Something is stirring in Neverwinter.
It rouses, as many things do, slowly, with the cresting sunrise, newborn eyes squinting into it, filled simultaneously with so much potential and no idea of all it bears inside. The coronation is beautiful and far-reaching. There is not a soul along the Sword Coast that does not know of the newly appointed king of Neverwinter, that does not celebrate, that does not repeat the phrase in joy, long live the king, long live Neverwinter.
Our time of prosperity begins, the farmers decide, as they do at every coronation.
Our gods-blessed king, the clergy name him.
A man of the people, the guard proclaims.
Married into the family, the newspapers sigh, such a shame about his wife.
Damn sight better than the late monarch, the biddies tut over tea, need new blood on our throne.
It begins, as many things do, quietly. There is no singular instance to point to that is most accurate to call the beginning. One could cite the coronation, but Neverwinter thrived then, did it not? One could remember the new faces among the Neverwinter Guard, but that is hardly strange, as every king chooses a new military advisor with new decisions. One could even try to find symbolism in the changing of the royal colors, but every king has his own preferences, surely, so that means nothing.
It does not start with the quiet resignation of a spitfire, but were we to pick a starting point, that would be as good of one as any other.
A monsoon does not begin with a rainstorm, but with a gentle changing of the winds.
A quiet corner shop locks its doors. A child does not return to school.
It is not noticed, as many things are not, until, all at once, it is.
Long live the king. Long live Neverwinter.
And thus, it begins.
YOU ARE READING
Neverlution
FantasyIt's been almost a year since his last adventure, and Shay is fine with that. He's settled into a routine studying at Neverwinter's House of Knowledge and he's adopted a little protege. He's even (mostly) gotten over the fact that a year ago, he'd p...
