Boban Marjanovic 17 Points Full Highlights (1/21/2016)

The king of the kingdom sat on his throne. Suddenly waving away the six beautiful maidens who took turns feeding fine fruits into his mouth, he announced to his court, “bring to me the disgraced former king!”

There was much bustling and activity at the king’s words. In just a few minutes, a dirty and haggard man was brought up from the dungeons which were located directly underneath the kingly hall.

“Thank you,” he told the pair of soldiers who had been tasked with the retrieval of the prisoner. Despite the staid demeanor that had been instilled in them during training, the two of them smiled slightly, happy to receive praise from a king who was not often in the mood to give it. “Bring him to my feet.”

The soldiers roughly pushed the man towards the King’s throne, which sat upon a pedestal at the front of the grand hall. The man stumbled in his shackles and landed hard upon the flagstone floor. After making no attempt to rise again to his feet, he was dragged the rest of the way.

Boban Marjanovic leered as the weak, emaciated form of Tim Duncan was brought closer to him. There had been a time when King Duncan had been beloved throughout the land; as recently as the last harvest, every peasant both knew and adored their benevolent ruler. But a great power had awakened in the East, and King Duncan had been overthrown, having foolishly ignored the warning signs until it was too late.

“Ah, Tim. How has the dungeon master been treating you?”

Tim, barely possessing the strength to lift his head, looked up at Boban. He attempted to speak, but his throat was wrecked by countless hours of torture-induced screams, and only a weak croak was heard.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Boban mocked. “Royal cup-bearer! Give this man a sip of water to soothe his lips.”

A goblet of water was promptly retrieved and placed next to Tim, who struggled to sit up. Finally getting himself upright, Tim held the cup carefully in both hands and shakily brought it up to his mouth to drink. Immediately, he began to splutter and cough.

Boban laughed. “Fool! It is my own urine that you drink!”

Tim collapsed again, defeated and shamed. The cup of yellow liquid fell from his hands and spilled upon the floor.

“My PER is highest in the known world,” Boban stated, although it was hard to tell if Tim heard these words as he lay shivering at the feet of the new king. “You can travel to the distant sultanates of Arabia, to the war-mongering tribes in Africa, even to far Muscovy, and nowhere will you find a man whose PER exceeds my own.”

Tim, defiant even in his pain, mumbled, “Jordan…Mickey…”

“SILENCE!” Boban bellowed, anger flashing across his eyes. “That name is forbidden in my hall! However, I am a kind man, and I will allow you a chance at repentance.” Boban rose from his gilded throne and stood near where Tim lay. “Lick my feet, you worm. Lick them in deference to the lord of this, the most powerful kingdom in the world.”

Lifting himself to his knees, Tim crawled close to Boban’s exposed feet, and spat.

Boban’s fury was unleashed in full. “You do not spit upon the king! Death will be your punishment!” he yelled, turning away and returning to his throne. “My soldiers! Remove this man from my sight. By my holy decree, the sun will never again kiss his skin, nor will fresh air again caress it. Make sure the deed is done as slowly and painfully as is possible.”

Tim was soon dragged away, yet Boban remained incensed long after the man’s screams could be heard echoing throughout the dungeon. Finally, he clapped his hands once, and his six maidens returned. “Resume my supper,” he ordered. Mockery he could not tolerate, but the insulter was being dealt with, and he knew that he would face no more challenges in the coming years.

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