Lord Dorgannon surveyed the rolling valleys and hills of his land, Wessarin, from the window of the Lord-Keep. Twenty years to the day he had inherited this realm from his father at the former's deathbed. He had been entrusted with his father's responsibility. At times, the Lord wondered if his father would be proud of what he had accomplished in those short twenty years, or if his father would share goals with him at all.
The clink and rustle of chainmail interrupted the contemplation of the Lord, and he turned to his side, to see Veddel, one of the Keep-Guard, leaning on the bannister. "Veddel, my loyal servant. What brings you up here?" The guard, a favorite of Dorgannon, was a young man fresh from the Academy. Bowing, the guard joined his Lord at the window. "Milord, the messenger arrived." "Ahh, yes, indeed. Very well Veddel, don't let me keep you." Bowing, Lord Dorgannon marched down the stairs, pulling the hood over his olive green cloak as he walked.
Outside, the messenger shook in his boots, holding the cloak tight to his freezing body as the cold wind tried to rip it from him. Lord Dorgannon opened the doors of the Keep, and received the messenger. "The Council?" he asked dryly. "Indeed, milord. Your presence is requested, as always." Lord Dorgannon pulled a piece of parchment out of a pocket on his belt, and handed it to the messenger. "Have them receive this message. I am on my way." The messenger bowed, and ran down the road to the Lord-Keep, where he jumped on the saddle of his horse, and rode out into the storm and cold.
Lord Dorgannon would soon follow him.