Castles, The Princes That Fought (Chapter 3)
Prince Brown galloped on his pony, riding circles around his men and laughing triumphantly. "Ha ha! We have beat poor Prince Green soundly! Ha ha!" The men cheered. "Tonight we shall all sip on flagons of mead big enough for two fists and no maiden shall sleep alone! Ha ha!" The men cheered more. "Let no one in this village make a mistake! Prince Brown and his men are the victorious party in this battle!" The men cheered louder than the first time but not as loud as the second time.
There was an awkward silence. Brown galloped around some more then they all rode towards the tavern.
"A flagon of mead for each and every one of my men!" proclaimed the Prince as he strode into the tavern. Above the bar hung a rusted wooden sign that read: Ilkspeake's Inne & Pubbe.
"Ilkspeake," the Prince remarked. "It sounds like the way someone would speak after coming down with the Rumrardian Flu." He cocked an eyebrow northward and his men took the cue to double over in laughter.
A rather prim man in a powdered wig approached and lowered a monocle at the Prince. "Beware, sir Prince. Ilkspeake is neither a type of biscuit nor is it a terrible malady as you have jested. Ilkspeake is the name of this town you are in. This town was named after a terrible dragon!" The room became silent and a light seemed to illuminate the man and his powdered wig as the tale rolled on. "This dragon lives high in Mount Tropicus. He once laid waste to this village, scorching our houses, burning our children and scorching more houses before flying back off to Mount Tropicus's snowy peaks!"
There was a general buzzing amongst Prince Brown's men but he silenced them with a simple wave of the hand. "Does this dragon have a name?" he said in a loud and deep manner.
"Yes," the man in the wig answered. "As I said it is 'Ilkspeake'."
Prince Brown turned from the man in the wig and clenched his fist. "Ilkspeake," he hissed through gritted teeth. "What kind of wretched villain names a dragon after a tavern?"
The man in the wig shifted awkwardly from one foot to another.
Prince Brown spun around, his battle cape nearly touching the man in the wig as he spun from the centrifugal force of the spin. "What is your name, wig man?"
"It is Thinecrump. Thinecrump of Lakes-o-lot."
"You will join us Thinecrump," the prince declared. He then unsheathed his mighty bastard sword and held it aloft. "With your knowledge and my steel we will show this Ilkspeake who is the truer warrior!" He punctuated his words with powerful upward thrusts of his sword.
The men cheered again but this time it was the loudest cheer. "Yay," they said.