The Irony of Pretentiousness

Chapter 2

He awoke, feeling slightly fatigued, regardless of the nine hours of sleep. Hell, it was practically noon! He smirked at this achievement, praising his long-awaited allowance to sleep for nine, uninterrupted hours. Usually, in order to attain such a feat, he required the aid of holistic sleep aids. Perhaps he should develop a schedule, it is not as though Albel The Wicked was going to be awakened by anyone that wasn't already suicidal.

Albel, ever compassionate, contemplated the sheer factor of awesomeness involved in slaughtering a few insipid Aquarians. He could not conceal a twisted grin as the images wafted through his demented mind, "The miserable fools wont last! I will make my presence known to them, and they still will stand powerless!" He was fond of soliloquies.

Traveling into the Kingdom now might be better than waiting until nightfall, being left to float around is always suspicious. Albel rarely showed his face in the Kingdom, unless Arzei sought audeience, or Albel felt compelled to visit a tavern. While Arzei's patrol guards have never been wise, Arzei would be concerned with him at the moment of their mentioning his name.

"I suppose that I have few options to sift... I'll remain in the tavern until nightfall, saunter to my true destination, and satisfy my lust!" Albel's eyelids fell, covering half of his eyes lazily.

He gazed downward, his clothes were scattered on the floor. With an exaggerated sigh, he climbed out of his bunk, wrestled his clothes onto his body, grabbing his katana as he left the room. The Kirlsa Training Facility had always been dank and drab, a perpetual eye-sore. At least it was spared the gaudy grandeur of Arzei's palace! Albel had never cared for aesthetics, at least regarding decor. Rather than stare at the numerous soldiers who addressed him with reverence and fear, he stared through them, to the walls at the end of every corridor. Everyone has always been, and will continue to be expendable.

The sun unleashed a wretched light to scorch his eyes and pale skin, while the humidity caused him to sweat, almost from first stepping foot in the sand. Not an appealing notion, he would prefer rain. Unfortunately, the trip would take longer by foot than that of what a typical dragon mount would offer. Complaining has never gotten him anywhere, he would rather move forward -the sooner he arrived in Airyglyph, the sooner he would be away from this wretched purgatory of molten sand.

Unaccustomed to common dialect, lifestyle, and hobbies of the Airyglyph inhabitants, she decided to remain within common gathering grounds. A crowd was easier to blend into than she had originally thought. She had changed her clothes to cover her intricate markings, and she had covered her head with a long hood to avoid catching a cold. The last thing she needed was to sneeze during a covert mission!

Compared to a native Airyglyphian, she seemed no different. People had assumed that she was a relative of the shops' owner, and she was welcomed with open arms. Luckily, for her, the shops' owner was not in town that week, which left a small margin for discovery of her allegiance.

Seated at a table on the second floor of the tavern, she sipped from her goblet of ale. The cold was depreciating, but at least she was kept warm by her cloak, protecting her from every burst of icy air emitting from the open window next to her. Unfortunately for her, she was unaccustomed to the habits of men in taverns. Alas, she was the only female in the establishment that evening!

gYou're gorgeous... How would you like to follow me home, beautiful?" A clearly inebriated man asked as he slouched over her table.

She rolled her eyes, and replied hesitantly, "I'd rather not."

gC'mon, let's have a little drinky together..."

Flashing a cold glare into his eyes, "Leave me be, or I'll relieve you of consciousness."

He staggered away, brandishing a facial confession of carelessness. Intoxicated men were always the most annoying... Though she had better things to consider than a petty man. For example, her plan to sneak into the palace basement. It would have to be a plan that she adhered to carefully. After all, there were prisoners down there who probably had not been in the company of a serious female for a long time. If she was not seen by them, the guards may not be able to detect her -oh, how men loved to cat-call.

Time was always passing slowly for her, she always felt bored when awaiting the task at hand. There was never any need for a hobby, it had always been one mission after the other. She had grown accustomed to a very demanding a dangerous lifestyle, all to protect her beloved Queen. Unfortunately, this operation required a lot more time to fulfill than she had anticipated.

"Well, look who it is!" A booming voice groaned from the lower level of the tavern, "If it isn't His Majesty's most disobedient lap-dog!"

