A final bartering of favours

[whiteferrarii 123]

A final bartering of favours

 

Grim was the morning after the trial, where Lord Jerrik Marbrand himself stood disputed before the Orenian nobility. An aged man with aged ideals, no longer found in his colleagues and adversaries.

 

Afore him stepping upon the stairwell to Greywater Watch, he had found a short-lived friend amidst a courtroom of enemies. His representative by chance, Marcus Marchand, who tried to barter with lord Roswell for a nullification of his charges one last time. But his Lotharingian tongue couldn’t persuade the adamant postures of those from Erochland.

 

It was from that point that the lord had given up his venture, one of both romantic and political kind. He dismissed his lawyer from his duty in the palace’s yard, to venture to Greywater Watch for a closure to his chapter.

 

Once he climbed the stairs and entered his humble keep, he sat upon his dormant stone throne; the seat where his tale once began. As a leap of faith, he wrote a letter addressed to his short-lived ally:

 

“My dear friend,

 

While you may frown upon the term I use, ‘friend’, it is used with genuine intent. For long have I led this family and steered it through many obstacles that we once faced, and for that I am certainly proud.

 

But today the Creator had decided that House Marbrand is not meant to be. As I cannot comprehend his divine intent as nothing but a mere mortal, I am obedient to his wishes. In that spirit, I hope you will be the same to wishes of my own.

 

My dear Lopkaea Marbrand shall be in peril with my imminent death. She proudly carries her Faolian grandmother’s name, which by now was only well received within her Vandorian County. She shall seek you in your own tavern in Summerhall, the one you so vaguely mentioned to me in Court. I hope you shall care for her and treat her well, and protect her titles as if they were your own. Godspeed brother,  may your kindred spirit be as long lived as yourself.

 

Yours faithfully,

 

Lord Jerrik Marbrand.”

 

Once he send the message to be delivered, he walked into the fires with an expression of sadness and certainty. This was the end of the Marbrand.

May a more honorable entity ever take its place.

[YouKnowItsJuno 269]

Upon hearing news of the latest about Marbrand, Renee de Aryn wrinkled her nose.

 

"Jory  must be rolling in his grave... his boy disgraces him."