Hall of the Hog King 2
author: Hollow
oOo Two Days Later oOo
The great, food-loving King Belgoliath was presently in his chambers, partaking in an early morning meal that wasn’t served downstairs at his dining room table – he always had food delivered to him in the early hours, often two carts spilling over with various morsels for him to pick and choose from.
For example, on this morning, he’d feasted on four rows of cooked sausage links with ten large sausages per link, three bowls of fruit, and, two full loaves of bread – one with butter, and the other with jam.
King Bel was a very particular man whenever it came to his food – namely in the order that he ate things in. Typically, as he loved the savory flavors of meat, he tended to save the meats for last, as he did this morning, where he started with one of the loaves of bread, which was already cut up into several large slices. Despite his epic girth, his flab-covered arms were still able to droop down to grab onto a knife, as well as the large opened container of jam, so that he could spread the jam upon each slice of bread at his heart’s desire.
His mouth watered, and, he rather jovially swallowed one whole slice of jammed bread. Then another, then another, then another. He didn’t pause until the entire loaf of bread had been shoveled into his eager mouth, where it was promptly dissolved and devoured, the remnants funneling into the pit of his gut.
One of the unfortunate downsides to the curse that had been lain upon him, besides the fact his hunger was voracious and far beyond the natural levels of men throughout the land, was that he was granted a, to put it plainly, secondary curse – that being a rather thick, bile-like substance that his stomach generated in order to dissolve the food he shoveled into his great maw rather briskly, then absorb said food so that his appetite was appeased.
It was not exactly a glamorous thing, King Bel felt this much, but all his closest court members were aware of it, and, they saw to it to continuously have meals at the ready so that King Bel could gorge himself whenever he needed to.
He sighed once the first loaf was swallowed, then paused to dab his moistened lips and ensure that no crumbs remained. No matter how thick of a fatuous mountain the man was, he was a very tidy, neat person, and ridiculously clean – he rarely passed any sort of gas willingly in front of others, and he bathed three times daily, once in the morning when he first woke up (after some food, naturally), then again later on in the afternoon when time could be made, and then finally, a third time before he went to sleep for the night.
None could decry the man of his cleanliness, in essence, nor would any accuse him of possessing an unsightly odor despite his bloated belly – he refused to be filthy or disgusting in any way, and he was unfailing with his manners and earnest politeness.
Once he’d devoured that loaf, he drank some water, and then promptly started to gobble down the fruit bowls – shoveling the grapes, the apples, the sliced watermelon, all of it in, one at a time as he engulfed them into his great maw.
Then came the second loaf of bread, and finally, the large links of sausages were the end of this meal, and King Bel shoved one into his mouth, sucked on the sweet, juicy sausage for a long moment, then started to slurp them down, without even bothering to break apart the links. Not that he minded!
When he’d finished, he cleaned his face once more with a napkin, and then paused to eye his visage in a large mirror he kept in his quarters – one of two large mirrors, in fact, stationed on other side of the room so that the king could gaze upon his splendorous thick, plump form, both due to an admitted sense of vanity – he knew he was damn good looking, after all! – and to ensure that he looked presentable whenever he was brought downstairs for anything.
As it stood, King Bel was presently not wearing much in the way of clothes – his breasts were large, massive mounds dangling down upon the enormous expanse that was his stomach – his stomach protruded out like a great and beautiful sphere, spilling out onto the very carpet where his feet were standing it was so large, with numerous rolls that seemed to settle naturally in place. His navel, a crater big enough for hands and even a head, was barren of any gemstones at the moment, too.
“Hmm,” King Bel said to himself, and he lifted one chunky arm up, using one of the thick, meaty paws he had for a hand to prod at his thick, jiggling chin in thought. “Now how shall I adorn myself today?”
It had been two days since he’d received a letter from his brother, a fellow king that ruled the nearby land named Eaglecrown. King Bel wasn’t entirely thrilled by the contents of said letter given the rather sour relationship he had with his brother and a good number of his blood relatives, but, he was hopeful that the letter he’d had written up in response had arrived and was read – he expected a response, no doubt by tonight, knowing how his brother worked.
King Bel’s thoughts were intruded when he heard footsteps from outside his large rotating doors, and, after a moment, in strode a woman who carried herself with the confidence and empowerment of a thousand men.
“Ah, Lady Irika!” King Bel said with a booming, happy voice. “Good morning!”
“And good morning to you, my Lord,” the woman replied.
