A Pottic Farce | The First Kingdom (Histories of the Vale II) | By Fading Emberlight
Fenmoss
Chapter IV: A Pottic Farce
You will never forget those words the lead goblin said before you parted and went off to the room you have rented with part of your adventuring fortune. They are burned into your mind like a bad, yet catchy tune, and you can’t help but repeat them in your head as sleep evades you for the time being.
“WELL, there you have it. If you farmers were not thrilled from the first spellbinding moment to the last, then woe betide you, for you are doomed to a life of artless mediocrity. Barkeep paid me before I went on, so I'm out. Please welcome to the stage, some other troupe of mummers or something. They can't follow me, if they know what's good for ‘em they won't even try…
…And Gorbag, if you aren't packed up and out of here by the time I finish talking, all your debts are due tonight with double interest…”
Chapter V: The First Kingdom (Histories of the Vale II)
Long now lie these years, numbering one thousand, one hundred, and eleven since the day in which our kingdom was brought together. When Grand Turil of the Idarings and Fair Turith of the Averungs did wed, and so join their forces to resist the tide of invaders, then only did the onslaught end. With that mighty blow that the spearhead of the empire was broken, and the Sumidean force, mighty in their thousands, fell as many raindrops on the sides of our mountains. With girded swords and fearsome hordes, we gave back what they brought. With every night another fight and victory was wrought.
With sword of king and queenly horse our victories accrued, with sacrifice of Hilvattaar, foes were at last subdued. With aid of Ingjaz, we went forth to strike the southren flanks. Like scythe into the harvest field, until we broke their ranks
The old and wizened empire slid then into decay, so Suvaron and Lingothian, followed each in their own way. But from the graves of kingdoms, so too are kingdoms born. When those three of old did perish, so began fair VALENDON.
When king and queen passed from this world, a house of heirs they left, but seasons came and seasons went, until we were bereft.
Of noble Turovar, and Tirilyn Queen, of lofty names we sing, of Turothir and Turaldin, of autumn and of spring. When noble houses wane and kingdoms tarry on, so find we new beginnings for eternal Valendon.
Chapter VI: By Fading Emberlight
Thankfully sleep does eventually find you in the hours of the waning fire, though you fear you may never again be un-plagued by dreams of goblins, their mischievous voices, their tall tales, or their maddening penchant for getting down...
