Fit For A King - Part 2

There was once a man who lived in a faraway land of flame and ash.

The man was born within a spiraling castle of steel and iron.

His birth brought great joy to his parents, and whos birth coincidently brought peace to many people. Although this peace was short-lived.

When the Man was a boy he respected his father greatly and took every opportunity he could to learn from his father. Although he was often separated from his father he cherished and committed to memory every moment they spent together.

The Mans father told him he would disappear one day. And when that happened it was the Mans job to rise up and take over the family business.

Eventually the father disappeared one day, and it was time for the man to rise to the occasion.

And rise he did....

Although much blood was spilt the man eventually took up his fathers legacy and took it to new heights.

Years and years passed....

Soon the Man had a son of his own.

And like his father before him, this son gave him great pride.

And also like his father, he disappeared one night. Leaving the throne to his one and only son.

And like his father before him it was unknown to were he disappeared one foggy night...

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Zote was unaware of the passing of time. His entire focus was directed upon designing the perfect coffin for the man.

It was of course the first coffin he was going to make for his new employer. Zote wanted to make a good impression. Or so that was the excuse Zote told to himself to explain his unending zest.

Zote pored over his notes again and again, searching for inspiration before hurriedly scribbling down all he could in a desperate attempt to draft down a perfect coffin.

Zotes imagination was fueled by an unquenchable thirst for perfection. His ideas were built upon the stories the man had told him.

Of course the man never spoke to Zote.

Not once. Not even a word.

He was dead after all.

Dead men tend not to speak.

But through the strange measurements he had taken earlier using the oddly shaped tools told a story that was unraveled before Zote's flickering green eyes.

A story of privilege and luck. A story of wealth and power. A story of blood and beauty. It was the story of royalty, and Zote reveled in it.

From birth to death the mans life practically played out before Zote.

Suddenly Zotes wrapped hands stopped .... Dropping the blood red pencil he had been abusing. Stepping back he admired his work for a moment, inspecting his design a few times before giving a satisfied nod. Looking back between the man lying upon his table and the design, Zote gave a satisfied grunt and waddled off to go grab some tools.

And left lying upon his workbench, in the view of only a single candle was quite the strange design for a coffin. Well... Cleff would have found it quite strange. To both Zote and the Man the coffin designed looked quite elegant and fitting..

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How did Zote manage to fit so much stuff into his backpack ? What was in the backpack ? And why did it occasionally shake and let out ear piecing screams ?

All questions, eternally left to be unanswered.

Let alone knowing how the oversized thing worked, Zote eventually forgot about all the random stuff he had jammed deep into its unending depths.

Of course that did not stop him from stuffing more stuff into the backpack whenever he had the chance. Nor did that stop him from somehow stop him from sliding out what appeared a gigantic block of silver block wood from a side compartment.

The scene was so shocking even Cleff from across the graveyard found himself staring mouth agape for a few moments. Of course he was the only one to witness the affair aside from his candles...

With some even more surprising strength Zote somehow managed to lug the car sized piece of wood onto another one of his foldable worktables.

Stepping back Zote sized up the piece of wood for a bit.

Of course he had not randomly chosen this piece of wood, he had taken his time diving through the contents of his backpack before he found what he was looking for.

Though his design Zote wished to evoke imagery of a certain castle of steel and iron. Though because he lacked metalworking skills nor did he have any iron or steel, he had to settle with a silvery metallic wood.

Sighing Zote picked up a random knife that was rather large and was tottering over the edge of another table.

Shaking his wrapped shoulders a bit, he dived right into carving his next masterpiece.