Omnes Laudate Regem. Vivat Rex
Feb 20, 2022 21:38:49 GMT -5
Marcus Welsh, Thunder Knuckles, and 1 more like this
Post by Outcast on Feb 20, 2022 21:38:49 GMT -5
"There can be no failure to a man who has not lost his courage, his character, his self respect, or his self-confidence. He is still a King."
It's as if Orison Swett Marden was speaking of me directly when he pinned this famous line. Or, perhaps I had heard this quote at a young and formidable time in my life and it had rooted deep into my subconscious. Like the vast growing roots of a tree it dug deep and wide into me wrapping its roots around my mind, body, and soul. It had molded me to be a man who doesn't know what it is to yield, let alone to give up.
I had at an early age learned what it is to be a failed man, after all I was raised by one. I knew what it was to be broken in every form and fashion of the word. I had vowed that would never be me, and I believe in my heart of hearts that it was not. I have been left bleeding, broken, and on death's doorstep, but time and time again I would climb back up to my throne. I am the king.
The king of my own domain.
The king of the mountain.
The king of OCW.
Many men tried to deny me the crown, and in the end it was them that lost their kingdoms at my hands. Many have come for my crown, and just like those that tried to deny me of my rightful place, they have been left bloody and broken.
My breath from my lungs.
My blood from my veins.
My heart from my chest.
My soul from my being.
These are all things that must be taken before anyone can take my throne.
The jewel encrusted forehead of my crown rest against the handle of my longsword as I brood alone in my chambers. My kingdom was under attack, and this time it was not merely one kingdom coming for mine. That would cause me no bother, even two kingdoms would not unsettle me, as for but only a few moons ago I had dispatched two supposed legendary armies with ease.
This though, this was different.
This time, all the nation's of the Earth were set to come for my throne. This is what has my mind in a state of unease. Fear, it is a feeling I am unfamiliar with, and it has lurked into my mindseye.
Not the fear of losing my throne, but the fear that there will be nothing for me to rule over but scorched Earth once the ashes of war have settled.
"Um… your highness, I hate to intrude, but the city gates have been breached.".
Ah, Mikey, the court jester, as loyal as he was dense. He had all the qualities of a fine lacky, loyal to a fault, funny as a lark, and the brains of a child. Of course, like any child he had tried his master, and in putting him in his place I had nearly ended his life with an ice dagger. But, since sparing his life he had remembered his place, and served it well.
Raise the drawbridge, and divert the royal guards to evacuate the town square.
But… your highness… who…who will defend the castle?
As I rise and clutch the handle of my sword my aura is all that is needed, no words must be spoken. It is clear, even to the simpleton Mike, that I alone would defend the crown.
Mike bows before scurrying away as I move to my window. From where I can look out upon my entire kingdom. A kingdom that had flourished under my rule. I had saved this kingdom from the poisonous venom that had infected it, and had exiled the chamber-pot cleaner who had once vied for my crown. Since that time my kingdom had been mocked and ridiculed in public, but in secret many had wished to join the kingdom, but knew they did not posses the stomach or spine to survive in the wilds that I ruled over.
I look at those that dared to come for my crown, the army that had dubbed itself the Incredible army. I had yet to understand what was so incredible about it. The only thing in regards to being incredible, was their incredible ability to declare war only for the battlefield to remain absent of their soldiers when the time for battle had come.
Another army, one of maiden hell riders led by their queens, one of whom had longed to share my bed. Perhaps at a different time in my life, or under different circumstances I would have indulged her lustful desires, but in this hour she and her sister are both enemies, just as all who dare come for my throne are declared enemies to the crown.
I scan my city, and see it has been overrun. Perhaps if I had been one for treaties or alliances I wouldn't be standing against all the armies of the land alone. Or, perhaps I would just have a dagger plunged into my back and my crown stolen by a thief who snuck in to steal and kill. No, I stand alone, just as I always had and always will.
