The chair creaked as he learned forward over his desk. Trying to make out the words on the page barely illuminated by the dim light and mumbled to himself.
A creak sounded in the hallway behind him, moving his attention to the door he saw the hooded figure of deathstalker in the doorway, a letter in his hand. “Enter.” Tyrvel commanded. The deathstalker seemed to glide towards him with silent grace and held out the letter. Tyrvel reached out for the letter searching the messenger’s eyes for any hint of what it might contain and found only the cold glare inherent in all of the deathstalkers. Tyrvel took the letter with a kirt nod and waved his hand for him to leave, the deathstalker returned the nod and left without a sound.
Tyrvel placed the letter on his desk and looked at the seal. He had expected the violet seal of the Undercity or the deep blue of the exectuors not the red seal of Stromgarde. Tyrvel wiped the mucus from the corners of his mouth and took a heavy seat in chair and leaned back inspecting the letter that lay before him.
Minutes past as he looked at the letter before he finally reached for it again.
Calm and light a voice spoke from the doorway, “A letter with the seal of Stromgarde? A declaration of war no doubt.” Calvin Blightbane stood at the doorway, he had removed the mask that concealed his lower face and smirk on his face was the one he always wore. It was why he was his closest advisor, it was why he held the title of Vizier, why he was his most trusted lieutenant, it was a reminder not to take the problems in stride and enjoy what is.
Dourly Tyrvel responded, “We have not had communication with our living brethren since the Alliance annexed our home for their own. I do not expect it is an invitation and open arms.” Tyrvel cleared his throat with a wet cough and wiped his mouth again with the kerchief he kept in his ropes and cleaning his yellowing bone fingers.
Blightbane padded into the room and leaned besides the towering bookshelf that loomed beside the desk. Tyrvel gave a defeated look of annoyance at Blightbane as he knocked the neatly stacked papers from the bottom shelf onto the floor.
“Stromgarde as I knew it, as you knew it is gone. Memories that eddy in my mind that will not let me be. I linger to the glory, I, we once knew. The great walls of my childhood seemed an edifice that no enemy could crumble. Like a mother she kept us safe, King Trollbane the father to unleash wrath when it was threatened. But now, it is an Alliance stronghold, stripped of its former unique glory. It is a monument of failure and myopic ambition.” Tyrvel punctuated each word of the last sentence and leaned over the letter taking it up in his hand.
Blightbane stared at Tyrvel, a look of disgust on his face. The took glared at each other for a time. Blightbane spoke first, “Tyrvel the High Executor, Tyrvel the Terrible, Stromsbane, reduced to a rodent hiding at the sight of bad news. They used to flee at your presence and gather armies to crush you and you stood before them. They would laugh if they saw you now.”
Tyrvel looked back at the letter and spoke quietly. “You have spent too much time with Xaltic and Caldrice. If anyone else spoke to me that way I would have you put to death where you stand.”
“They would not obey. You have lost your spirit, and everyone can see it. You sit huddled in your office going over paperwork and writing of laws and history. You live in the past; you crave what once was and you no longer have the will to do anything. When I joined the Defilers, I was a lost, I told you I wanted only to find what had become of my father. Do you remember what you said?”
There was a crash as Tyrvel’s chair hit the floor and he stood before Blightbane. The dim light had been gutted and the only light was Tyrvel’s staff pressed to the Vizier’s throat that radiated a green glow across the room. The Vizier stood a head taller than Tyrvel, but the High Executor seemed to loom over him. Tyrvel spoke in a whisper and a smirk was spreading across Blightbane’s lips. “Remember who you are speaking to, you are still a child you looking to get a rise out of his…”
Blightbane cut off Tyrvel, “What did you tell me?”
Tyrvel still pressed the staff to staff to Blightbane’s throat. “That there was purpose in something greater than you, that you would never find potential chasing the past.”
Blightbane moved the staff away from his throat. “You were right. I never could have imagined what we would have achieved and despite the loss of Stromgarde it still stands, and our people still stand.”
Tyrvel righted his char and sat back down. “I dream of walls, and hearth of wood. A home of peace, both fair and good. My love is there, in Stromgarde’s hold, waves of the sea on hills of old. And 'ere I went, to lift my hand, I left my heart upon the sand. When duty’s done, and glory earned, I swore my heart, I would return.”
The two let the words settle. Until Tyrvel picked up the letter and broke the seal with a boney finger. He let out a breath and read the letter. “The Keepers of Stromgarde have returned and Belaal has returned from his exile.”
The Vizier raised an eyebrow inquisitively, “Why would they send you a letter telling you the current situation of the order?”
“It’s a threat, my friend. To tell us that we will be met with as much might as they have to offer.” Tyrvel inspected the letter again and noticed it was signed by Belaal himself and then realized it was addressed not to Tyrvel Stromsbane but to The Traitor Perenador Shattersword. Tyrvel looked up in thought his mouth partly agape in realization and a rare smile broke across his face.
“I’m surprised, you seem exhilarated to be threatened.” Laughed Blightbane.
“Because it is an invitation. A welcome with open arms to end it, a call to arms. Belaal was never the one to fight an enemy in surprise, he would make everyone aware he was coming.” Tyrvel folded the letter and inspected it one more time before placing it in his robes and smiling to himself.
Tyrvel turned to speak to Blightbane and the words caught in his throat. There was no one there. Tyrvel leaned back in his chair and looked towards the corner of his desk. A large violet orb hummed and a light danced within where it sat on its pedestal. He reached out and placed a hand on the orb and sighed, wiping a bit of dust from the engraved pedestal with the sleeve of his robe. “I do not know how I will fight them without you, but I will bring you justice.”