Lady Irika was King Bel’s royal tailor and his royal fashion adviser, among a few other stations that fell into her jurisdiction – she was a woman in her early thirties, standing tall and proud, and, naturally, beautifully in her own way. She was tan-skinned and possessed a very muscular, strong-armed body, with shorter black hair that fell neatly down to her ears. Her eyes were a strikingly pale shade of blue, filled with wisdom and experience, and her smile was broad and glistening. And of course, she dressed fantastically, the king felt.
Lady Irika was one of a small number of court members that had served King Bel since before he’d taken the crown for himself, and, she’d remained fiercely loyal and proactive in his daily life since that time. She was almost like a sister figure to the bloated king, and he was deeply fond of her, and appreciative, too.
Lady Irika walked up to the king and put a hand upon his giant belly, and for a moment, she ran that hand down into the rolls of fat adorning it. She slid both her hands into one roll and ran her fingers through it, firs to the right, then to the left, and she remained focused as she did this.
When she removed her hands from the large roll, a roll of flab that acted almost like a blanket, she trekked her hands toward the center of King Bel’s stomach – there, she abruptly plunged her left hand into his cavernous navel, and swirled it around, massaging the gaping hole until it reached the bottom.
“Honestly, Padrick,” Irika said – she was one of the very few people that openly addressed him by his first name, often using it without any honorifics when it was a private moment. King Bel didn’t mind one bit, either; she and Kelren, and if King Bel were being honest, his beloved concubines, could use his first name without ‘King’ attached to it if they desired. It wouldn’t offend him at all.
“Yes, Irika?” King Bel asked, watching her – and feeling her – dig around inside his navel. How lovely it felt to have her massaging the crater! It was immensely soothing, her touch sending sparks of sheer warmth and comfort flooding through every inch of his hefty body.
Lady Irika finally removed her hand and put her hands on her hips to eye him, a twinkle in her eyes. “If you keep getting fatter, your belly button might very well become my absolute favorite part of you to play around with, my dear.”
King Bel guffawed at this, so loud that his fat wiggled and danced about.
“Ah, Irika…” When he’d calmed his laughter, he beamed at her. “You might need to make a contract with dear Rane! My navel is her absolute favorite part, after all. I dare say she’d live inside of it if she could, which may happen!”
Irika scoffed. “We can share, I’m sure. Regardless. To business.”
She started to walk around his globulous physique, tracing her fingers along his bulging belly to his back and then around again to the front over the course of about two minutes or so. When she stopped again, she squinted, and studied the man’s form, then nodded to herself.
“How’s about we go with some green today, my Lord?” Irika offered. “There’s an emerald that’s perfect for your belly button, and, I already have pants and a shirt befitting your massive bulge. Loose and thick, just the way you like it.”
“Splendid!” King Bel replied, beaming once more. “Honestly, my dear tailor, you could put me in a sack and I would be a happy man. You always know how to flatter me, and you do a phenomenal job flattering my figure, too!”
She chortled. “I try my best, Padrick, I try my best.”
There was a pause, and, she looked up into his eyes. He saw in her pale, shimmering eyes the look of someone who was decades wiser than her young thirty-year-old body happened to be, yet there was a great deal of concern within those eyes that soon outweighed what had previously been mirth.
King Bel’s lips fell into a frown, his thick jowls sagging. “What’s wrong, Irika?”
“I heard the news from Kelren,” Irika said. “Your brother’s letter… That lout has a lot of nerve talking such trash to you, especially when so much of this is due to him!” She scowled and crossed her well-defined arms. “He was always the one poisoning you and your other kin with all that frequent talk of power and plunder, my King. He loved to gloat and boast about his conquests even when he was a child – I may be eight years younger than you, but, when I was old enough to hear and think, you bet I saw it all and understood it all then.”
King Bel’s eyes drooped slightly, but, he regarded her with a quiet contemplation. Her words were not entirely untrue, he felt, although he did not tend to cast the blame for his predicament upon his brother, despite their tarnished relationship. No, the damage he’d done to his once beloved wife…
He gave a heaving sigh. “Regardless, Irika… Much of the blame still falls upon me and my own foolishness. I cannot help that I am a man with ambitions ten times the size of this corpulent belly of mine, unfortunately. I lose myself to it.”
She shook her head. “Either way, your brother is a right asshole, Padrick.”
King Bel gawked at her for a moment of shock, then burst into a laugh again, a jovial, earnest bellowing noise that boomed through the room, shaking both his rolls and gut, and the very floor beneath their feet.