Besides, as I look upon the army of the Canadian hobos led by their platinumed haired General, I'm glad that I had not made alliances. To be dependent on anyone, or anything is nothing but weakness, because sooner or later those people or those things will fail you. Thus you will ultimately fail, as your crutches that hold you up break away and leave you stranded and unable to carry yourself.
All of these armies vied for my crown, but none of them were willing to face me alone on the field of battle. Instead they chose to rape and pillage their any across the land to come for my crown. They do this, because they know in their heart or hearts they could never take my crown on an even plain of battle. Instead they bolster their standings and collect their lower spoils of war as they meet their ultimate demise at my hands.
Pathetic.
I can and I will defend my crown against these pestilent invaders. I of course have the luxury of holding the high ground and waiting for them to come to me. See, these invaders all gather and put on a show of unity. They blare the same battle cry and charge in together. But, where will this unity be when it comes time for one and one alone to claim my crown?
How long will it be "all of us are equal", until it becomes "all of us are equal,but some of us are more equal"?
Indeed, you all are equal.
Equally unworthy of my crown.
And yes, some of you are more equally unworthy.
Would I sit back and wait to see who among the invaders would be the one to enter my throne room and try for my crown?
One that may be called a "wise man", would say to wait. To let the last weary warrior step into your throne room, depleted from battle. This would make him easy prey, easily beatable. These things are true, but where would the glory be in that victory?
I took pride in becoming king, and losing the crown, I'll be it for only a brief moment sent me over the edge and spiraling down but figuratively and literally. Then, when I reclaimed my crown, it was under a dark cloud of doubt, but I never doubted myself or my rule.
Rather than return to battle against me, the chamber-pot cleaner fled the continent and now lives in shame and exile, forever branded a coward. But, my true claim to the throne was questioned by many in the land. So, I proved to doubters that their lack of faith was ill-conceived. I proved this by vanquishing the nobleman that was held up by the commoners as their chosen one. Now he serves as the court jester.
Then a new challenge arose, a man that was once an honored knight of the kingdom, but for whom the crown had ever eluded. He was flanked by a highly honored former king, who felt that this so-called "Marvelous" knight would make a better ruler than I. For them, I opened the dungeon and served as their taskmaster. Their questions of my ability to rule were answered with pain and punishment, and that same pain and punishment will be delivered ten fold upon the head of whomever steps into my throne room in an attempt to claim my throne.
Then again… why settle for just one?
Why destroy the one challenger that is unlucky enough to make it to me?
Why not destroy them all?
Why not reign down fire and brimstone upon all those who dare come for my crown?
I feel a wicked smile slowly creep across my face like a frost would creep over a Meadow on a crisp fall morning.
I leap from the window and spread my arms out wide as I fly through the air. I feel the wind against flesh, and then feel the blood and adrenaline that rushes through my veins transform that very flesh. My fingers and their nails extend and become claws. My fur cape that whips in the wind connects to my body and the fur gives way to the leather wings underneath. My clothing gives way to my hard scaled body, and my mouth that normally spews inflammatory comments now releases straight fire.
My fall turns into a glide as I swoop over my challengers. Their spears and arrows bounce off of me like the insults and comments of my detractors. I make this pass to ensure they all know that I have come for them, that THEIR KING… will not wait for a war, he is the war.
I turn and head right for the angry mobs masquerading as armies. I open my mouth so wide I fear my jaw may become unhinged. Just as I prepare to ignite my sulfuric breath something flies into my mouth choking me. It isn't a deadly blow, but more of an annoyance. As if I were riding horseback and a bug had flown down my throat.
*HHHHAAAACCKKK PHEWWWW!*
I cough up the slight annoyance from the back of my throat and spit it out. To my surprise an owl rolls across the ground, covered in my saliva. Ah, the Hooter, serving in her typical role of the slightly annoying distraction.
