The tavern was squalid and truly disgusting, even in these days. But then again, this was Braduk the No Longer Shining. Braduk the Burning it was now called, and for good reason. Where else was safe right now though?
There were many lands that would not welcome him, even after all these years. Even borders that were easy to cross could hide spies on the other side. But while victory allows one to ride high, defeat will undoubtedly bring one quite low. And his defeat was a long time ago.
But all this waiting had taken its toll. With nothing to do but to hide, drink became a great temptation. He tried to rebuild once, but these orcs and goblins dont take well to the Call. Their bodies are too fragile to handle the conversions, and injuries become too prevalent to create a reliable force.
So the bottle called, and he listened. Years passed by in a blur. Drinking, gambling, fighting, and of course, killing. But no one noticed that here. They had their own agendas.
These past few days, his dreams had been troubled. Actually more troubling is that he was dreaming at all
. The whiskey must not be strong enough. But in these dreams he sees a far off tower reflecting the sun in such a way as to blind and even sear an approaching enemy, and yet he stands alone. No army. No friends. It feels
. Like
.
And then he wakes. And the feeling escapes before it can be identified. This morning was no different.
Five whiskeys into the night, he caught a glimpse of something slinking past the front door. Surely the drink had something to do with it. He blinked his eyes to clear his vision. As he strained to see into the gathering darkness outside, he suddenly realized that someone had joined him at his table.
He fumbled for his blade, when the stranger said softly, Your Grace, I am sorry for this intrusion. Nonplussed and fully inebriated, he now realized, he was unable to speak for a moment. I was told to give you this. And to tell you, there are those who yet believe.
Wait! he started as the stranger made to leave, Who are you?
A messenger, your Grace, nothing more, and then the stranger was gone.
Puzzled and bemused, Duin Halfmorn fingered the pouch the stranger had slipped across the table. After a few moments, he reached inside and pulled out the pendant. Of course it Is, he thought, and ordered another whiskey.