“Ah… you know, you’re right!” King Bel said. “It’s such a treat whenever you curse like a sailor, Irika!” He sobered his laughter and smiled wide and bright at his tailor-slash-friend. “Pardon me for saying it, but, I have always enjoyed women who curse so much. It’s such a treat to hear, and I’ll be damned if I don’t take a great deal of pleasure from hearing it, either!”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Irika said, patting his belly. “Tell me if your fool of a brother responds, and give me a date. I aim to ensure that you look your best, no matter what ugly, overly lavish atrocities the rest of them wear.”
“Of course,” King Bel replied, nodding.
With that, Irika turned on her heel and exited the room to go and fetch the clothing and accessories for the day. King Bel was happy to give her the time she needed, and, he was fairly certain when she’d returned and helped dress him, once he lumbered his thick bulging body down the stairs to his central throne room, he’d likely grab another bite to eat to ensure his hunger was kept in check. Granted, the man was always hungry, but, that was beside the point.
“I think I’ll walk down the stairs myself,” King Bel said, musing aloud as he often did whenever he was alone. “The halls are wide enough, and a little walking on my own would make things easier for my servants. Yes!” He grinned wide and shook his head, his cheeks wiggling about. “I’ll do that.”
While King Bel was pondering this, however, unbeknownst to the king, he was soon not alone in his room – but it was not Irika that joined him.
From the far end of the king’s large bedroom crept a single man bathed in darkness, covered in head to toe in black clothing – a hooded black cloak covered his entire head, and the rest of him was done up in black leather. Thin, sturdy leather, with boots that made nary a sound as the man crept from an open window into a corner, watching the king as he did.
The man was taken aback at first by the sheer volume of girth that the king exhibited, but, he shook this off rather smoothly, and instead retained focus on the mission at hand… for this man was an assassin, here to kill the Hog King.
King Bel was still musing over things; he’d decided since he was already standing upright that he would venture down those stairs when he was dressed, now, he was musing about what to do with himself for the day beyond ensure he was there to hear any concerns or news within his kingdom.
“Perhaps I should go for a walk in my gardens,” King Bel said to himself. “These legs may groan and protest, but I can still move, after all. I’m not helpless by any means, despite what so many may believe given my size.”
No, he was not at all helpless, or incapable of doing things for himself!
Certainly, King Bel enjoyed being able to get carried around whenever he had the desire to, and he thoroughly loved to be pampered, as any king was wont to – but, King Bel was a good man, and a man that looked out for his servants and court members, and so, he would often split up the time wherein he’d be carried some days, and others, he’d do the walking himself. The combination of laziness and actual physical exertion helped maintain his big belly, of which he was very proud of, without it growing too large that it became uncomfortable.
Across from the king, though, the assassin watched for a moment longer before deciding it was time to strike. The man produced from his side sheathe a large, sharp longsword coated in magics, the likes of which granted that blade ten times the cutting capability. The perfect blade for someone as massive as King Bel…
Silently, he armed himself, and he waited an instant longer.
Then, with no hesitation, he dashed forward, gliding across the carpet without a single sound. He leapt into the air with the blade at the ready, and he swung it down, right at the very instant the swinging doors opened and Lady Irika returned.
But the assassin’s attempt did not go as he’d expected, no. Not even close.
Because despite how preoccupied the king had been, King Bel was no fool – the corpulent ruler had known full well that an assassin was in his room, for despite how quietly and stealthily the assassin had entered the royal chamber, he’d failed to take one thing into account: King Bel paid attention to everything around him, whether he was eating, resting, or talking. That, and, King Bel had a third mirror that most didn’t take into consideration – the entire ceiling.
King Bel’s ceiling was structured in such a way that it gave the vastly sized man a means of seeing every inch of his room whenever he glanced up, and, thus he’d spotted the assassin in the corner mere seconds after the man had entered and hidden himself. King Bel didn’t bother addressing this, naturally, and he’d instead simply continued along until the man decided to attack.
And so, King Bel’s meaty hand jolted out and he easily snatched the assassin up by the neck before the assassin could bring his sword down. Right then, Irika entered, stopped, and gasped in shock at the sight, dropping what she’d been carrying – and fortunately, her gasp drew the attention of the two guards stationed right outside those doors.
“Hoho, my lad!” King Bel shouted, and he abruptly flung the man down, his physical strength as great as his girth, so much that the assassin slammed headfirst into the carpet and bounced once, then came to a halt.
