In the city of Holsworthy, where shadows weave tales of dread and whispers hint at impending doom, two souls find themselves entangled in a web of darkness.
Magistrate Hayes, known for his humility, grapples with harrowing visions that foretell the...
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"𝓛et's get this th' fuck over with, aye? My own prick has been achin' for a tight hole all mornin,' so I has't scarce patience with these measly urban squabbles of ours. Hewlett! By the Divine, lad, are you payin' attention? Stir yourself, and make certain th' Ottiwell family delivers their daughter to my chambers this very eve. Oh, and ensure she's wearin' an attire vastly inappropriate, I like them burgher girls lookin' like common whores!"
"A- aye, mi'lord Broughton."
This, this was our 'esteemed' nobility. Truthfully, I often find myself pondering how such a grotesque individual came to win the king's favor. Though, Feudalism is such a flawed system, wherein the most rancid of nobles, even lacking in education, can come and hold the title of 'liege.'
Nonetheless, before we commenced our council, we offered a swift prayer to the Divine, beseeching Ambrose for his guidance. Following this invocation, we settled more comfortably into our seats, a contrast to the tension that hung in the air upon the baron's entrance. Lord-Mayor Dabyrie began by expressing his gratitude for our attendance, yet his words were swiftly interrupted by the baron's impatience, who then promptly directed Marshal Haggard to provide us with the latest updates on military affairs.
"W- well, mi'lord Broughton, if I may speaketh candidly, since th' events of Ombersley, our barracks has't been rath'r lacking in numbers. Now, as a humble servant, I wouldn't dareth cast doubt upon thy's gentle intentions in aiding Andorhal's campaign against Dunholme. Howev'r, it might beest said that maintaining effective patrols within our fair city hast becometh increasingly challenging. Yet, Divine forbid, if mi'lord Bardolf were to lendeth his assistance in this matter, perhaps he couldst grant the privilege of reallocating some of our funds towards recruitment incentives."
"Beg pardon?!" Treasurer Bardolf exclaimed, looking utterly flabbergasted, nearly toppling from his seat in astonishment. "Marshal, might I remind you that Holsworthy boasts half a million souls within its walls, and yet you find yourself grappling to enlist footmen?"
"What man would serve willingly, eh? Besides, most of our denizens are younglings and weak-minded women, and then souls such as yourself..."
Gradually, I felt the fire of anger kindle within me. For ages, our discussions had revolved around naught but war and wealth – two pursuits cherished by man.