I swoop back at this owl, and gulp her down my throat. A single swallow and she is gone. Huh, how funny that many of your mothers should have done the same thing to save the world from having to deal with you. And yes, I am referring to PerZag and Kelson Hewitt.
I feel the spears and arrows of the invaders bouncing off of my back, and I turn to face them. Then, when they are face to face with the monster their bravery and bravado quickly fades. Just as when they hurl their insults and threats behind my back as a man, but quiver when they look me in the eye.
Their fear cripples them, some even drop their weapons in hopes of being shown mercy, but they will find no mercy from me. LIfe has been merciless to me, so why should I be merciful to anyone else? This isn't "do unto others as you'd have them do unto youv. No, this is quite literally, "do unto others as life has done unto you".
I will be their beast or burden.
They all collectively shout, but not all shout the same. Some shout for battle, some shout in fear, and some shout just to fit in with the crowd.
A deep inhale, and a lung emptying exhale is my only response, and it is all that is needed. The invaders, their shouts, and their lives, all turned to vapor with a single breath. Everything they had worked for, everything they had, and everything they ever were, gone in the blink of an eye. That is what happens to someone when they come for all I have and all I've ever been, the crown and the king, only separable by death.
I return to my original form, the form of a man who has been rebuilt, restarted, and redeemed more times than most would in ten life times. I walk through the ashes of the remains of those that dared to call themselves my "challengers". Can someone truly be a challenger, if they are not even worthy of the challenge?
I think not.
No, these were not the ashes of my challengers, at the risk of sounding cliché, these are the ashes of my victims. For anyone who steps into the ring with me is not a challenger, but simply another victim. For all these challengers accomplish before more, for all their awards, all their titles, all their hype, their glory, and all their sound and fury… they end up nothing but ash. Their deepest desire, their hopes, and their dreams… completely burned out.
I halt my steps and notice a skull among the ashes. The flesh and hair not fully consumed by my flames, leaving just enough to identify the remains. I kneel down and lift the skull by the remains of the braided hair. It doesn't take me but a moment to realize this is the not-so-quite fully formed skull of Brim.
I smirk, I had wanted to defeat this behemoth of a missing link one on one, but I'll settle for this.
I rub what remains of his top jaw and uncover his grill, the jewels of which are clearly fake, just like he is. Nothing but a cheap replica of a champion. He is the cubic zirconia to my diamond.
Then I feel a hand on my shoulder, it is the soft and gentle touch of a woman. Her words curl into my ears, "Long live the King. All Hail the King.".
I turn to look at my queen, and then...
My eyes shoot open and I find myself upon my throne. No, not my regal and royal throne, but my porcelain throne. Gone is the smell of burnt flesh and the sound of burning souls, and replacing it is the pungent and sulfuric stench of fecal-matter and the sound of an exhaust fan fighting a losing battle.
I shake my head trying to clear the fog. I use all my might to wiggle my toes and feel the stinging needle pain of blood moving back into a body part that has fallen asleep. As I fight my way out of this slumber I see the blue, football shaped pills strewn about the bathroom counter, it gets harder to knock this monkey off my back every time.
The feeling returns to my legs enough to stand under the aid of pulling myself up with the wall. But first I make sure to wipe my Thunder Knuckles after taking a Bobby Bourbon. I mean who stands up to wipe their ass, besides Chad Vargas?
I hold my body up by the counter and look in the mirror. When I go out it WILL BE like a king, and that king isn't Elvis. No, I will go out fighting and I'll take every motherf**ker with me that I am.
Heavy may be the head that wears the crown, but no one's got a stronger neck than me.
I look from my haggard face in the mirror to the pills on the counter, scoop them up and drop them into the toilet, before flushing them down the drain like they were Gideon Cross's career.
As I watch the scene even more disgusting than the line up of entrants into Carpe Noctem disappear I think of how very soon all of my challengers and naysayers will disappear too. Then, I will sit unquestioned and undisputed upon my throne as the king of OCW.
