Sick

WP] The finest blacksmith the kingdom has ever seen is personally invited by the King to his palace. He is given access to the most forbidden and advanced magic, a plethora of resources, all the assistants he could ever need, and a simple request: "make something sick as fuck".

*****

The Royal Wizard was on edge, to put it mildly. As the ‘Final Judgement’ was about to begin in the balcony of the highest tower in the southern castle, he rambled at the unfortunate audience member to his left:

“I have seen a lot of bullshit competitions in the name of politics and pandering; “celebrating the harvest,” “neighboring kingdom day;” whatever - but this is something different. The prince has lost it. He essentially gave a carte blanche position to anyone that was willing to take a risk. Do you remember the fliers? He offered “the most forbidden and advanced magic” which isn’t even real – everything we know is all out there already, there really isn’t much that’s even outlawed. Well, I mean, we kind of make it seem that there is, but it’s wild out there. OH. And get this. He also offered “a plethora of resources” which is to say – what? Access to the royal bank? Because what else is a “resource” really? Frankincense? Mir? Oh god - And me, right? He promised ME. He LITTERALLY said “all the assistants he could ever need” – fuck man, I AM that. He never funds any assistants for me, but then he thinks our infrastructure can suddenly produce “assistants”? It would take at least three months to onboard someone to an assistant level – FUCK!”

The entrant who finally won the blacksmith competition stood before the council for the Final Judgement. He showed his wears with which he defended his standing in the competition until now. Everyone was on the edge of their seats ready to see the show of what they had already read about in the broadsheets, but no one could come up with how they would be put together in the end.

The Royal Wizard continued to monologue at his trapped seatmate.

“Anyway, I was allowed to watch, but that’s it. The prince, for whatever reason said I shouldn’t be part of the judging until the end, but the end is just the last finalist here, so there IS no final judgement, just an expo at the end of the day. I don’t fuckin get it.

So, a sword imbued with lighting… ok. Sure, enough to get through the applications phase, but whatever.

And then he’s got a "human-blood-soaked cotton armor" – gross, first off – cursed with StoneSkin, but cast on the blood itself… Weird – I know, technically works - but that’s a lot of work for something with the qualities or just normal-ass leather armor. I mean, it’s just a combination of common spells and really not even that much to do with blacksmithing now that I think about it. But I wasn’t allowed to judge! FUCK! And to the dummies in the tower it’s certainly interesting enough to get through the second round of academic review, but what is this thing supposed to be? Undergraduate symposium? Have some pride!”

The Royal Wizards seatmate began to get visibly shifty, but it went unnoticed as the diatribe continued, even more loudly.

“’And get this - a 'skull-that-cannot-be-touched-without-massive-electric-shock-possibly-ending-in-death’ – what kind of bullshit title is that? Again, really cool, don’t get me wrong, this shit is right up my alley, and certainly enough to pass the second to last stage of the competition - which was something about arcane knowledge – I skipped it. But really, how does ownership of a skull actually say you are “The Finest Blacksmith” - I don’t know. Ok, shit, fine. Sorry. It looks like it’s starting – Sorry man. I’m just edgy. Ok. Shit, looks like he’s starting.”

The finalist stood in front of the Prince and the 99 members of the Royal Audience, invited to possibly the most amazing and spectacular performance of power and ingenuity in the lifetimes of anyone in attendance. He spoke - finally,

“So check this out”

Biting his lower lip. He paused just a moment. With wide eyes he showed the smile of a man about to jump off a bridge. He drew the sword from his side with his right hand. Glancing back up to the crowd and holding a skull in his left, he started chanting… something. Then his eyes flickered white, and he shoved the sword through the skull cutting through his own hand - didn’t even flinch.

Immediately the sky turned black. A giant wave of lighting rose from the horizon crackling with thunder as it grew into a sparking web growing around the whole visible kingdom. Moving toward the top of the sky, all the while spider-webbing and flickering, cracking - taking almost a whole minute to finally get overhead and complete an orb as everyone gazed up in fear and amazement.

And then, it was gone. And the blacksmith was gone.

No one could find him. They weren’t all that worried at first, seemed like part of the show - Everyone was overwhelmed with sights and sounds of the performance. However, over the next few minutes, as everyone’s vision and hearing was struggling to come back, people in the palace started to notice that ever single piece of gold plated anything and solid silver something and copper core whatever was gone - and replaced by just some kind of metallic dusty white powder.

They’d been had. They’d been fucking had. The entire ‘Final Judgement’ was just a smoke and mirrors show to rob the kingdom of all the precious metals under that damn dome. No one thought to look into the “Blacksmith” and his background because the Prince wanted the show ASAP. Turns out he was just a goddamn warlock with enough guile and chutzpa to fool a few judges, and enough balls to risk it all.

The Royal Wizarding counsel had nothing to say, they didn’t even have an idea of how to start thinking about the greatest theft in history. Days went by while the royal board rushed around trying to look busy with having absolutely nothing to show for all the busy work they had 'overseen'.

The whole kingdom got got.

The Prince only had one thing to say about the fiasco, which would ultimately dethrone him. Twelve days of the entire kingdom coming undone due to some filthy charlatan’s lighting storm of thievery:

“…that was fuckin sick.”

*****

THE END

It's funny how I got this particular prompt today, because I'm down with malaria sadly. I don't even feel so good, and I hope things get better.