#second of all i LOVE eda's clawed boots

[the-erickson-labrynthian]

The Cobalt Prince, Prologue; Act I, Scene I.

(Welcome to an old project of mine I have been wanting to share for a long time, the play “The Cobalt Prince” a manuscript I wrote back in 2017 under the poetic persona of Antoine Defairre. I’m happy to finally deliver the product to an audience for the first time, and I hope you are ready to read a tale of loss, love, passion, obsession, and death. Feel free to follow me for more and tell me what you think of the project! Without further adue...)

                                               Prologue: 

[A man walks upon the stage. He is old. Though he hobbles, he carries a sort of arrogance in his stride, sure that none understand the world quite as much as he. A ragged brown robe overtakes his face. He is a poor man. He walks upon center stage and looks to the ground as he speaks. This is Pollock, the narrator]

Pollock: Love. It is the thing that motivates all those who are born unto the eye of delicacy. I do not relinquish this fact of life, but instead, I tell that I faced it. I once sought out one who was more than delicate. I was a fool, and I paid for it in my world… (pauses). But this is not my world. This is about the tragedy of Matron. From the empire Matilia stood he tall, the strongest general of them all, they say. A man who took upon himself the duty to endlessly serve, they say. While a noble cause, it ended nought else but in the bloodshed of six kingdoms. These six kings knew he as a man who killed everything for his prince. They were right, and so they died. This beast of a knight loved nothing else but his prince, for so he was told by the sky. The sky did not speak of his fall, however, until his sweet prince’s empire was taller than all… (Begins to walk backstage) So sets... the stage.

                                            Act I, Scene I:

[The curtains open to the town pub: Harles. A band plays in the back as the knights of Matilia return from their fight upon Ragnarok. Enter Julius and Rogan, who take a seat at the table stage left while the dancers prepare for their performance] 

Julius: Once I come upon this man he screams. He runs away, but my knife is far faster. [Stabs the table] If only I was as lucky to lay a hand upon the king. Ramses needs a knife in the back. Or twenty-five.

Rogan: His army is something to see to believe. Chekov lost an arm in five seconds, I heard, when he went against just one of their royal guard.

Jul: I am not going to say Chekov has no place in the military, but the fool could cut off his arm while slicing a pick of bread.

Rogan: (Laughs) I am not one to agree or disagree, as to spare my own arm from being lopped off, but you’d be a fool to question the power of the kingdom. Ragnarok has killed many of our farms, just to spite us, knowing our attacks are useless. If it was Rosa or Santion we could pull a better chunk out of their carcass, but this is no kingdom for the talentless.

Jul: (Rising in anger) Disagree with me and I lop off your arm and feed it to you! Pick your poison, a seat upon the guillotine in front of Ramses, or a fight against me.

Rogan: (Sighing) Julius, bear with me. While you hold a strong arm and a strong tongue, coins buy the power. No sword strike of yours can match his blade.

Jul: A test then! (Julius leaps from his seat and onto the table) A duel with pride. Me versus anyone in this room who hails from Ragnarok, or claims any sword swung by their hand swifter than mine.

[Enter Bilov, a training boy who would kill any day, General Kall, leader of the Matilia military, and Matron, a foolish thief and the scum of the streets]

Gen. Kall: (Angered) So this is the pride of my army?! We lose a battle and barely escape by the seam of our pants and this is what we do when we arrive home?

[Kall shoves Julius off of the table]

Kall:  You do not serve yourself when you wear the badge of our royalty. On your feet and off your ass to the barracks, or my boot will do the work for you!

Jul: (Pauses, holding his side before he speaks) Yo. Heed not my pride, and instead look to your guidance and see how you could look towards improvement on the field. Do not treat your most valiant knight like a withering root. I am more than capable even after seven scoots of wine.

Kall: Valiant? As valiant as the rats who gawk at you here in this room! You want to say you are the best blade? Very well. Fight my son. Bilov?

[Bilov stands tall and holds his blade in front of him]

Kall: You will cut against Julius Monus. Prove to him the valiancy a bottle of brew can bring you. And, show him who are the kings and who are the servants.

