King of all the Lands.

In one hand he held his sword, forged from the steel of his fallen foes. It gave him strength and purpose. In his other hand he held his shield, formed from the scales of Dragons whose bodies were left to rot in the sun so very long ago. His armor was that of legend, a glistening metal enchanted by the ancient Yagas of Stargen’s Glenn. Those wretched hags long since past the days of the living.

He stood on the field of battle, one of the few left standing. The war had raged for fourteen years and now in it’s final days, he stood triumphant. He alone ruled the lands that once were broken into smaller kingdoms. He alone would rule the fields that were dry and fetid with corpses and blood. He alone, all alone, for most were dead.

Warrior and peasant alike, all caught up in the war of wars. The land scorched with magic, or bludgeoned with steel. Still, he was victorious and the smile he wore on his face was that of sheer madness.

He struck the few left to battle. Too tired to even raise their shields, they were smited easily. Flesh tearing away from their bodies with every slash of his sword. He walked proud and sure on the killing fields, knowing that death was at last tired of its harvest.

He had no steed, his regal beast was lost years ago in the thick of days. The days when men covered the land like a multitude of ants defending their queens. Those days were something to be seen, the carnage of war fully met by thousands head on. It was glorious to witness the birth of Armageddon. Still he was left the victor, the final King among dead Kings.

For days he marched across the land, heading for his own home, his castle. It was once said that the towers of his home were like candles for the Gods. The white of the marble was so smooth and cool to the touch, how many times had he placed his hands on them and looked up. He would imagine himself among those Gods. He would imagine himself as the only God. Some called him insane before the war of wars, they no longer lived.

He was fair to his subjects, but ruled with an iron will devoid of feeling. He once said to his court that a King could not afford emotion. A King was above mere men and as such, could not afford the feelings of men. This applied to the youngest child to the oldest man or woman. He would punish the wretched hordes as quickly as reward them. Loyalty meant prosperity and loyalty was something to be force upon his people with fear and pain.

He marched to his castle and after many days he saw his crumbled towers. He saw the dark scorched earth leading to the main gate. The gate that lay shattered on the ground before him. He marched into his home, a home unseen for many years. The last remnants of black skeletons scattered the courtyard, his people burned to the bone. He marched to the main hall of his court.

His throne was left untouched by fire. It stood on its raised platform occupied by his Queen. Her body was bloated and almost unrecognizable, but he knew it to be her. The love from his youth, old and dead now. His smile grew wider at the lost gesture of his enemies. His heart was melted before he was crowned King. On the day he ascended the throne, love became a luxury of the poor and weak. This display was lost on the King of all lands. He threw the lifeless corpse like a child would throw a doll. He turned to the empty hall.

“The King has returned!” He announced to the silent court.

King of all the Lands.

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Artist's Description

I have a story called the Land of Ash. It is a werewolf story…This may be the prequel as to how the King of the Wolves became the King of the wolves…we will see.

Artwork Comments

  • Naylor
  • Paul Rees-Jones
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