By the time the assassin was able to recover – which he did admirably quick, to be fair to the man – he was already bested. One guard, a rather rotund man with a bit of a belly himself, pounced upon the man and brought his weight down onto the assassin, while the other guard, a burly woman with impressive bulk in the muscle department, rammed into him from the other side.
The assassin was immediately pinned down, and, Irika, snapping out of her daze within seconds, grabbed onto and yanked away the blade.
“You disgusting dreg!” Irika snapped. “Trying to assassinate the King of Bearmaw!”
King Bel laughed rather jovially. “A nice effort, my lad, but I’m afraid you’ll need to do much better than that!”
The two guards had the assassin on his feet now. The woman guard, big and strong as she was, gripped him in a nasty bearhug that prevented him from moving his arms, while the other guard calmly retrieved the weapon from Irika.
He gazed upon the sword with wonderment. “Looks magical, your Highness.”
King Bel’s smile faded. “Is that so? Then, please, take it to my Court Wizard – let him have a look, and be careful, my good man! I do not wish you to be harmed by any foul magics this weapon might possess!”
“Yes, your Majesty!” the guard said.
He hurried out of the room in an impressive display of speed for a stout man, while the woman guard held the assassin with little to no effort.
“What shall I do with this shitbag, your Majesty?” the woman asked.
King Bel pondered this, his well-groomed brows sinking down, squishing together the features of his face while he did so. Obviously, the assassin was paid by someone to end his life, that much anyone would see – King Bel supposed he could have the man thrown into the dungeon, but, such a thing would potentially open up doors to new problems. The man could have a poison on himself to claim his own life, he could attempt to escape or be broken out, or, he could be killed by the very same person that employed him.
“Tell me, my good man,” King Bel eventually said. “Why have you entered my abode to end my life on such a fine day?” He leaned in slightly, his massive frame looming over the man. “Obviously, you’ve been paid something to kill me. I expect the price was exorbitant, yes? And I’m certain whomever has done this paid you to stay mum in the face of threats or bribery, as well?”
The assassin did not respond to him.
The man was clearly trying to think of a way to get out of this situation – King Bel had seen that expression numerous times over whenever it came to hitmen, thugs, thieves, and other would-be problem children that got caught with their hands stuck in the proverbial cookie jar. He supposed the assassin might seek to play dumb, perhaps try to strike some sort of deal…
“I’ll tell you what,” King Bel said, and he turned his attention to the burly woman currently gripping the foolish assassin. “Take him not to the prison, no, but… to the Triplets.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “The Triplets, sire? Are you… are you sure?”
King Bel righted his position, and patted a hand on his great girth. “Oh, yes. Nowhere else in this great kingdom would a criminal such as this be… for lack of a better term, ‘safe.’” King Bel’s eyes flicked down to the assassin, and he saw the man regarding him with scrutiny. King Bel smiled wide. “You see, my assassin friend, the Triplets are a cadre of very… particularly skilled individuals that live within this kingdom. They work for me, of course, and I often use their services whenever I fear foul play may be involved with a captured crook.”
The assassin frowned. Yet still, he did not speak.
“You’ll see soon enough what I mean,” King Bel said. Then, to the guard, “please escort him to the Triplets, and ask they guard him. But, preferably no big messes.” He winked. “We might be hosting a banquet soon, after all.”
“At once, your Lordship,” the woman guard said.
She grinned darkly as she hoisted the assassin over her shoulder, as if he were a sack of potatoes, which certainly caught him by surprise. And with that, she strode out of the room, carrying the assassin along with her the whole way.
That left only King Bel and Lady Irika as the only ones in the room now.
“The Triplets, eh?” Lady Irika asked, pausing to shoot a look at her King. She arched one eyebrow at him. “You know you could’ve easily had me take care of him here and now, Padrick. Hell, I’m sure Rosette, the guardswoman, would’ve gladly beaten his sorry ass into the floor to get information out.”
King Bel let out a good-natured laugh. “Ah, true, true, my dear. But really, I didn’t feel a need to trouble you over such a matter – it’s been a while since there’s been a brazen attempt on my life like this, and I think the Triplets could use a bit of fun, don’t you?”
She scoffed, an impish grin forming on her lips. “You could’ve sat on him, too.”
King Bel’s smile grew wider, his jowls shaking from the mighty laugh that erupted from his thick gullet. “Perhaps next time, Irika, perhaps next time!”