Bilov: Of course, father. Choke at me Sir Julius.

Kall: Call not that fool a sir. He is no more knight than you are a man.

[The two carry on a small fencing match as they speak]

Bilov: I would say you have stature if you were an ape! Have you no posture?

Jul: (Mocking) Have you no posture? I may be an ape, but no child who swings as delicately as a butterfly may call me as such!

Bilov: Skin of Aphrodite, yet the bite of Ares, says I!

Jul: So you admit yourself a girl? HA!

[The two continue their bickering as Matron tries to escape from the claws of Kall, only to be pulled back]

Kall: Do not think you can run! A little troublemaker like you deserves to be beaten! I catch you stealing bread and now you try to escape?

Matron: Only a mouthful of bread sir.

Kall: The baker told me about seven mouthfuls.

Matron: Well I'll only admit to five! No, I mean four!

Kall: Quick-witted mouth and quicker steps, but a brain that can’t think half past the edge of the morning bed!

Matron: I am a dreamer, yes. I don’t need anything other than my morning bed, and three mouthfuls of bread.

Kall: Your dreams will die after you get a lashing for each mouthful. That’s three lashings then!

Matron: (Nodding exaggerated) Guess I earned all three. For those three mouthfuls.

[Matron smiles and leans against a wall. Kall turns his attention to the fight. Bilov is bouncing around dodging each strike but hesitant to attack]

Kall: For the sake of Eda! Bilov! Kill him!

[Bilov stabs the sword into Julius’s shoulder. Julius falls over the table knocking it to the floor with him. Rogan rushes over to comfort him]

Jul: (Howling in pain) Damn! I yield that I am not the greatest sword fighter in the room. However, second is best, so I hear. I was not the most valiant, though I put up a fight!

Kall: You are a fool, and if I wasn’t so kind, a dead one. Get a sleeve to put your shoulder in and then immediately to the barracks! We will need to plan much harder for a siege on Ragnarok.

Rogan: Julius, you idiot. Getting us into a toss up with the general? Get up! I'll help you on over.

[Exit Rogan and Julius]

Kall: Bilov! You will be training day and night for dragging the fight past the hour hand! You’re lucky you didn’t waste the last ounce of daylight today, either, or I'd give you a lashing just like Matron over here. What kind of knight aims for a shoulder?

Bilov: (Looks down) Yes, Papa.

Kall: General. I am not your father while you are my student.

Bilov: (Standing tall) I will lash myself for such a remark, General.

Kall: Off to the barracks with you, too, then!

[Exit Bilov quickly. Matron tries one last time for an escape attempt only for Kall to yank him back.]

Kall: Stop trying to run or I'll double the punishment! Thieves will always pay, don’t think your youth will allow you to escape.

Matron: Why does any thirteen year old have to be lashed with a whip? Fair not, says I. Make me king and I'd make it illegal.

Kall: Is that so? You want to be king?

Matron: I wouldn’t mind.

Kall: Well, if you want such royal treatment, I'll have ‘em feed you a few grapes and rub your feet while they lash you. How many lashes again?

Matron: Two, sir.

Kall: (Shouting defiantly) I knew that! Two lashings with royal treatment. I'll even use the whip with the golden handle! For you, your majesty.

Matron: Be I king? I wouldn’t lash anyone. Not even someone who is as much of a mean man as you! I wouldn’t if I was general, either!

Kall: Well, I will give you some advice for your journey to become king. You will never get to the top being a kind man. The only ones who get to power with kindness are blessed by the gods themselves, and no one man this land is a blessed one. Especially a thief like you. No god, nor man, nor faint star in the sky is looking out for you. Better not think the world deserves such niceties, kid. Only fear can give you the obedience of your land.

Matron: Well, it’s a good thing you aren’t a king.

Kall: Enough of your annoying attitude. Off to the lashing!

Matron: I guess I do deserve my... one, (He holds) singular painful lash.

Kall: One mighty lash! One mighty lash for your mouthfuls of bread!

[Matron smiles. He looks to the table that was ruined as Kall leaves. Matron exits. The stage goes black.]