Goldie.” Derek had neither the breath nor the energy to refuse, and frankly he would go along even if he did. The slime slung an arm over his shoulder and carried him out to the front, stopping in front of a beautiful Appaloosa horse.
Avery stopped to help Derek onto the horse’s back. His eyes caught sight of the Prince’s shirt torn around his midsection, and that coincidentally a chunk of the slime that made up his stomach was missing. He made a mental note to ask about the subject later. Later being when he didn’t feel like he was about to pass out.
Avery hopped onto the horse in front of him, gently ordering the horse to move. He didn’t react when Derek leaned on him, his body nearly giving out. “You can pass out. I’ll be there when you wake up.”
With permission and reassurance, he allowed himself to close his eyes and let go of consciousness.