She was not sure how far she wanted to move from her seat, despite her curiosity. Though, she would be the only one seated, which could also cause suspicion... So, she stood and rested against the railing, looking down upon what she assumed was the developing scene of a stereotypical bar-brawl.

His garnet eyes flashed an intense glare as he stared into the depth of the trembling azure orbs of the drunkard, "I would hold my tongue in the presence of greatness, were I you, worm! Lest you be impaled to the hilt..."

The drunkard nearly fell off of his stool, quivering as he stared up at the one whom he had foolishly insulted, "You're just like the rest of those bloodhounds! You have great strength, agility, and intellect, and your only use of it is through the torment of allies and enemies alike. You're all corrupt and defective lap-dogs!"

The intensity of the garnets were hid during a deep, guttural laugh, "Ah! But there is a difference between them and I, I hold allegiance with no man, whereas they expect a salary for an empty patriotic promise. That is where their allegiance lies, you insignificant whelp!"

The drunkard looked up into the eyes which had once again flashed open, staring into all of his senses. To the drunk, the man whom stood before him appeared to be an omnipotent force.

gFortunately, you possess a valid point in deeming every soldier 'corrupt,' especially considering their lecherous ways. I bet you'll be satisfied when a certain corrupt soldier acts no lament when he stabs you in the back during the heat of the war!"

Was it him? It certainly could not be anyone else. The man standing above the cowering drunkard was Albel Nox. He was truly despicable. The drunkard was clearly beyond his own mind, yet Albel was assessing him as if he were of sound consciousness!

She was disgusted by both Albel and the drunkard, however she was aware that Albel was in more control of his actions than the drunkard. She found it almost impressive that Albel could enrage her with nothing more than negativity directed towards another person. She wanted to briefly interfere, to call down to him, to tell him that this argument was pointless, and that if he were intelligent enough that he would have realized that. Instead, she watched from afar, growing progressively disgusted by Albel's consistent and ineffective assault.

Albel, despite his ever-present knowledge that he was frightening every inhabitant of the tavern, felt that his sense of superiority was fleeting. He no longer felt compelled to bear his fangs, therefore he allowed his anger to subside, whilst coldly dismissing the drunkard with his casual grin and bloodthirsty stare. A quickly delivered fright was always enough to keeps the drunks in their place... Well, anyone for that matter.

As the drunkard regained his minimal composure, he sat, whining to the barkeeper, as if the incident with the most feared man in all of King Airyglyph's military forces had never occurred. Albel nearly laughed aloud at the thought of a menial leech disregarding his existence, yet he felt no rage because of it. Instead, he climbed the stairs with a brooding strut. He took a seat near the woman whom was leaning over the railing, staring at the ground below.

She was nearly intriguing. Though he could not see her face, she was definitely too slender and shapely to be a male. He stared at her quietly, wondering if she was ever going to move. He chuckled as he considered that he may have confused her for a statue.

Oh, joy and perdition! She was enthralled and joyous now that Albel was sitting near her. There was no one else on the second floor but Albel and herself. She prayed that he did not speak, she did not want to address such a self-perpetuated antagonist. She could feel his eyes burning through her bodily-consuming cloak...

He sighed, "That is fabric unlike any that I have seen in this region..."

He knew.

With that sentence, she turned, walking calmly towards the stairs. Albel could not see any of her facial features, but he knew that she was not from this region.

He called out to her as she reached the last step, "Best not be from Aquaria, those scum are often killed on sight."

Staying calm was becoming a pain-staking process. She wanted to slaughter him in the same merciless fashion which she knew he had used on several of her late comrades. An overwhelming sense of malice juxtaposed her unnervingly calm stature, mirrored by the placidity of her concealed expression. As she walked across the tavern floor, the incessant, mindless laughing was evanescent -replaced with a resonating image of the smug grin that she knew Albel was wearing.

Night is falling fast, she thought, as she closed the door behind her. It was almost time to infiltrate the castle. Even at sunset, the guards still bothered to do their work. She wished that she could not believe the stories she had heard of their incompetence. No matter, she smirked, an hour's passing was all that was left... It was all that she needed.