Written by the EM Team
Looking out over the water from his balcony, Lord Blackthorn steepled his fingers in front of his face. It had been a long time since he’d seen these waters and had the chance to enjoy the gentle movements caused by the current, and he savored it. Heckles had certainly done a good job of having the place repaired, and even had it furnished the way that he himself likely would have. Looking to the left, he glanced at the travel chess set he’d carried with him all this time, and once again his thoughts started to drift back towards simpler days…though this thought brought a bit of a wry grin to his face. They only seemed like simpler days in retrospect, of course…at the time they were every bit as complex and difficult as these days were.
Rising, he began to stroll through the castle, taking stock of the place and its vast array of rooms. There was no doubt that he’d need to hire on some of the townspeople to staff the place; he chuckled to himself and hoped that Heckles hadn’t completely emptied his treasury for the castle. It felt good to once again be in the city of Britain…and it felt even better that finally, things seemed to be on the road to redemption. The Honor moongate had been fixed, the rioters almost all quelled, the nobles sated, and Exodus routed…despite the progress though, there had always been one person that Lord Blackthorn had hoped against hope he’d have had a chance to see again.
Leaving behind his castle, he walked through the streets, many recognizing and greeting him, and being stopped by a traveling gargoyle who insisted on thanking him many times for healing his sister who had come down with the plague. Once he’d managed to slip away without taking any sort of gift, he finally came to the gates, locked still after the riots he’d been told about. His hand clasped around the cold metal and he peered through the gates towards his old friends castle, staring at the untended garden and foliage. He wondered for a moment if he’d ever see him again…but then he’d had the same thoughts during his imprisonment of ever seeing the city, and that had come true.
Turning, he headed on his way back to his own castle, and coalesced his thoughts into a purpose. Whether or not he would ever see his friend in these lands again and get a chance to match wits against him once more, he would make sure that it was a land worth returning to, and one which he could come back and be proud of. It had been too long in this land since the name of Blackthorn was associated away from the dark and terrible legacy that his mechanical surrogate had left, and it would be a long road to the final redemption…but he intended to walk it for as long as he could.
It had been longer than Dupre could remember since he needed to polish his armor for ceremonial reasons. Still, he believed that this was the right course, and the only way for Britannia to advance. He sat back to look at the armor, gleaming in the glow of the torchlight. It was as good as it would ever get…and a smile came to his face as he looked over to the other perfectly polished and shining object in the room. He set the armor down and approached it, lifting it up and holding it in one hand. It was made of fine metal, and almost…delicate. Still, Dupre could feel the weight of the crown in his hand, and he didn’t envy Blackthorn to wear it. He wondered what Cantabrigian would have to say about this turn of events, and chuckled softly to himself, gathering up his things and preparing for the trek to Britain.
Continue reading...
Looking out over the water from his balcony, Lord Blackthorn steepled his fingers in front of his face. It had been a long time since he’d seen these waters and had the chance to enjoy the gentle movements caused by the current, and he savored it. Heckles had certainly done a good job of having the place repaired, and even had it furnished the way that he himself likely would have. Looking to the left, he glanced at the travel chess set he’d carried with him all this time, and once again his thoughts started to drift back towards simpler days…though this thought brought a bit of a wry grin to his face. They only seemed like simpler days in retrospect, of course…at the time they were every bit as complex and difficult as these days were.
Rising, he began to stroll through the castle, taking stock of the place and its vast array of rooms. There was no doubt that he’d need to hire on some of the townspeople to staff the place; he chuckled to himself and hoped that Heckles hadn’t completely emptied his treasury for the castle. It felt good to once again be in the city of Britain…and it felt even better that finally, things seemed to be on the road to redemption. The Honor moongate had been fixed, the rioters almost all quelled, the nobles sated, and Exodus routed…despite the progress though, there had always been one person that Lord Blackthorn had hoped against hope he’d have had a chance to see again.
Leaving behind his castle, he walked through the streets, many recognizing and greeting him, and being stopped by a traveling gargoyle who insisted on thanking him many times for healing his sister who had come down with the plague. Once he’d managed to slip away without taking any sort of gift, he finally came to the gates, locked still after the riots he’d been told about. His hand clasped around the cold metal and he peered through the gates towards his old friends castle, staring at the untended garden and foliage. He wondered for a moment if he’d ever see him again…but then he’d had the same thoughts during his imprisonment of ever seeing the city, and that had come true.
Turning, he headed on his way back to his own castle, and coalesced his thoughts into a purpose. Whether or not he would ever see his friend in these lands again and get a chance to match wits against him once more, he would make sure that it was a land worth returning to, and one which he could come back and be proud of. It had been too long in this land since the name of Blackthorn was associated away from the dark and terrible legacy that his mechanical surrogate had left, and it would be a long road to the final redemption…but he intended to walk it for as long as he could.
It had been longer than Dupre could remember since he needed to polish his armor for ceremonial reasons. Still, he believed that this was the right course, and the only way for Britannia to advance. He sat back to look at the armor, gleaming in the glow of the torchlight. It was as good as it would ever get…and a smile came to his face as he looked over to the other perfectly polished and shining object in the room. He set the armor down and approached it, lifting it up and holding it in one hand. It was made of fine metal, and almost…delicate. Still, Dupre could feel the weight of the crown in his hand, and he didn’t envy Blackthorn to wear it. He wondered what Cantabrigian would have to say about this turn of events, and chuckled softly to himself, gathering up his things and preparing for the trek to Britain.
Continue reading...
