thousands of years: broadly, and with lots of teeth.
"Well, kit. Y'can tell yer Fox King that th'Crocodile King sends 'er regards."
Glob's muscles began to unknot themselves. A message. Right. He could handle that. Wait 'till t'others heard he'd met the Crocodile King, the actual Crocodile in the fle--
The shot rang out and was hushed by the city's yellow smog, as the unfortunate Glob slumped back against the brick wall. Crocodile set the still-smoking pistol on his breast and shook her head sadly.
"One day, h'might've made a fine young man."
The King's companion, clinging to the her arm now with pale fingers, nodded, trying to school the fear from his features. He was safe, with the Swan King's mark, he was safe. Wasn't he?
Resuming their meandering pace, the pair continued down the alley and into the increasingly sunlit street. A few, who knew the Crocodile King's face, averted their eyes, or eyed the hired boy at her side with suspicion. Most, however, paid her little mind, apart from the eager salesmen who flocked to her side, recognizing her wealth, if not her power, as poor Globus had.
The identities of the city's four kings, while not hidden, are not widely known. Terracites regard them from a safe distance, generally preferring not to get involved with the Snake, Crocodile, Fox or Swan Kings beyond what's necessary in daily life. For the most part, they are respected as temperamental and lofty deities--the common people are better off worshipping them in a dry, impersonal manner that keeps them out of "royal" business and attention, granting them the safety of anonymity. Those foolish or desperate enough to pay homage to any one king quickly found themselves pawns on a board much larger than they'd expected, where they didn't actually know the rules and didn't seem to play by the same set of rules as the three other players did. Usually they ended up dead, sooner or later, by someone or other.
"Well, kit. Y'can tell yer Fox King that th'Crocodile King sends 'er regards."
Glob's muscles began to unknot themselves. A message. Right. He could handle that. Wait 'till t'others heard he'd met the Crocodile King, the actual Crocodile in the fle--
The shot rang out and was hushed by the city's yellow smog, as the unfortunate Glob slumped back against the brick wall. Crocodile set the still-smoking pistol on his breast and shook her head sadly.
"One day, h'might've made a fine young man."
The King's companion, clinging to the her arm now with pale fingers, nodded, trying to school the fear from his features. He was safe, with the Swan King's mark, he was safe. Wasn't he?
Resuming their meandering pace, the pair continued down the alley and into the increasingly sunlit street. A few, who knew the Crocodile King's face, averted their eyes, or eyed the hired boy at her side with suspicion. Most, however, paid her little mind, apart from the eager salesmen who flocked to her side, recognizing her wealth, if not her power, as poor Globus had.
The identities of the city's four kings, while not hidden, are not widely known. Terracites regard them from a safe distance, generally preferring not to get involved with the Snake, Crocodile, Fox or Swan Kings beyond what's necessary in daily life. For the most part, they are respected as temperamental and lofty deities--the common people are better off worshipping them in a dry, impersonal manner that keeps them out of "royal" business and attention, granting them the safety of anonymity. Those foolish or desperate enough to pay homage to any one king quickly found themselves pawns on a board much larger than they'd expected, where they didn't actually know the rules and didn't seem to play by the same set of rules as the three other players did. Usually they ended up dead, sooner or later, by someone or other.
