[NPC] The Duke's Resolve

[King Ghidorah]

Note: The following posts take place between the sixth and seventh posts of This Thread. While Pinay was sifting the ashes, this is what Mothra went off to do. 

The Duke his Grace William Conrad van Harnburg, master of Castle Harnburg as well as its lands and titles, was feeling very pleased with himself. He stood on the balcony of his personal chambers, within the Westernmost tower of his keep, sipping an acceptable glass of wine and watching the last ruddy hues of daylight as they vanished beyond the cliffs on the far side of the lake. He scratched at his flabby neck. A sudden gust of wind ruffled his unkempt hair, tried and failed to pull his black silk nightgown from his paradoxically skinny shoulders, and the cloying chill made him smile.   

It had only been a few days since the destruction of the elven squatters, and already there was increased activity on the Western road. Not only that, but his spies had managed to arrange a controlled leak  - more of a rumor, really, omitting or twisting certain pertinent details - regarding Ghidorah's involvement, his other 'accomplishments', and his relationship with the Duchy of Harnburg. Other Dukes and Counts of Camelot had begun sending agents bearing subtle inquiries to Harnburg's court, seeking information on their mysterious new champion. 

By the time the Countess of Shatterdun put two and two together, it would be too late. If she tried to blame Harnburg for the destruction of her caravan, it wouldn't just be the Duke's word against hers - she'd be fighting the popular consciousness; At best, she'd seem bitter and petulant. 

If things continued in this vein, King Ghidorah would hand him Shatterdun on a silver platter.

Van Harnburg's smile dimmed a little at that 'if'. 

Ghidorah was still behaving, for the most part; After accepting his payment without a hint of gratitude or respect, and a brief rest to recover from his wounds, he'd taken to roaming the valley: interrogating peasants or simply following them around and watching them work. It was nothing short of unnerving; He practically oozed murder, and yet all he seemed to want to do was learn about every person he met. 

The Duke was still convinced Ghidorah was a greater asset than he was a threat,  but the more he saw of the golden giant, the more comfort he took in the knowledge that a backup plan was firmly in place. And if Ghidorah flew off the handle and Chatterly's special project failed... well, there was always one last option. 

Ghidorah wasn't the only Prime in the valley, after all. 

Beyond the cliffs, the last light of day disappeared, and the stars began to come out. Van Harnburg sipped his wine, an idle regret over the quality of his vineyards drifting across his mind, and he realized that he suddenly felt quite tired. He set his glass on the balustrade, tightened the sash of his gown, and turned to go inside. 

Abruptly, a voice behind him spoke, low and melodic, concerned - and just a little bit accusing:

"He's going to kill you." 

The Duke froze at the sudden interruption, but rallied quickly. 

"I beg your pardon?" he said, and turned to face his unexpected guest.

[King Ghidorah]

A luminous apparition hovered in the empty night-time sky that lay beyond Van Harnburg's balcony. The creature's white robes and flowing sleeves took on bluish tones in the starlight. Compound eyes sparkled at the center of faintly glowing circles silhouetted across rounded cheeks. The vision's hair, pulled back in a tight bun, shone with the vibrant glint of obsidian, and two delicate feathery antenna wafted and fluttered at the slightest touch of every evening zephyr. The softly feminine lines of a face the dark, off-tan color of powdered sand settled in a mysterious little smile as the new arrival repeated itself: 

"You believe you can use King Ghidorah as a tool. You're wrong - he's going to kill you, William."

The Duke retrieved his glass from the railing and swirled the last dregs of what he now (reluctantly) accepted had been fairly dreadful wine. He toyed with the idea of calling the guards, but decided against it. If nothing else, this was the most entertaining thing that had happened since breakfast, and he'd hate for it to be over too soon.   

"Really," the Duke droned, studying the - woman? Insect? 'Thing' seemed about right - studying the thing that had interrupted his evening.The new arrival's fashion-sense was familiar, as was the ethnic character of its face.  His brown eyes narrowed, and wrinkles appeared in his droopy cheeks. Something from one of Chatterly's recent reports pawed at his memory. 

"And who, may I ask, is making this ostentatious claim? I'd guess you were an agent of Sendai, but somehow that doesn't seem to fit... Might you be the 'bug lady' that my court wizard has become so enamored with of late?" 

The thing's smile widened briefly, almost immediately returning to its quizzical resting state. "Yes. I'm called Mothra. I'm a healer, and a Prime - and I know Ghidorah of old. However terrible you might think he is, he's much worse." 

