A Fragile Alliance:
The cold winds bite as Selyne Valenvar rides through the snow-covered plains with her small escort of riders. They approach Ravenmoor, the seat of House Myradin, nestled in a valley surrounded by dense pine forests. Its gray stone walls loom tall, and the banners of a black raven on a silver field flap in the wind.
As Selyne and her men dismount, they are greeted by Lord Erynd Myradin, a middle-aged man with calculating gray eyes and an aura of distrust. His court gathers around him, their murmurs betraying unease.
“Lady Valenvar,” Erynd says, his tone cold but polite. “I did not expect a visit in such... turbulent times.”
Selyne steps forward, her voice steady. “Turbulence requires unity, my lord. The north faces a common enemy. Zerath Drakfyr’s armies march, and if we stand divided, we will fall.”
Erynd smirks, folding his arms. “And what does House Valenvar propose? That we empty our grain stores and send our men to die defending your lands? Forgive me if I hesitate to call that unity.”
Selyne narrows her eyes, stepping closer to the imposing lord. “This is not just my house’s fight. When Zerath burns the highlands, do you think he’ll stop at Frosthold? You will face his dragons next, and without us, you’ll stand alone.”
The tension in the room thickens until a younger voice cuts through. “Father, she’s right.”
The crowd parts to reveal Lorien Myradin, Erynd’s eldest son. Tall and lean, with sharp features and an air of quiet intelligence, Lorien steps beside Selyne. “We’ve already seen southern raiders testing our borders. If we do nothing, we won’t survive the winter.”
Erynd scowls but finally relents. “Fine. I will send fifty of my men to the pass. But that is all I can spare. Do not expect more.”
Selyne inclines her head, hiding her frustration. “It will suffice—for now. I hope you’ll reconsider once the true threat reveals itself.”
As Selyne and Lorien exchange a glance, an unspoken understanding passes between them: this alliance is fragile, but it is a start.
...****************...
The Assassin’s Blade:
In the ruins of Veltharion, Archmagister Nael Caerys studies the shattered throne in silence. The shadows seem alive, shifting and whispering as the evening sun casts eerie light through the crumbled walls.
A voice breaks the silence: “Did you summon me, Magister?”
Nael turns to see Seraphine, the enigmatic cloaked figure introduced earlier. Her silver eyes glint in the twilight, and her dagger rests easily at her hip.
“Yes,” Nael says, his voice heavy. “I have a task for you.”
Seraphine steps closer, her gaze falling on the embers of the Throne of Ashes. “Let me guess: you want me to find the assassin who killed the High King.”
Nael nods. “The blade they used—it was forged in shadow, imbued with magic I haven’t seen in centuries. Someone, or something, is working from the shadows to shatter the realm. We must know who.”
Seraphine tilts her head, her voice curious. “And if I find them?”
“You do what you do best,” Nael replies.
Seraphine smirks, her fingers brushing the hilt of her dagger. “Understood. But if I’m risking my neck for your answers, I’ll need more than promises. What’s really at stake here, Nael?”
The Archmagister’s expression darkens. “Everything.”
...****************...
The Crow and the Pursuit:
Far from Veltharion, The Crow and Dain make their way through the dense forest. The shard of the Sovereign’s Blade pulses faintly within the satchel, its dark energy a constant reminder of its importance—and danger.
“Do you ever wonder,” Dain begins, breaking the tense silence, “why it had to be us? Out of all the fools in this cursed realm, we’re the ones carrying the most dangerous artifact in existence.”
The Crow glances at him, her expression serious. “Because we’re the only ones who know what it means. If this shard falls into the wrong hands, the Sovereign will rise, and the world will burn.”
Dain snorts. “Great. No pressure, then.”
Suddenly, the sound of hooves echoes in the distance. The Crow freezes, her sharp eyes scanning the trees.
“They’re close,” she whispers.
The two move quickly, weaving through the forest as the sound of their pursuers grows louder. But as they approach a clearing, they find themselves face-to-face with a squad of mercenaries.
“End of the line, girl,” the leader sneers, raising his blackened spear.
The Crow and Dain draw their weapons, preparing for a desperate fight.
...****************...
The Flames of War Ignite:
Back in Drakfyr, Zerath stands atop a rocky outcrop overlooking his gathered forces. Thousands of warriors stretch as far as the eye can see, their banners displaying the golden dragon of House Drakfyr.
“Brothers and sisters,” Zerath calls out, his voice booming. “The north cowers behind their walls, clinging to their false unity. They think their cold and their stones will protect them. But we are fire. We are strength. And we will show them the might of Drakfyr!”
The army roars in unison, their voices shaking the ground. Beside Zerath, his brother Kael watches in silence, his expression conflicted.
As the crowd chants Zerath’s name, Kael leans closer to his brother. “This war will cost more than you realize, Zerath. Are you sure this is the path? ”
Zerath doesn’t hesitate. “It’s the only path. Now, prepare the dragons. We march at dawn.”
Kael’s gaze shifts to the horizon, his mind racing with doubts.
...****************...
A World in Flux:
The episode ends with a series of short, dramatic moments:
- Selyne rides away from Ravenmoor with Lorien watching from the walls, his face thoughtful.
- Seraphine disappears into the shadows of Veltharion, her mission clear.
- The Crow and Dain engage the mercenaries in a desperate battle, the shard glowing ominously within its satchel.
- Zerath’s forces prepare to march, their dragons roaring into the night sky.
- Deep within the ruins of Veltharion, the whispers of the Dark Sovereign grow louder, their sinister tone filled with promise:
"The pieces fall into place. Soon, the throne will be mine."
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