Hail to the King, long love the king.
Omnes Laudate Regem. Vivat Rex.
It's as if Orison Swett Marden was speaking of me directly when he pinned this famous line. Or, perhaps I had heard this quote at a young and formidable time in my life and it had rooted deep into my subconscious. Like the vast growing roots of a tree it dug deep and wide into me wrapping its roots around my mind, body, and soul. It had molded me to be a man who doesn't know what it is to yield, let alone to give up.
I had at an early age learned what it is to be a failed man, after all I was raised by one. I knew what it was to be broken in every form and fashion of the word. I had vowed that would never be me, and I believe in my heart of hearts that it was not. I have been left bleeding, broken, and on death's doorstep, but time and time again I would climb back up to my throne. I am the king.
The king of my own domain.
The king of the mountain.
The king of OCW.
Many men tried to deny me the crown, and in the end it was them that lost their kingdoms at my hands. Many have come for my crown, and just like those that tried to deny me of my rightful place, they have been left bloody and broken.
My breath from my lungs.
My blood from my veins.
My heart from my chest.
My soul from my being.
These are all things that must be taken before anyone can take my throne.
The jewel encrusted forehead of my crown rest against the handle of my longsword as I brood alone in my chambers. My kingdom was under attack, and this time it was not merely one kingdom coming for mine. That would cause me no bother, even two kingdoms would not unsettle me, as for but only a few moons ago I had dispatched two supposed legendary armies with ease.
This though, this was different.
This time, all the nation's of the Earth were set to come for my throne. This is what has my mind in a state of unease. Fear, it is a feeling I am unfamiliar with, and it has lurked into my mindseye.
Not the fear of losing my throne, but the fear that there will be nothing for me to rule over but scorched Earth once the ashes of war have settled.
"Um… your highness, I hate to intrude, but the city gates have been breached.".
Ah, Mikey, the court jester, as loyal as he was dense. He had all the qualities of a fine lacky, loyal to a fault, funny as a lark, and the brains of a child. Of course, like any child he had tried his master, and in putting him in his place I had nearly ended his life with an ice dagger. But, since sparing his life he had remembered his place, and served it well.
Raise the drawbridge, and divert the royal guards to evacuate the town square.
But… your highness… who…who will defend the castle?
As I rise and clutch the handle of my sword my aura is all that is needed, no words must be spoken. It is clear, even to the simpleton Mike, that I alone would defend the crown.
Mike bows before scurrying away as I move to my window. From where I can look out upon my entire kingdom. A kingdom that had flourished under my rule. I had saved this kingdom from the poisonous venom that had infected it, and had exiled the chamber-pot cleaner who had once vied for my crown. Since that time my kingdom had been mocked and ridiculed in public, but in secret many had wished to join the kingdom, but knew they did not posses the stomach or spine to survive in the wilds that I ruled over.
I look at those that dared to come for my crown, the army that had dubbed itself the Incredible army. I had yet to understand what was so incredible about it. The only thing in regards to being incredible, was their incredible ability to declare war only for the battlefield to remain absent of their soldiers when the time for battle had come.
Another army, one of maiden hell riders led by their queens, one of whom had longed to share my bed. Perhaps at a different time in my life, or under different circumstances I would have indulged her lustful desires, but in this hour she and her sister are both enemies, just as all who dare come for my throne are declared enemies to the crown.
I scan my city, and see it has been overrun. Perhaps if I had been one for treaties or alliances I wouldn't be standing against all the armies of the land alone. Or, perhaps I would just have a dagger plunged into my back and my crown stolen by a thief who snuck in to steal and kill. No, I stand alone, just as I always had and always will.
Besides, as I look upon the army of the Canadian hobos led by their platinumed haired General, I'm glad that I had not made alliances. To be dependent on anyone, or anything is nothing but weakness, because sooner or later those people or those things will fail you. Thus you will ultimately fail, as your crutches that hold you up break away and leave you stranded and unable to carry yourself.
