That’s lucky number seven. Seven pints of swill in this shit bar with some shit kid.

They don’t even know that this “chosen one” is the seventh I’ve recruited from the provinces to assasinate Lord Dugan… ahem “defeat the dark lord.” I almost felt bad when the first one bit it. Only twelve years old and so easy to tempt with delusions of grandeur. Ah well, too bad so sad. This chosen one is fourteen. Hey. Fourteen is two times seven. That sounds like some sort of prophecy.

Shit, I’m drunk. Too drunk this time. I’m starting to think about how I’ve been sending kids to their deaths. No, not kids. Just peasants. Peasants are there to use, that’s just what they’re for. Sometimes you have to tell them it’s their destiny. They’re stupid so they always fall for it. Just peasants, they’re disposable. It’s fine.

Goddammit it’s not fine. I’ve gotten six of these kids killed so far. The king said he was fine with losing hundreds, why am I do bothered with losing six? Why was I so upset losing just one? They’re just peasants…

As much as I keep telling myself that I just can’t believe it. They’re kids. They believe what you tell them. I believed what I was told when I was a kid. Some official looking knight could have sent me to my death just as easily. Only they didn’t because I was a noble. Nobles aren’t disposable, they’re whole people…

I can’t believe that anymore. I’ve been to scores of villages at this point. Everyone is as much a person as everyone else. It’s obvious and I can’t lie to myself about it anymore. All these kids… this kid… is the same as anyone. These are people I’ve been sacrificing! For what!? My job!?

What am I even doing anymore? What’s so important about my position in the court? What could ever be worth killing kid after kid like I have? I’m not even the only one. Why do I even want to keep company with a court who orders me to trick kids into journeying right to their own ignoble deaths?

I’ve had enough. I waddle over to the little dupe and tell him “Arthur, you’re not special. Go home and live a good life. I’ll go kill that fuck Dugan.” That face he gave me when I told him that. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

As I stumble out of the tavern I don’t even know that Dugan is the one I need to be after. How many kids did he send to their death? Eh, probably more than a few. Kids believe what you tell them. You can get them to do anything if you say it’s a prophecy or some shit.

I don’t care anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore. I am Sir Percy and I’ll go die like a dog myself for no good reason. Let the bards make something up about me after I bleed out in a ditch for the glory of a monarch who couldn’t care less. Let all those kids who I would have conned listen to bedtime stories about all the heoric acts I never did. Let Sir Percy live in infamy so little Arthur can go home and tend the farm.