Tower of Guard, Inner Keep
Dor, The Kingdom of Norden
Twelfth of Springsbreath, Tenth Year of the Age of the CometThe Seneschal of the Keep looked over the men assembled, eyeing them up in the same manner a man might measure a horse he thought to buy but was not entirely convinced of her worth. It was an old trick that Sir Edmund utilized, that of the drill sergeant appraising raw recruits, though in truth he had picked almost every soldier and guardsman here from the ranks of the Watch and Outriders himself. It would do them good not to know that though, keep them humble, hungry. None here were under twenty winters, hardened warriors and rugged veterans of many a patrol and conflict. They knew Dor and her streets, the warrens of the Undercity and the heights of Snowpeak as well as their own hands. And that was why they were here.
Murder most foul, not common, but mutilation and the quartering of the corpse. It had all the hallmarks of a ritual slaughtering, perhaps a sacrifice. Sacrifices to the old gods were known, of course, recorded in the histories. But only the most desperate men of Dor would honor the ancestor-gods in such a manner in these civilized times, by carving blood-rites upon their fellow men. Long ago kings and warlords had done likewise, killing willing participants or captives of foes for the favor of wild Skar, but such rituals were frowned upon the priesthood of the Wolven these days. Blood sacrifice, maybe, but not murder.
And so these men had been called together, what the King had commanded, for the Seneschal to form a new band of thief-takers and investigators to see what man would commit such a killing. Thus Edmund instructed them, the Night Watch, and they fanned out in to the city. To the taverns and byways they passed, in to brothels and counting houses, through the marketplaces and fountain gardens of the rich. They would learn of this slaughter, and determine why and how such ancient customs had returned to Norden.
Hall of the Sun, Citadel of Storms
Dor, The Kingdom of Norden
Third of First Seed, Tenth Year of the Age of the CometUpon the stark cool stone throne of the Crown of the North sat the King, Jarnassus, now entering his fifty first winter. His beard was full and hale, flecked only in places with white, though the silver that had marked his temples had now spread to much of his brow. It veritably embraced the white band of starmetal that sat atop the deep black of the King's head, drops of brilliant blue sapphires like crystallized starlight and moonlight set in the wrought metal as cool as the snow above Mindullowen in the depths of winter. A simple deep gray longcoat with hints of blue at the collars and obsidian toggles graced his figure, closed just below the neck and complemented by slightly blue trousers tucked in to long supple midnight black boots of the leather of the northern sable deer that roamed the Mountains of Winter in the high reaches of the alpine forests. He did not smile as the emissaries approached, but regarded them with equanimity, measuring the foreigners.
A herald announced the newcomers, standing forth from near the entrance to the Hall of the Sun, where the King held court for formal affairs. He was tall, the herald, a strapping example of Norden manhood, and his voice rang out like the shout of a trumpet above the hushed murmuring of the nobles and courtiers in attendance.
"Lord Sepespian of the noble city of Vlorense. Lord Atrivar of the House of the Prince of Vlorense. Their counterparts. All come to the court of Norden."
Murmurs fell to whispers as the diplomats approached the throne. Jarnassus waited for them to bow slightly, if such was their custom, then addressed the diplomats.
"Gentlemen, we welcome you to the court of our Kingdom, and to Dor. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"
Hall of Roses, The Citadel of Storms
Dor, The Kingdom of Norden
Tenth of Leaffall, Tenth Year of the Age of the CometThe man Lann, warrior of the Lions Rampart, arrived at the less formal court of the Citadel of Storms, high above the slopes of Dor herself and set to stare out both east and west over the plains of Norden and to towards the setting sun in watch against the wilds beyond. Upon the fine autumn day that graced the northern climes the King took council with his advisors upon the high terrace known as the Skyseat, where one could look down upon all the city nearly two hundred feet below. This high only the carefully tended vegetation and sculpted trees of the Royal Gardeners flourished, and knots of nobles sat here and there upon artfully arranged white stone benches scattered between clever displays of mosaic artistry contributed by the masons and sculptors of the generations. Lann was announced by a herald whose hair was as fiery as the coals of a smith's furnace, and some few nobles looked up upon hearing that a Brother of the Order of the Lion walked this day upon the Skyseat.