Lord Renly Drakenweald
Member
- Messages
- 5
“Everything I've worked towards is being undone. Everything. And now...this. This rejection.”
Lord Renly ran his gloved fingers across the fold in the paper, sealing the letter with all the finality of the words that lay within. He placed it down upon the oak desk that was five times older than he, crafted at a time when his family estate had far less worries. These worries were collected in the form of financial ledgers and reports from servants to his small corner of the realm that were open at particular times in recent memory. The cost of apothecaries and their supplies to provide assistance to the people during this time of sickness. The projected price and time frame of a militia being fully trained, declined in favour of repairing houses from a storm barely weathered. Evidence that alleviating taxes had rendered the coffers unable to summon a mercenary army to help Lord Renly's people against the vying clutches of the Petty Barons. And now, the evidence of refused help from the Enshrined Blades.
Lord Renly felt the tension in his neck, the stillness of his study, and the warmth of the rising sun that crept across his land. The farmyards, the village, his home, his responsibility. He rubbed at his neck and paced as the early hour gave way to new sounds. The birds of the forest so close and ever present gave their morning declarations.
“Sounds the Barons would silence with their industry,” Lord Renly said quietly to himself. He clasped his open palm, as if it seize the thought and truly call it his own. But it was a thought shared by many of his advisors. The Barons wished to claim his land, these villages of farmhands and honest faces that he had guided for almost his entire life, through success and prosperity, to more recent weals and woes.
“There's only one thing for it. If the Enshrined Blades won't help me, perhaps they would. Perhaps they might guide me, and deliver us from this malady. Else all be lost to these damn Barons.”
Lord Renly breathed in deep and summoned the spark of magic to his purpose. He had been taught by one of far more proficiency in the magical field than himself a few simple spells that assisted him in his duties. Administration, leadership, politicking and crisis management, alongside other more banal duties. Banal duties Renly would gladly exchange for what was demanded of him these days.
The Lord placed a fingertip to his head and willed a message to one of his most loyal attendants.
“I would speak with you post haste old friend. Something must be done about these Barons. About all of these troubles before us. I am in my study.”
Lord Renly sent the message and then went to window to a small collection of drinks and glasses. Taking two crystal glasses, he brought them to the desk alongside some mead which had been produced in the villages he was in charge of saving through these difficult days, and poured himself and his advisor a drink, and awaited the door to open to his study, a small place of business that was adorned with books, ledgers, and signs of years of prosperity which were reminders that the better days of ruling this place were firmly behind them.
Lord Renly ran his gloved fingers across the fold in the paper, sealing the letter with all the finality of the words that lay within. He placed it down upon the oak desk that was five times older than he, crafted at a time when his family estate had far less worries. These worries were collected in the form of financial ledgers and reports from servants to his small corner of the realm that were open at particular times in recent memory. The cost of apothecaries and their supplies to provide assistance to the people during this time of sickness. The projected price and time frame of a militia being fully trained, declined in favour of repairing houses from a storm barely weathered. Evidence that alleviating taxes had rendered the coffers unable to summon a mercenary army to help Lord Renly's people against the vying clutches of the Petty Barons. And now, the evidence of refused help from the Enshrined Blades.
Lord Renly felt the tension in his neck, the stillness of his study, and the warmth of the rising sun that crept across his land. The farmyards, the village, his home, his responsibility. He rubbed at his neck and paced as the early hour gave way to new sounds. The birds of the forest so close and ever present gave their morning declarations.
“Sounds the Barons would silence with their industry,” Lord Renly said quietly to himself. He clasped his open palm, as if it seize the thought and truly call it his own. But it was a thought shared by many of his advisors. The Barons wished to claim his land, these villages of farmhands and honest faces that he had guided for almost his entire life, through success and prosperity, to more recent weals and woes.
“There's only one thing for it. If the Enshrined Blades won't help me, perhaps they would. Perhaps they might guide me, and deliver us from this malady. Else all be lost to these damn Barons.”
Lord Renly breathed in deep and summoned the spark of magic to his purpose. He had been taught by one of far more proficiency in the magical field than himself a few simple spells that assisted him in his duties. Administration, leadership, politicking and crisis management, alongside other more banal duties. Banal duties Renly would gladly exchange for what was demanded of him these days.
The Lord placed a fingertip to his head and willed a message to one of his most loyal attendants.
“I would speak with you post haste old friend. Something must be done about these Barons. About all of these troubles before us. I am in my study.”
Lord Renly sent the message and then went to window to a small collection of drinks and glasses. Taking two crystal glasses, he brought them to the desk alongside some mead which had been produced in the villages he was in charge of saving through these difficult days, and poured himself and his advisor a drink, and awaited the door to open to his study, a small place of business that was adorned with books, ledgers, and signs of years of prosperity which were reminders that the better days of ruling this place were firmly behind them.