He shook his head, those flabby cheeks bouncing to and fro. He did so love how unafraid Irika was when it came to expressing her views – yet he knew she only did so in jest or with good intentions. Not that he minded the barbs.
“Now then,” Irika said. “Hold still for a moment, and I will get to work dressing you, your Highness, as I’d intended to do before I was so RUDELY interrupted.”
King Bel smirked, but, remained silent, and stood there patiently as she went about doing just that – she’d brought in a cart, he saw now, with the outfit and components she’d planned, all a lush, lovely green color. King Bel was enamored immediately, and he felt himself growing giddy with excitement at being dressed so spectacularly, as he did every day with Lady Irika.
“I’m saving your gaping navel for last,” Irika said as she retrieved the large, lustrous open cloak that would be going onto his upper body. She had a gleeful glow in her eyes. “You know I enjoy getting real deep in there first, after all.”
King Bel chortled. “But of course, my dear. I’m in no hurry.”
She set about getting the first sleeve of the cloak upon King Bel’s thick, meaty right arm, but King Bel’s attention shifted when he heard footsteps coming from outside his door. In mere seconds, Kelren strode in, looking like he’d gotten… news. Not necessarily good news, but, not bad news, either.
“Your Highness,” Kelren said, pausing to bow when he saw what was going on. He also bowed his head to Irika. “My Lady.”
“Hello, my dear Kelren!” King Bel said, happy to see his Steward.
“Good morning, Kelren,” Irika said. She was gradually wrapping the cloak around the large, rotund backside of their King. “Do try to cheer up, love. You always have such a sour disposition these days. A smile wouldn’t kill you.”
Kelren cracked the faintest of faint grins to this, but then he was serious again. “You’ve received a letter in response from your brother, my King. Would you like me to read it to you, or, would you prefer a shorter… condensing of his reply?”
King Bel arched one manicured eyebrow. “Dare I venture that when you say ‘condensing,’ it means he had a rather lengthy response to my letter?”
“Indeed, Sire,” Kelren said.
“Bah!” Irika said. She was on King Bel’s left arm now. “That stinking lout brother of yours never knows when to shut his stupid lips. Always babbling on, spewing out bullshit again and again.” She paused, and sneered. “How in the Gods’ names he got himself a wife is still beyond me. I’d always thought the only thing that would bother to suckle his cock would be a pig!”
King Bel started to quake from the laugh threatening to burst from him. He had to really work to keep the laughter inside, although his rolls and belly still jiggled humorously from the affair. Even Kelren, for as stoic as he tended to be, seemed thoroughly amused by the remark, enough that it broke his usual steely mask for a short few seconds.
“That’s… an apt way of putting it, Lady Irika,” Kelren said, his voice cracking faintly because he damn near laughed himself for a change.
Irika beamed, pleased by their responses. “It’s a damn good fit, too.”
She went back to work securing the cloak, while Kelren coughed once, then returned, again, to the business at hand.
“Feel free to paraphrase, Kelren,” King Bel said after a moment, nodding to his Steward.
Kelren sighed. “To put it plainly, he’s agreed to your suggestion of a feast, my King. Not without a long-winded spiel regarding your health, and a handful of less-than-pleasant questions being tossed about involving… well, everything about our kingdom and our castle. Questioning how sanitary we are, questioning our hygiene, questioning if your castle would be ‘splendorous’ enough for such prestige, and so forth and so on. It’s a… a read, Sire.”
King Bel rolled his eyes. “Why am I not at all surprised?”
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Irika said when she’d successfully garbed the girth that was her beloved King with the flowing, regal green cloak. She turned around and stared at Kelren. “Is he seriously demeaning our King and the rest of us by assuming we’re one big, filthy, stinking pigsty? Like we have no manners, no class, and no decency whatsoever?”
“In roughly three times as many words, yes,” Kelren said.
Irika gnashed her teeth together. “I’m gonna beat his ass black and blue with my fucking fists if he isn’t careful, so help me.”
“Calm, Irika… calm,” King Bel said. Then again, he did appear thoughtful as he considered her threat. “…let’s save that energy in case it’s truly needed.” He smiled, though, and regarded Kelren. “Did my brother acquiesce to my suggestion regarding when to hold this delightful feast of families?”
“He countered it with a… demand, Sire,” Kelren said. He twirled one thick mustache tip with his finger. “He said they’ll all be arriving in one week’s time, next Friday, and that you had, erm, best be ready by then.”
King Bel’s smile turned wry. “Oh, we will be. We will be indeed…”