Vhalar 30, Arc 724
Cassander was sitting sideways on a chair the backroom of the Domum Kassaili where he worked, his feet on the armrest rather than on the floor. In the past, when he had still been a king and still unbroken, he had sometimes allowed himself such a breach of etiquette in public because nobody had dared to openly criticize him. He’d changed his mind about such bratty behaviour since then – there were always consequences - but here, nobody was watching him, and besides, sitting like that was surprisingly comfortable.
In his lap was a small black dragon figurine that was made of stone. He had bought it on the same trial he had applied for his job. It was a simple thing, a keepsake, one of many items that a man that had been desperate for money, a refugee from Rynmere, had sold, his employer, Sage Castemont had told him. When he had checked Sage’s ledgers, curious about the mysterious refugee, he had discovered that his name had been blacked out.
Sage had refused to tell him more when he had asked about the man, but she had encouraged him to research. Trials had turned into seasons and eventually cycles, and he hadn’t made any progress. Perhaps, he thought, there was nothing special about it, after all. It wasn’t old or expensive, and it didn’t contain any magic, at least none that he had been able to find (in spite of his misgivings when it came to magic, he had decided to consider that possibility as not doing so would have been foolish and cowardly).
Perhaps, his time would be better spent on something else, on his advancement in Rharne’s society (even though not standing out in any way would probably be safer) or trying to figure out why he was still here, or here again, and relatively sane even though he should be a gibbering mess. Perhaps, his obsession with the figurine was a sign that he was relapsing.
Perhaps, he should throw it away …
Would his madness disappear along with the object of his madness?
No, he wasn’t mad, and he would never be mad again!
He abruptly stood, removed the ledger he had examined all those trials before from a nearby shelf and found that entry. Perhaps, he hadn’t looked carefully enough. Perhaps, the book contained a secret code. Or perhaps, he simply needed to bring light into the darkness.
He tucked the book under his right arm and moved over to the single window.
Perhaps, that would be enough.
Cassander was sitting sideways on a chair the backroom of the Domum Kassaili where he worked, his feet on the armrest rather than on the floor. In the past, when he had still been a king and still unbroken, he had sometimes allowed himself such a breach of etiquette in public because nobody had dared to openly criticize him. He’d changed his mind about such bratty behaviour since then – there were always consequences - but here, nobody was watching him, and besides, sitting like that was surprisingly comfortable.
In his lap was a small black dragon figurine that was made of stone. He had bought it on the same trial he had applied for his job. It was a simple thing, a keepsake, one of many items that a man that had been desperate for money, a refugee from Rynmere, had sold, his employer, Sage Castemont had told him. When he had checked Sage’s ledgers, curious about the mysterious refugee, he had discovered that his name had been blacked out.
Sage had refused to tell him more when he had asked about the man, but she had encouraged him to research. Trials had turned into seasons and eventually cycles, and he hadn’t made any progress. Perhaps, he thought, there was nothing special about it, after all. It wasn’t old or expensive, and it didn’t contain any magic, at least none that he had been able to find (in spite of his misgivings when it came to magic, he had decided to consider that possibility as not doing so would have been foolish and cowardly).
Perhaps, his time would be better spent on something else, on his advancement in Rharne’s society (even though not standing out in any way would probably be safer) or trying to figure out why he was still here, or here again, and relatively sane even though he should be a gibbering mess. Perhaps, his obsession with the figurine was a sign that he was relapsing.
Perhaps, he should throw it away …
Would his madness disappear along with the object of his madness?
No, he wasn’t mad, and he would never be mad again!
He abruptly stood, removed the ledger he had examined all those trials before from a nearby shelf and found that entry. Perhaps, he hadn’t looked carefully enough. Perhaps, the book contained a secret code. Or perhaps, he simply needed to bring light into the darkness.
He tucked the book under his right arm and moved over to the single window.
Perhaps, that would be enough.