It begins with a pitiful cry of despair,
not the prideful voice of the grand,
a plea for mercy never answered,
then those downtrodden stand,
the threat of pain and death fades,
if obedience is met all the same,
the cowed become dangerous,
when a king snuffs hope’s flame.
– Conquerors Folly, circa 80 B.E.
Vernum 6th, 1 S.R.
A guard entered the common room, looked between two siblings finishing breakfast, and bore no mind to a woman in the corner, getting a drink. “You’ve a visitor,” he said to no one in particular. “I’m not exactly sure you’re allowed visitors — all things considered — but… Well, she was rather insistent she’s family. Forgive me though, I thought your names were Ashton, not Grey. Mother’s side I suppose.”
“Technically, no,” Katrisha offered. “My sister and I were adopted by the Court Mage of Avrale, which makes us, sort of family to almost anyone named Grey.”Continue reading “Chapter III:42”