Tahr - The Days of Ash and Fury, Volume One [sample]

I: MOR

"And here we have a rider, come through the rains to peddle the lies of Evanti."

Barris resisted the urge to launch himself at the King of Mor, prepared as he was to be baited. The disciplined knight willed himself to stillness in response, and successfully so, appearing by all measure to have not even heard the layered insult. Layered, as he was certainly no mere rider, and it was well known that to accuse an Elf of dishonesty was a grave affront. More, a slight upon Queen Evanti was a dagger to the breast of any elf, and all the more so to Barris. A span of a dozen breaths passed in the drafty great hall, and despite the chill, a bead of sweat trickled its way down Barris' forehead, winding its way down from his dark hairline, pausing to gather momentum at each wrinkle in his bronzed brow, finally coming to rest in the corner of his cobalt eye. Barris did not blink, nor did he wipe at his face, for he believed that to do so would prove to all assembled just how truly vulnerable he felt. The elf was the only one of his kind present among hundreds of onlookers; their delight at watching him twist was barely concealed. If he could have straightened his mount-weary spine any further he would have done so, if only to convince himself of his own façade.

King Halsen's yellowed, rheumy eyes followed the droplet down the knight's face with dark amusement, desiring an early end to The Game, yearning for this lackey from Thornwood to speak out of turn, knowing that he would not. The moments passed, and Halsen beheld the knight. A bit tall and solid for his kind, unusually dark of hair, worn long and tied tightly at the back. He wore a light brown cloak, fastened at the neck with a hand carved wooden brooch indicating his title of First Knight of Thornwood. Despite having been told that the knight had ridden for days on end, the finely woven garment lacked a wrinkle, a smudge, or any sign whatsoever that the rider had been out of doors. His grey tunic and pants, unflawed by the elements...even his boots, made of soft leather, were laced to the knee with care and clean as the day they were first sewn. The weather had not been fair these past days, certainly not to the north, yet this wisp of a man – no, not a man, Halsen thought – stood before him as if he were entering a knight's dress parade. Rather than causing the king to feel some grudging respect for Barris, or at least of his noble presentation, the elf knight's cleanliness provoked Halsen to hate him all the more, to envy the pride (or more likely enchantments) that allowed him to appear so...so perfect. As it became clear that the knight would stand there like a witless fool indefinitely without speaking, the king gloomily conceded the contest, bloodlust giving way to impatience. His excuse to kill the rider may still be forthcoming, he knew.

"Do you expect us to sit here all day, knight," Halsen bellowed with a sarcastic emphasis on the last, "or are you planning to enlighten us as to why we must bear your presence in our halls?"

Barris glanced to either side of the great bronze and leather throne the King of Mor sat upon, perceiving slight movement as the heavily armored Defenders relaxed their grips on their halberds, if only by a fraction. So feels he requires an excuse, Barris thought to himself, taking heart, knowing well the implications of such an observation. Barris replied, his deep, resonant voice contrasting with the congested tones of the king's speech.

"Her Majesty Terrias Evanti of Thornwood commands me to bring tidings of the north, my lord. As you are most certainly already aware, there have been rumors of instabilities in and surrounding our lands, and strange omens, perhaps heralding distress within the very land of Tahr itself."

"We have heard the grumbling of the mystics and wizards, knight. About your northern wood, and a thousand other things over the years that have come to no more than rat dung in the kettle. What of it?"