"Throne Up"
King Korg, Part 2
by Edward Bolme
Read Part 1 "Throne Out"

"Okay, Korg," hissed Zet as he brushed the larger chunks of accumulated grime from his towering partner’s cloak, "this is important. Listen to me: don’t stomp."

"Whaddaya mean?" bellowed Korg. "I don’t stomp, Zet. I have an unpreshive—no, wait an imporuss—uh, I mean, I have a big and powerful stride."

"You stomp," said Zet firmly.

"Shaddup, Zet! My footsteps make my enemies get all scared of my mighty powers of dis? ray!"

"No, you stomp, because you wish you walked with as much of an air of authority as Agram did," said Zet wearily. "But you don’t, so instead you wear oversized boots and big armor plates and stomp a lot. Besides, this is Bograth. It’s a swamp. And you’re about to begin your coronation parade. Stop for a moment and think! Don’t mess it up by stomping all around; bad things will happen."

"Stop and think and it’ll mess up and bad things’ll happen?" said Korg, evidently having some trouble keeping up with Zet’s words. "Um, okay."

"Wow," muttered Zet under his breath, "you’re more than a few crystals short of a ring, you are." He straightened Korg’s cloak, then stepped back and surveyed the result. A slow smile crept across his thin lips. "Of course, that's exactly why this will work. And at long, long last, I will be free, free from you!"

"What was that, Zet?" asked Korg.

"Just thinking how happy I am to see you in that robe with that crown surrounded by these people," answered Zet.

"You know, Zet," said Korg, with grudging respect, "I’m glad you’ve stopped trying to be in charge all the time."

"I guess I finally recognized your true place in the cosmos, Korg," said Zet, glowering at the big Magi from the corner of his wide, yellow eye.

"Durn tootin?" replied Korg, "and don’t you forget it."

"Oh, I won’t. This is the happiest day of my life," said Zet with a sigh of relief. "Now it’s time to get moving. Don’t keep your adoring, um, subjects waiting." Then, knowing what was going to happen, the tiny Magi turned tail and ran as fast as he could manage without losing his balance.

Korg stepped forward, holding his head high. He lifted his feet and stomped hard, splashing his trousers with mud and grime as he walked. With exaggerated pomp he marched ahead, splashing through mud and muck and fetid water, dousing himself and heavily spattering all the Bograthians who had come to pay homage to their new king.

Thus he continued until one of his stomping feet hit a patch of very loose mud and sank in well past the ankle. Surprised and flustered, Korg tried to force his way through, but his other stomping foot buried itself up to the knee in the loose, churning mess. His balance utterly lost, Korg began to pitch forward. Desperately he held his scepter aloft with one hand and clamped his other atop his head to keep his crown secure, hence he fell forward from the waist and planted his face quite firmly in the questionable and squishy morass of Bograth.

In this rather undignified pose he floundered for a few moments, until his loyal subjects at last realized that their new ruler was not kissing the soil of his land, but was in fact stuck. They stumbled forward hurriedly to free him and set him once more to marching to his throne (which act, by the way, he performed with somewhat diminished stomping, and therefore considerably less trouble).

At last Korg reached the traditional throne of Bograth, a cluster of mushrooms of unusual properties. They grew only in this one place in all of Bograth, and in such a pattern that they resembled a large, ornate chair. The throne had lain vacant for the last five or ten years, and although no one could remember exactly why this was the case, they were all glad to see someone claiming the throne once again.

Korg stopped in front of the throne, rearranged his cloak a bit, readjusted his crown, then turned around and seated himself on the large toadstool that made up the cushion of the seat of power. As he sat down, a loud and rather obnoxious noise echoed through the swampy glade. Korg looked about with fury etched on his face.

"The, uh, throne mushrooms always make that noise, your all-great super highness, sir," said one of the Bograthians uncertainly. "We call it 'the trumpet of royalty.?

Mollified, Korg proclaimed, "Very well. Let this trumpet sound whenever I am present, to show proper respect for me and my power!"

* * * * *

"What now?!?" bellowed Korg! "What good is being All-High King if I can’t cause some dis…ray? I want to break things!"

"Well," said Brog, "here’s a couple of keen sticks?

"No!" shouted the impetuous ruler. "I want big things to smash!" All-High King Korg, Magnificent, Illustrious, Destructive Emperor of Great and Mighty Bograth, stomped about in a petulant rage until, predictably, he fell flat in some treacherous mud.

Seeing that he had been abruptly put into a more receptive mood, Olabra, the Elder of Bograth, stepped forward. "I have been doing some research, my king," she said soothingly. "There is Bograth, and there is Paradwyn. They should not be all that different, but they are. It is said that in Paradwyn, there is the Heart of Paradise, a magical jewel, and that this jewel is at the center of their defiance of Great and Mighty Bograth."

"How dare they?" growled Korg.

"Indeed," said Olabra. "Were we to find that jewel, we could make all of Paradwyn a paradise like Bograth. A paradise under one supreme ruler."

"Yeah?" said Korg. "Who?"

Olabra blinked a few times in surprise. "I was rather thinking of you, my king," she hazarded.

"What a great idea!" yelled Korg, leaping to his feet and spreading his arms wide. "Hear my idea, my people!"

"I rather think it was my? began Olabra.

"Shaddup!"

"Yes, sire," she said, but she smiled to herself as she turned away.

Read Part 3 "Throne Away"