Post by Wizard on Dec 3, 2014 2:19:34 GMT -5
"Szuran."
"Yes, Majesty?"
"Inform Moran that I require his services today."
"Today as well, Majesty?"
"Do you question me, Szuran?"
"No, Majesty...of course."
Gryphero Coldshore, Hierarch of the Western Reach, had survived six assassination attempts. The last one had come from his fourth wife. Moran was the dwarf who tasted his meals.
It was only a matter of time before Szuran made his play, Gryphero knew. Why else would someone work as royal butler?
Thirty-seven years old, and determined to die on the throne, the Hierarch had presided over the Reach for ten years. This was the time of wonders. And now, with the new discovery---the one he kept private, in his chambers---everything would change.
Plotters, he thought. All of them plotters. Conspirators, seeking his throne. He never knew whom he could trust. Any time his back was turned...
It was time, he thought, for a purge.
"It went on and on," Mecretia spun. "The Mad King had his family executed, his servants, and his private bodyguard. Eventually the people raised up an army to revolt, but somehow he withstood even them. Broken, dispirited, their home in ruin and getting worse, they fled East, and started anew, here..."
"Did this really happen?" asked Wit. He was five, but knew that although most things his mother said were true, and none were false, some were in-between.
"I don't know, my love," said Mecretia. "But it is a story, and one worth knowing."
"But how could it be worth knowing if it didn't happen?"
"That, my love, is something you will understand when you're older." And she tucked him in, and blew out the light.
"Yes, Majesty?"
"Inform Moran that I require his services today."
"Today as well, Majesty?"
"Do you question me, Szuran?"
"No, Majesty...of course."
Gryphero Coldshore, Hierarch of the Western Reach, had survived six assassination attempts. The last one had come from his fourth wife. Moran was the dwarf who tasted his meals.
It was only a matter of time before Szuran made his play, Gryphero knew. Why else would someone work as royal butler?
Thirty-seven years old, and determined to die on the throne, the Hierarch had presided over the Reach for ten years. This was the time of wonders. And now, with the new discovery---the one he kept private, in his chambers---everything would change.
Plotters, he thought. All of them plotters. Conspirators, seeking his throne. He never knew whom he could trust. Any time his back was turned...
It was time, he thought, for a purge.
* * *
"It went on and on," Mecretia spun. "The Mad King had his family executed, his servants, and his private bodyguard. Eventually the people raised up an army to revolt, but somehow he withstood even them. Broken, dispirited, their home in ruin and getting worse, they fled East, and started anew, here..."
"Did this really happen?" asked Wit. He was five, but knew that although most things his mother said were true, and none were false, some were in-between.
"I don't know, my love," said Mecretia. "But it is a story, and one worth knowing."
"But how could it be worth knowing if it didn't happen?"
"That, my love, is something you will understand when you're older." And she tucked him in, and blew out the light.