Tyree strode boldly, sword strapped to his back, scarf billowing on the breeze as he stood before the steps. He glanced to Kelni and took a deep breath before looking at the two guards at the top of the stone stairs, polearms crossed to bar entry. He nodded, adjusted his scarf and made his way up the staircase. Someone needed to deal with the growing issue of Osterman within the town.
"Halt!" The guards moved in to block the door with their bodies and lowered their polearms toward Tyree's chest. He glared between the guards and Kelni stood close behind him, half hiding behind him. She did not take kindly to humans with weapons, or authority. They had a tendency to throw their weight around and make her feel even smaller than her already sleight frame. Tyree ran a hand through his hair and looked back to Kelni before taking a step closer to the guard that addressed him. He raised an eyebrow and stared intensely into the guard’s eyes, “You will let me pass to see the Thronelord. I have matters to bring to his attention and will not allow for the injustice of Osterman and his thugs!” The guard shivered and eyed Tyree once over. Tyree knew these men worked for Osterman, but he gambled on the fact that if he and Kelni were here on official business then the guards weren’t about to attack them on the steps of the Thronelord’s halls of office.
The guards took several more moments of silence, deliberating between themselves with nervous glances before they pulled their polearms aside and stepped away from them. “You may enter, but be quick about it. The Thronelord is a very busy man and should not be troubled by the menial issues of farmhands...” Tyree moved his hand to rest upon the hilt of his sword and stared through the guard as he spoke. The guard looked to the floor and muttered something inaudibly about the attitude of the peasantry in society.
***
Varashnir sighed upon his throne as he watched trails of living shadow writhe around his fingertips. The shifting black mass coiled up his arm like a snake before reaching his brow and solidifying in a circlet of crystalline black ichor around his head. He stood and immediately similar shadows sprang forth and formed robes around his naked form. He looked around his chamber and closed his eyes. Visions of war danced in his head; he recalled the tales he was told as a child, of heroes and dragons. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked to the mark upon his hand as he rested it upon the ledge of his chamber window. The dragon had moved further along the shaft of the spear and was staring at him, as though the mark upon his flesh had gained sentience and was now mocking him, knowing that soon a hero would rise according to the prophecy. That rise was to signal his fall. Varashnir slammed his fist onto the cold stone window ledge and looked back to his throne. ‘There must be a way,’ he mused, ‘a way to find this so called hero and stop them before they find me.’ He looked once more out of his window as the sun set over his Empire. The shadows clung tightly around him as he let out a growl, his gaze moving once more to the dragon, mocking him with its unmoving gaze. With a wave of his hand, the shadows shifted to wrap around his hands like gloves. He may not be able to do anything about the prophesy yet, but he at least could cease the dragon’s stares...
***
“Lord Belsis. I, Tyree Dalfnen, appear before you now to request the dismissal and arrest of Guard Captain Osterman.” Tyree looked to the curtains which hid the throne from view. It was tradition for the Thronelord to not be seen until he deemed the curtain to be drawn aside. “My Lord Belsis, I implore you... Osterman has long since used our homeland as a domain for his corruption and advancing his own sinister ideals and desires,” he bowed his head once more and paused, “I fear that this may not simply be a matter of Vaymouth anymore, but within the whole of Galastia. Please my Lord, invoke your power to investigate Oster-“ The curtains began to move; there upon the throne, lounging to one side and with a smug grin upon his face sat “Osterman!” Tyree stood, sword sheath held firmly in hand, his other moving to grip the hilt, ready to unsheathe the weapon at a moment’s notice.
Osterman stood and clapped slowly. The noise of these three solid claps echoed around the hall which seemed to have taken on an impending sense of emptiness now as Tyree stared at the face of his mother’s murderer. “Well done young Farmhand, you have gained the attention of the Thronelord and made him reveal his face. That is a great honour you realise?” Tyree snarled and stared at Osterman’s face, meeting his eyes, “Why are you here, slug? That seat is for the Thronelord alone!” Osterman took a step closer, one hand moving to his crested dagger, the other resting upon his hip, “Don’t you understand, whelp? The Thronelord is dead; he has been for years. I have ruled this state for nearing four years now. Those public appearances from the Thronelord? Magic; illusions crafted by the state’s guild of wizardry... Long live the Thronelord, eh whelp?”
Tyree readied his sword and moved closer to meet Osterman, the demon scourge that killed his mother; that destroyed his childhood and all he held dear. This was his moment. If Osterman was ruling this state, then there was nothing left for Tyree here but to avenge his mother and reclaim this state from its corruption. He charged. Osterman drew his blade to meet Tyree’s charge. Kelni stared in nervous anticipation as these two warriors clashed blades and fates for the first and last time.
So there you have it folks. I'm away on holiday next week so no posts unless I can maybe find an internet connection and tear myself away from enjoying myself on the beautiful east coast of this lovely country! (he says as he stares at the rain outside...)
Until next time!
Craiggy. :D
