Earldrid
20-05-2008, 22:34
Pressing down into the melted wax he marked and sealed the document with the ring then placed it back upon his finger. Gently, he pushed the parchment across the table top, laid the quill down, and leaned back into his chair. Thumb and finger rubbed the bridge of his nose as he sighed, he was tired. Small flames danced lightly atop the tallow candles as the flow of a slight breeze swirled in from the open window, bringing with it the myriad scents of the streets below. A smile crept upon his face as the aroma stimulated his nostrils. He separated it out in his mind, spices from Harad, both near and far, herbs from the northern forests and grass lands, the sweet scent of sugar and honey preserved fruits from as far south as Bozisha-Dar. Each scent stirred in his mind the memories of their place of origin, and with each one came joys and pains both old and new. He had seen much in his time, traveled far and wide, traversed great heights and depths, met many and killed more, he had so many memories.
He looked down found his fingers turning the ring upon his hand. Slipping it from his finger he held it up in the light and turned it slowly, carefully examining each and every marking upon it. He turned it once more, this time towards himself, and gazed for some time at the signet embossed upon it's face. There was great history within this symbol, many tales of lives long passed, tales of greatness, tales of sorrow, tales of treachery and misery, but the tale which was brought foremost to his mind was one he knew all too well.
He could still see in his mind the day the ring came to him, could still picture his mother lying upon her bed motionless, lips turning a dark, putrid purple as the toxin worked it's way through her body. He saw clearly his father, standing at the open window, his back turned to his son. He remembered well the feeling of the blade in his hand, how it became warm and slippery as his fathers' blood traced it's way down the blade to the handle, and then to the floor. He recalled the racing of his heart as he bent down, removed the ring from his fathers' hand and placed it upon his own. That day was one which he will never forget, that day he had chosen his path. No longer would his bloodline squander the power inherent within it, no longer would their actions result in nothing more than shocking scandal and gossip amongst the circles of the sycophantic imbeciles purporting to hold power within the city.
The city of Umbar has memories of that day also. From the highest circles of wealth and power squeezed into the Viziers' palace ante-chamber, to the mobs of sailors and peasants crowding the forecourt outside, intrigue and scandal was shouted loudly and soaked up with a ferocious appetite. It was the day the house of Kalik was brutally ended, the day the house of Ulbor, generations old adversaries of the house of Kalik, were found guilty of the assassination plot and sentenced to summary execution. It was the day a dark sailed dromund bearing the name Morchaithras, sailed from the port under a new captain, a captain whose mind was now clear, whose debts had been settled, and whose focus was set firmly on the new days horizon.
He looked down found his fingers turning the ring upon his hand. Slipping it from his finger he held it up in the light and turned it slowly, carefully examining each and every marking upon it. He turned it once more, this time towards himself, and gazed for some time at the signet embossed upon it's face. There was great history within this symbol, many tales of lives long passed, tales of greatness, tales of sorrow, tales of treachery and misery, but the tale which was brought foremost to his mind was one he knew all too well.
He could still see in his mind the day the ring came to him, could still picture his mother lying upon her bed motionless, lips turning a dark, putrid purple as the toxin worked it's way through her body. He saw clearly his father, standing at the open window, his back turned to his son. He remembered well the feeling of the blade in his hand, how it became warm and slippery as his fathers' blood traced it's way down the blade to the handle, and then to the floor. He recalled the racing of his heart as he bent down, removed the ring from his fathers' hand and placed it upon his own. That day was one which he will never forget, that day he had chosen his path. No longer would his bloodline squander the power inherent within it, no longer would their actions result in nothing more than shocking scandal and gossip amongst the circles of the sycophantic imbeciles purporting to hold power within the city.
The city of Umbar has memories of that day also. From the highest circles of wealth and power squeezed into the Viziers' palace ante-chamber, to the mobs of sailors and peasants crowding the forecourt outside, intrigue and scandal was shouted loudly and soaked up with a ferocious appetite. It was the day the house of Kalik was brutally ended, the day the house of Ulbor, generations old adversaries of the house of Kalik, were found guilty of the assassination plot and sentenced to summary execution. It was the day a dark sailed dromund bearing the name Morchaithras, sailed from the port under a new captain, a captain whose mind was now clear, whose debts had been settled, and whose focus was set firmly on the new days horizon.