 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Winter of Storm and Shadow: Interlude #9
Mirror, Mirror on the Wall Alone in his chamber, High King Shivanshallos studies himself in the mirror. He is in an uncharacteristically critical mood. His own cinder-black eyes stare back, the whites drowned out completely. A scar around his left eye puckers the skin slightly there. Hair the color of hoarfrost falls around his pale face, stained by a long, coarse lock of brutal reddish-black. He tugs on the lock pensively. Nothing to be done about that, he thinks. Leaning closer, Shivanshallos bares his teeth at his reflection in a rather half-hearted attempt at a smile. His teeth were white and even, he noted with some satisfaction. Fine grit scrapes between his upper and lower back teeth as he closes his mouth and he grimaces, swallowing hard. The disgusted sneer still on his face, he holds out his left hand, peering down at his fingers. His hands are somewhat rough, neither the elegant hands of a scribe nor the gnarled hands of a fighter. His fingers are straight, the nails broad and flat. It seems to take longer every time, he thinks uneasily. He takes the long file he holds in his right hand and scrapes it across the top of his nails one last time. He blows away white residual dust, brushing his hands against his pants leg absently. His face in the mirror is dour. A throat clears conspicuously from the door, and Shivanshallos spins sharply, startled. His cousin and Knight Captain of the Naven Du'aellesti stands just inside the chamber door, looking amused. Xanalis looks and acts more the part of a ranger than most of the Naven Du'aellesti knights he leads. Shivanshallos relaxes slightly, turning back to the mirror. "I hate to interrupt your primping, my King," he says to Shivanshallos in a tone that would be insolent from any but his best friend. "Bah, Xanalis, do you ever knock," Shivanshallos replies irritably, setting the file down. He bares his teeth at his reflection again briefly, running a tongue tip over the edges of his even teeth. Reassured, he turns to face Xanalis again. "I did." Xanalis' grin got the better of him. "Three times. You were deep in contemplation at the mirror, my lord." Shivanshallos, ordinarily amused by his cousin, will not be drawn. He gives the Knight Captain a somber look. "You know she will be here soon," he says. "Everything must be in readiness." Xanalis raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth as though he were about to say something, but thinks better of it. Instead he nods and steps forward, giving the High King a quick study. "You look," Xanalis hesitates only briefly, "fine." He reaches out and grasps Shivanshallos' shoulder lightly for a moment. Shivanshallos sighs. "It will have to do," he says, shrugging. "Was there something you needed, my friend, or did you come only to gloat at my predicament?" Xanalis nods, straightening, once more the Knight Captain. "I came to tell you that there have been reports of more fires near a few villages in the west. Aramil and his rangers are investigating further, but so far, they have found nothing but ash. No sign of a cause," Xanalis states matter-of-factly. Shivanshallos takes this in, his demeanor growing dark and distant at the news. This is the second report in as many weeks, and something in the back of Shiver's mind stirs. He pushes the thoughts back, "Anything else?" he says, his mood clearly worse. "Yes," Xanalis continues, "Lyaethus has arrived, my lord." In an instant, Shivanshallos brightens visibly. "Excellent. Send him in." At that, Xanalis steps outside for an instant, and beckons someone inside. The high elf that walks into Shivanshallos' chamber carries himself with a graceful saunter. His dark hair is pulled back and his green eyes are bright and full of cheer. He smiles, pulling off his broad-rimmed traveling hat and bowing low with an elegant flourish. "Your Highness," he says grandly, with a bard`s gift for pitch. Shivanshallos can see his lap harp strapped to his back, its case well-oiled and tended. "Well met, Lyaethus," Shivanshallos greets him with a faint smile. "I was delighted to hear that you can once again make use of my humble harping," Lythaeus says, straightening. He tucks his hat under one arm, carefully picking an offending piece of lint off the brim. "Am I to entertain you and your lovely sister this eve?" "Nina?" Shivanshallos asks, waving a hand impatiently. "No, she will not be here tonight. I sent her on a diplomatic mission to the half orc camp of Clear Sky." "The Princess is on a diplomatic mission in the Gyri cantrev of Melgorn?" Lyaethus repeats, eyebrows high. "Is that... ah... wise, my King?" Xanalis coughs suddenly, and Shivanshallos favors him with a pointed look. "She is being accompanied by a veteran diplomat," Shivanshallos replies. "I am hopeful she will not get herself into too much trouble. In any case, it is time for her to learn an appreciation of others besides her immediate kin, and the subtle art of diplomacy. " He turns his attention fully back to the bard. "No, the reason I asked for your harping tonight is that I hope to keep Lorindoriel entertained. She is quite fond of harp music." Lyaethus smiles again, his green eyes as bright as a cat's. He bows low once more. "Excellent," he murmurs smoothly. "I would be most honored, my lord." 
DUNGEONS & DRAGONS, D&D, GREYHAWK, WORLD OF GREYHAWK and RPGA are registered trademarks of Wizards of the Coast, Inc. DUNGEON MASTER, MONSTER MANUAL are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast, Inc. All Wizards of the Coast characters, character names, and the distinctive likenesses thereof are trademarks owned by Wizards of the Coast, Inc. Wizards of the Coast, Inc. is a subsidiary of Hasbro, Inc. This Web site is authorized for the sole purpose of endorsing and promoting the Wizards of the Coast's Living Greyhawk campaign. Use of the name of any product without mention of trademark status should not be taken as a challenge to such status
Website design copyright © by Stephen Mumford. |
