Entry One:
Sometime in the winter of Brewster's rule...
The letter was unremarkable. The top right edge was slightly dog eared, and the paper was fine rope reed. A thin, midnight blue dyed rope reed ribbon cut across the middle, forming a knot in the middle over the beeswax seal, which bore the sigil of the Crown.
Pan studied it. It was a pretty thing, the ribbon. The mix of dwarven dye and elven cloth, however, drew him back from his daydream to jarring reality. He was deep in his barrel, and had quaffed enough to float a barge. It cannot be helped. The wine provides sweet respite, solace from the wrong decisions. Well, more accurately, his decision to follow the lead of those who made wrong decisions. The wine helped him think, most certainly, oh yes.
However, it was only at these times he was to summon the courage to take out and finger the royal missive the liaison had assigned him years ago. Pan had stored this under the mountain of paperwork, forgotten. But recently, it had came crawling out like a beast of the depths, forgotten no more and threatening. It weighed heavily on his mind, but he cannot bring himself to open it. He was a dwarf bred of semi-noble birth. A word from the King and he would scurry to obey, trained rat he was. Trained rat the nobility, as a whole, were.
Instead he ignored it. However, it forced it's way into his mind, when the warriors of Hammerscar had committed their crime against the humans, the Empire's staunchest and noblest of allies. While dwarf and elf had shed blood over disputes, no human or dwarf had shed blood until that very day. Wild fire does not discriminates, and it consumes all.
Will I sit here and let it consume me, too? Pan held the ribbon, poised to rip it open, follow the King's will, and douse the spark that will incinerate the Empire. One pull of the ribbon, a break of the royal seal, and Pan will help work to destroy Hammerscar from the inside. The fire will be doused, forever.
But it burns bright still, and it stood right in front of him. Grimnir stood before him, in his very office. Silent as a reverend, Pan had not noticed. He lowered the letter. Had Grimnir seen the royal sigil? Will he summon Brewster and his Blackdiamonds, and shoot him against a wall? Pan waited for him to speak. He did, surprisingly.
'He's crossed the line.' Grimnir growled.
'He followed orders.' Pan objected, on impulse. The wine. Grimnir stared at him, unflinching, for a minute.
'Too far.' Grimnir intoned. 'He must be stopped.'
So too, did the nightmares that night.
The letter was never opened, and Pan set the dog eared corner on his candle that day, after his meeting with Grimnir. He watched candle fire consume it, catching on slowly, and, finding ample fuel, the fire spread, slowly melting the Crown sigil and then at last, the fire consumed the letter. His fire.
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Gosh, the nightmare thing is so convenient, but such a cliche. Sorry if anyone else winced. I know I did.
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Topic: [Succession Game] Hammerscar - Politics, rebellion and war. (Read 49650 times)