Tradition and Dark Lords: A Short Story

“Hey Sarge, I think the prisoner is dead!” Knuckles shouted from the cells. 

Sighing, Sarge got up from his comfy chair and strolled down the corridor. He didn't show it but he actually felt a bit uneasy. Ever since the old Dark Lord was overthrown by his apprentice things just weren't right. There weren't any screams, no torture, no scurrying rats, no crying, everything was nice, clean and pretty quiet. He could even see the stone floor, who had ever heard of a dungeon where you could see the stones through the grime and filth?

Of course the new Dark Lord said it was more efficient to just mind control the prisoners and get them cleaning up around the castle, and having someone else cleaning out the latrines was a good thing, but it just wasn't right. The Dark Lords dungeons and castle should be bleak, dark and dirty, not so clean and shiny.

He cut off his griping as he reached the cell. The prisoner inside was a new one, some wannabe prince and white knight type, who had been captured that morning. All of his companions had been killed already and turned into fertilizer, which was another break with tradition he wasn't too sure about. But at least the Dark Lord had taken the leader prisoner, if he'd been killed who could listen to the monologues and be humiliated in front of everyone during a big party? 

But if the wannabe prince was dead, well that just spoiled everything.

“Why do you think he's dead, Knuckles?” he asked. 

“Look at 'em, Sarge.” Knuckles pointed at the prisoner. “He ain't moving. He's lying on his face, with his arms under him, conveniently hiding his hands. He must of slipped off of that busted stool trying to find a way out.” 

Sarge nodded, that was good thinking, and one reason Knuckles was his second in command of the dungeons. “I think you're right.” 

“If I had the keys, I'd already be in there to see if he really was dead, but the Master won't even let me look at the keys after I accidentally let that one prisoner with the funny monkey escape last month.”

Sarge patted him on the shoulder in sympathy. “The new Dark Lord just doesn't like tradition. He's one of those new thinkers. But he's the Master, so we have to follow his rules.” 

“But tradition, Sarge!”

“I know, I know. But when the Dark Lord can cast lightning bolts from his eyes, tradition does have to give way. So let's go by the book,” he said, pulling out the new book of rules from his coat.

Knuckles rolled his eyes. “The book, it's always the book. I never had to use no book before, and I always did good.” 

Sarge ignored the griping, it was good to let the men complain a bit in private so as to work off some steam. “Now lets see. Chapter 4: Prisoner may be dead. Step one, shout at the prisoner.”

“What are we supposed to shout?” Knuckles asked.

“I don't know, it just says shout. Can you think of anything good?” 

“HEY! YOU DEAD?” Knuckles shouted. 

There was no response from the seemingly dead prisoner. 

“He ain't answering Sarge.”

“I can see that Knuckles,” Sarge said. He flipped to the next page. “Is the prisoner close enough to stab with your spear?” 

“I could stab him in the arse, if I stretch a little,” Knuckles said. 

“OK, go get your spear, I'll see what we're suppose to do after stabbing him.” 

As Knuckles headed to the guards room, Sarge took a second to rest his eyes. Reading wasn't exactly his strong point, in fact he'd only learned to read last month under orders of the Dark Lord. While letting his eyes rest, he thought he heard something moving, but he wasn't too concerned about it. 

“I've got my spear, Sarge. Should I stab him now?” Knuckles asked.

Opening his eyes, Sarge saw his second in command standing ready with the spear. “Go ahead. If you hear a scream, stop stabbing.”

Knuckles went to stab the prisoner, but stopped with his arm raised. “Um, Sarge, I think the prisoner moved. Was he against the far wall with his arse covered a moment ago?”

“Uh,yes, of course he was,” Sarge said quickly. He really wasn't sure if that was the case, but the prisoner was clearly dead, so he couldn't have just moved. He opened up the book again. “OK, we cannot stab him with the spear. So we are to get the crossbow and put a bolt in the prisoners chest, back or the head.

The prisoner suddenly jumped up. “I was asleep! I just like sleeping on the floor! And I was very, very tired! No need to shoot me!”

“Are you sure?” Sarge asked. “You're looking really pale. You might be a vampire now.” 

“Should I get the crossbow, Sarge?”

“No crossbow! I'll just sit quietly on the bed and not trouble you men any longer,” the prisoner said. 

Knuckles gave a pleading look at Sarge. “I really want to try out the crossbow. It's brand new and Dwarven made. I've never had a chance to use it.”

“Well...” 

“No need for that!” the prisoner told them. “Go back to your job and when the Dark Lord comes to torture me, I'll tell him what a fine job you've been doing.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Sarge nodded. “Well that's awfully nice of you doing that for us. I'm still not sure about all of these new rules, they aren't traditional at all, but we do try our best to follow them. It does the heart good to see that our hard work is appreciated. I'll make sure you get an extra crust of bread with your gruel for supper.”

“I don't know Sarge,” Knuckles grumbled as they walked back to the guardroom, “I still don't feel right not rushing in to see if a prisoner is asleep or alive when they're lying on the ground like that.” 

“I hear you Knuckles. But it's like the Dark Lord says, we have to get with the times. Now lets go make sure the Dark Lords pet ogres secure in his new cage. They finally replaced the rusty iron bars with adamantine ones. It's a thing of beauty, and it can't break out whenever it gets bored now.”

“That's just not right!” Knuckles cried. “Can't we just loosen some of the bars a bit. I have 20 bronze coins betting that that ogre will kill Freddy the next time it breaks out.”

Sarge let out a loud sigh, and let Knuckles rant. No one else seemed to care about tradition anymore.