The Duke drank the last of wine and grimaced, looking at the glass as though it were responsible for the quality of its contents. 


"You may not have heard yet," he said, "but Ghidorah is a champion of Harnburg. He destroyed the Coxley gang, defended our valley from a rampaging Prime, and he got the elves out of the western forest. Why, he's even taken an interest in the lives of the common people. He's practically a saint!"  

Mothra frowned. A sudden gust of wind made its robes flutter and crack. 

"Don't lie to me, William. I'm not here to argue with you; I want your help."

The Duke gave a languid smile, gesturing expansively with his empty glass. "Madame, you're the one floating in diaphanous splendor a hundred feet above my courtyard.  What could I, a mere Duke, possibly help you with?" 

Light flared in the healer's compound eyes, glittering hints of rainbows and lightning.  

"I want you to help me banish him," Mothra said. Van Harnburg set his glass back down and leaned on the rail, his face a mask of cold calculation. 

"Why," he said, "would I ever help you do that? Besides, that is, the risks you say he poses. Ghidorah is a source of great power and prestige for my valley, Mothra - and I'm not such a fool as to discard him on the say-so of a mysterious Prime - nor, for that matter, so trusting as to not have contingencies in play. If, by some tragic twist of fate, our new champion turns against us, my people are well prepared; So I suspect this conversation isn't so much about what I can do for you as what you're prepared to offer me."

Very, very slowly, the healer blinked.   

"You don't understand," lowering its head. "I'm not here to bargain with you William - I'm here to try to save as many people as I can. I was too late to prevent Ghidorah from destroying the Oskinder elves, but the next time he strikes, I will be there to stop him. "

The Duke frowned, and stood a little straighter. Something else Chatterly had told him about his surprise guest bubbled up through his tired brain; Mothra was like Ghidorah: A titan in quasi-human form. 

The balcony's stones were beginning to feel cold beneath his aristocratic feet. Mothra floated closer. 

"I see," he said. "And I again I ask - why do you expect me to help you?"

"Because when we fight," Mother explained, "there will be horrifying destruction. If Ghidorah loses his patience with you and I have to intervene, your valley could end up in ruins - it's the only reason I haven't attacked him already. I'm not threatening you, William - I'm trying to warn you. I want you to send him somewhere remote, where nobody will get hurt. I want you to co-operate in setting a trap - but not to help me; I want you to help yourself. Ghidorah is not a force you can control." 

The Duke thought about it. He flicked his empty wine glass with his forefinger, and it tumbled off the balustrade and disappeared into the darkness, shattering on the cobblestones far below. A distant, musical tinkle drifted upwards as it broke. When the Duke spoke, his tone was even and cold. 

"Thank you, madame, for the advice. However, as well as you presume to know Ghidorah, there is evidently a lot you don't understand about me; I am a prince of these lands,  one who believes in bold steps accompanied by careful action. My use of Ghidorah is nothing if not bold - and so I take appropriate care. I'll acknowledge that he's a risk - possibly even a great risk. But he's a risk I've prepared for, and one from which I expect to reap stupendous rewards. Your concern is appreciated, but I'm afraid I'm already resolved to this course." 

Mothra studied him for a long moment. "You're not being as careful as you're telling yourself you are," she said slowly, as if seeing how the idea fit, "You're addicted to Ghidorah's power."

Van Harnburg offered a wan smile and clasped his hands behind his back, emphasizing his chest, making it seem slightly less bony. The effect was spoiled, however, by his pudgy face and scraggly hair.  

"Perhaps... But I don't think so. Now, since you were kind enough to warn me, allow me to return favor. Stay away from Ghidorah. If you threaten the interests of my lands, the plan to deal with him could just as easily be adapted to deal with you. Obviously I'd hate to have to take such drastic steps, but I must consider the safety and prosperity of my serfs."

Mothra began to drift away, rising into the sky. There was sadness in its voice, and just a hint of pity. "I'm not a person you can threaten, William. Neither is Ghidorah, no matter what you might think. I'll return when you're ready to talk. I hope for the sake of your people that you realize what you're dealing with before its too late." 

The Duke watched the healer go. Soon, he was once again standing alone on the balcony of his chambers. 

"Mothra," he said to himself, "Hm." When nothing else interesting presented itself, he turned to go inside. Ten minutes later, he was sound asleep.