“A sudden stab. A passing pain. Then… the cold vacuum. I feel the blade slide from my ribs. Is this the end? The end of my work? The end of my journey? The end of my travels? It’s been so long… The end of my watch? For… years… I have upheld my duty. I gaze my head upon the resplendent sky. Has my duty been fulfilled? Or forsaken… I hear the screams. The shouts. The …
He was so tired… he just wanted to rest. He couldn’t now. His work wasn’t finished. Cole took a slight breath as he turned to survey his troops, all looking ragged and tired. As he gazed on each of their weary faces, the stress he saw written there was all too familiar; he could feel it carved into his own visage. Months of tension with Roam had worn on him. Months more of fighting had broken him down. The familiar ache …
Alvina dug her fingers into her hair as she stared at the parchment in front of her – her analysis of Falton’s final battle. She’d hoped that a cold, pragmatic analysis would put things into perspective, make sense of the defeat, but all she felt was an aching in her soul, and the fire of determination to see the Roamans chased out of Falton once and for all. How dare they! How DARE they even …
Dear Sheriff Williams of New Falton, I write to you from the capital of Westar, Hamera (formerly named Hespera), city of the day. I am trying to convince the council to come to the aid of Falton. But I am hard pressed to do so. The crops are failing, there is a sickness plaguing the lands, and worst of all there is no coffee to speak of. I am sure you know what happened at the battle, but …