All of these armies vied for my crown, but none of them were willing to face me alone on the field of battle. Instead they chose to rape and pillage their any across the land to come for my crown. They do this, because they know in their heart or hearts they could never take my crown on an even plain of battle. Instead they bolster their standings and collect their lower spoils of war as they meet their ultimate demise at my hands.
Pathetic.
I can and I will defend my crown against these pestilent invaders. I of course have the luxury of holding the high ground and waiting for them to come to me. See, these invaders all gather and put on a show of unity. They blare the same battle cry and charge in together. But, where will this unity be when it comes time for one and one alone to claim my crown?
How long will it be "all of us are equal", until it becomes "all of us are equal,but some of us are more equal"?
Indeed, you all are equal.
Equally unworthy of my crown.
And yes, some of you are more equally unworthy.
Would I sit back and wait to see who among the invaders would be the one to enter my throne room and try for my crown?
One that may be called a "wise man", would say to wait. To let the last weary warrior step into your throne room, depleted from battle. This would make him easy prey, easily beatable. These things are true, but where would the glory be in that victory?
I took pride in becoming king, and losing the crown, I'll be it for only a brief moment sent me over the edge and spiraling down but figuratively and literally. Then, when I reclaimed my crown, it was under a dark cloud of doubt, but I never doubted myself or my rule.
Rather than return to battle against me, the chamber-pot cleaner fled the continent and now lives in shame and exile, forever branded a coward. But, my true claim to the throne was questioned by many in the land. So, I proved to doubters that their lack of faith was ill-conceived. I proved this by vanquishing the nobleman that was held up by the commoners as their chosen one. Now he serves as the court jester.
Then a new challenge arose, a man that was once an honored knight of the kingdom, but for whom the crown had ever eluded. He was flanked by a highly honored former king, who felt that this so-called "Marvelous" knight would make a better ruler than I. For them, I opened the dungeon and served as their taskmaster. Their questions of my ability to rule were answered with pain and punishment, and that same pain and punishment will be delivered ten fold upon the head of whomever steps into my throne room in an attempt to claim my throne.
Then again… why settle for just one?
Why destroy the one challenger that is unlucky enough to make it to me?
Why not destroy them all?
Why not reign down fire and brimstone upon all those who dare come for my crown?
I feel a wicked smile slowly creep across my face like a frost would creep over a Meadow on a crisp fall morning.
I step into the window and look upon those that dared to ravage my kingdom. I hope they enjoy the spoils they have feasted on as of late, for from this moment henceforth, they shall dine only on my scraps.
I leap from the window and spread my arms out wide as I fly through the air. I feel the wind against flesh, and then feel the blood and adrenaline that rushes through my veins transform that very flesh. My fingers and their nails extend and become claws. My fur cape that whips in the wind connects to my body and the fur gives way to the leather wings underneath. My clothing gives way to my hard scaled body, and my mouth that normally spews inflammatory comments now releases straight fire.
My fall turns into a glide as I swoop over my challengers. Their spears and arrows bounce off of me like the insults and comments of my detractors. I make this pass to ensure they all know that I have come for them, that THEIR KING… will not wait for a war, he is the war.
I turn and head right for the angry mobs masquerading as armies. I open my mouth so wide I fear my jaw may become unhinged. Just as I prepare to ignite my sulfuric breath something flies into my mouth choking me. It isn't a deadly blow, but more of an annoyance. As if I were riding horseback and a bug had flown down my throat.
*HHHHAAAACCKKK PHEWWWW!*
I cough up the slight annoyance from the back of my throat and spit it out. To my surprise an owl rolls across the ground, covered in my saliva. Ah, the Hooter, serving in her typical role of the slightly annoying distraction.
I swoop back at this owl, and gulp her down my throat. A single swallow and she is gone. Huh, how funny that many of your mothers should have done the same thing to save the world from having to deal with you. And yes, I am referring to PerZag and Kelson Hewitt.
