Oblivion

Led into the throne room, a man dressed in rags is thrown before the evil queen.

Evil:

You’re no hero, not brave nor broad chested. A weak, sniveling sort, someone I’d throw away to be chewed up in my mines. And yet, you’re here.

Beggar:

I’ve little explanation for you, your highness. There seems to be a slip up in the casting. I should be little more than an extra; at the most I’m someone who helps the hero out only to be killed in a few moments to show the audience that it’s a dangerous world.

Evil: (Striking him)

I’ve no time for your foolishness. Give me your name.

Beggar:

Is that a proposal?

Evil:

I propose that if you do not tell me your name. . .

Beggar:

Will Vincent work?

Evil:

Is that your name?

Beggar:

No.

Evil:

Guards!

(With rods he is beaten. The evil queen goes behind her throne and returns with a whip.)

Strip him.

What is your name?

Beggar:

I once had a name, but it’s escaped me. (She whips him.) I’ve known no name this last score of years, nor any the score preceding. (She whips him.) I’ve no history for you to exploit, your highness. I’m but what I am.

Evil:

You’ll be less than that if you do not give me your name. You are no mortal. Your clichéd disguise wouldn’t fool a blind priest. Only one with strong magic could unravel the curses and charms I’ve ensnared this city in.

Which of the immortals are you?

Beggar:

One whose name is stripped from the annals of history, from my own mind, one condemned to oblivion. I have no name. I am erased from the past.

Evil: (Returning to throne.)

For what crime would they commit you to oblivion?

Beggar:

Dear queen, I know not, and tomorrow, you’ll again have forgotten this.