Il Duca

Continued from...

Several years of languish and frustration behind the imperial walls, the man Randy and The Crush grew impatient, restless.

Resolve filled the hearts of these old warriors; revolt imminent.

Alas, it was not to be. The old King took his last breath; the throne assumed by a regal man of supreme boldness and strength of character.

The new King's garments flowed from his broad shoulders, glistened by the coated fir of the finest mammalian carcass.

The most high King, along with an ole cowboy General, set to the task of imperial expansion and glory. The man Randy and his aging Crush were in need of new blood - a hero to forge ahead to the ultimate prize.

So the King, in all his glory, brought into the empire a fair haired, bow-legged Duke.

This Duke, so noble and pure, flashed his brilliance and intelligence on the battlefield; hope filled the hearts of many.

For many moons, the Duke beguiled his enemies, yet ultimate victory remained beyond the grasps of the great Empire and to the detriment of the kingdom, the man Randy and his Crush could fight no more - the Duke left to his own charges.

Meanwhile, a new imperial rival arose from a far off land, unleashing the Dawgs of war. The barbarian leaders, called Mar-tee and Ber-nee, would Pound the Dawgs of war upon the Duke and his ragtag army of peasants.

The battlefield, littered with the calcified remains of canines, turned against the Duke - the dogged enemy drove the armies of orange to the precipice of annihilation.

With defeat imminent and the line crumbing before him, the Duke stood as a statue, resolute and strong; he heaved the armies of orange upon his back and marched to drive the enemy to a disparaging, humiliating route.

While the armies of Mar-tee were in full retreat, tail between their legs, a giant among men descended upon the lands. Led by a great General whom they called Tuna, the giant men suffocated the armies of orange and the great Duke, decimating the entire population of the empire before withdrawing victoriously.

Thy wounds healed, the Duke would surge forth the following year to meet Mar-tee and his Dawg's once again in battle. The epic struggle turned into a pitched battle of wits and guile.

Mar-tee, on the verge of laying waste on the Duke, saw victory slip away. The Duke, like a fox.

The bowlegged one marched upon the native lands of the red skinned peoples and was met with an angry swarm of natives whose fearlessness struck doubt into the Duke's peasant army. The red skinned natives destroyed the orangemen's lines and forced a humiliating retreat. The Duke, shamed.

Suffering in confidence, there would be no campaign the following year.

Hungry for revenge, Mar-tee came pounding upon the gates many moons later.  Arrogant and misguided, Mar-tee would suffer once again at the hands of the great Duke. The route bred confidence for the armies of orange; it was time to invade.

There was but one empire above all others; the grand prize if conquered. The empire was infatuated with the number forty-nine and their man Joe. The Duke would discover that his confidence was misplaced, for the peasant army was not enough in the face of the most elite army of the known world.

Defeat was certain from the outset, the Duke - a court jester - tried valiantly and in vain to win the day. The defeat, so massive and complete, would spell the end of the orange empire as a major power. The great King sulked in despair, while the Duke lamented against his ole cowboy General.

Revolution again filled the air.

To be continued...

This is a Fan-Created Comment on The opinion here is not necessarily shared by the editorial staff of MHR

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