I feel the spears and arrows of the invaders bouncing off of my back, and I turn to face them. Then, when they are face to face with the monster their bravery and bravado quickly fades. Just as when they hurl their insults and threats behind my back as a man, but quiver when they look me in the eye.
Their fear cripples them, some even drop their weapons in hopes of being shown mercy, but they will find no mercy from me. LIfe has been merciless to me, so why should I be merciful to anyone else? This isn't "do unto others as you'd have them do unto youv. No, this is quite literally, "do unto others as life has done unto you".
I will be their beast or burden.
They all collectively shout, but not all shout the same. Some shout for battle, some shout in fear, and some shout just to fit in with the crowd.
A deep inhale, and a lung emptying exhale is my only response, and it is all that is needed. The invaders, their shouts, and their lives, all turned to vapor with a single breath. Everything they had worked for, everything they had, and everything they ever were, gone in the blink of an eye. That is what happens to someone when they come for all I have and all I've ever been, the crown and the king, only separable by death.
I return to my original form, the form of a man who has been rebuilt, restarted, and redeemed more times than most would in ten life times. I walk through the ashes of the remains of those that dared to call themselves my "challengers". Can someone truly be a challenger, if they are not even worthy of the challenge?
I think not.
No, these were not the ashes of my challengers, at the risk of sounding cliché, these are the ashes of my victims. For anyone who steps into the ring with me is not a challenger, but simply another victim. For all these challengers accomplish before more, for all their awards, all their titles, all their hype, their glory, and all their sound and fury… they end up nothing but ash. Their deepest desire, their hopes, and their dreams… completely burned out.
I halt my steps and notice a skull among the ashes. The flesh and hair not fully consumed by my flames, leaving just enough to identify the remains. I kneel down and lift the skull by the remains of the braided hair. It doesn't take me but a moment to realize this is the not-so-quite fully formed skull of Brim.
I smirk, I had wanted to defeat this behemoth of a missing link one on one, but I'll settle for this.
I rub what remains of his top jaw and uncover his grill, the jewels of which are clearly fake, just like he is. Nothing but a cheap replica of a champion. He is the cubic zirconia to my diamond.
Then I feel a hand on my shoulder, it is the soft and gentle touch of a woman. Her words curl into my ears, "Long live the King. All Hail the King.".
I turn to look at my queen, and then...
My eyes shoot open and I find myself upon my throne. No, not my regal and royal throne, but my porcelain throne. Gone is the smell of burnt flesh and the sound of burning souls, and replacing it is the pungent and sulfuric stench of fecal-matter and the sound of an exhaust fan fighting a losing battle.
I shake my head trying to clear the fog. I use all my might to wiggle my toes and feel the stinging needle pain of blood moving back into a body part that has fallen asleep. As I fight my way out of this slumber I see the blue, football shaped pills strewn about the bathroom counter, it gets harder to knock this monkey off my back every time.
The feeling returns to my legs enough to stand under the aid of pulling myself up with the wall. But first I make sure to wipe my Thunder Knuckles after taking a Bobby Bourbon. I mean who stands up to wipe their ass, besides Chad Vargas?
I hold my body up by the counter and look in the mirror. When I go out it WILL BE like a king, and that king isn't Elvis. No, I will go out fighting and I'll take every motherf**ker with me that I am.
Heavy may be the head that wears the crown, but no one's got a stronger neck than me.
I look from my haggard face in the mirror to the pills on the counter, scoop them up and drop them into the toilet, before flushing them down the drain like they were Gideon Cross's career.
As I watch the scene even more disgusting than the line up of entrants into Carpe Noctem disappear I think of how very soon all of my challengers and naysayers will disappear too. Then, I will sit unquestioned and undisputed upon my throne as the king of OCW.
Hail to the King, long love the king.
Omnes Laudate Regem. Vivat Rex.