Under the starlit sky, when everyone above the sea was catching their dreams, two folks met at a quiet corner of the ship. The gentle waves whispered, setting the mood for a secret chat about the next move.
"Are you sure about this, son?" a voice trembled with fear.
"If you want your son out, just do as I say," the second voice spoke, calm and without any fear. "Unless, of course, you want your son all tied up and tossed into the sea."
"N-no, please. I don't want to see my son in that situation. But...what about the young lord? Didn't he promise to talk to the Highlords?"
"Who? That useless piece of timber?" He spat on the ground with disdain. "You think he has any voice over all the other Highlords? Especially someone from that useless province. Don't get me started on his personal command over his own knights."
"I see... and you're sure this would get my son out of his terrible fate?"
"Do you doubt me, old man?" The man turned around, and his eyes glimmered in the moonlight.
"N-no, of course, World Bringer, I do not doubt you. I trust you with all my heart," said the man.
"Good, then do as I say," the man walked forward, "and remember, whatever you do, it affects your son's life. So make sure you don't half-ass this task."
The old man watched as the young man walked away. He wiped the sweat dribbling from his forehead.
'All-father, save us please.'
...
The following day, Morvain awoke to the lively sounds of commotion drifting up from the deck.
"Is it kicking off already?" he wondered.
After a quick face-refreshing splash, he checked himself out in the mirror, ensuring he looked presentable. A sly grin crept across his face as he stashed a piece of fabric into his pockets, a little trick up his sleeve. With a confident stride, he swung the door open.
Outside, a scene unfolded - a lively gathering near the main mast. As Morvain approached, it became clear that this assembly was a tale of two factions. On one side, a bustling crowd of commoners, the lowborns; on the other, the lofty highborns.
Numbers favored the lowborns, but Morvain couldn't help but ponder what would happen if one of the highborns decided the circus was spiraling out of control. Oh, the spectacle that would be.
A chorus of grievances echoed through the air.
"We want justice!" cried out one voice.
"Free the heroes! They're locked up for petty reasons," another voice insisted.
"Lord Emberfall should be ashamed, tossing heroes in prison just because he didn't like a few facts," chimed in a disgruntled onlooker.
"Little Lord's ego is so bruised, he's throwing a tantrum and harming our heroes. Who does he think he is? His father isn't even around!"
"That's it! Release our heroes!"
"You roach--"
A venomous insult was cut off as Lord Emberfall, seething with anger, prepared to unleash a torrent of noble profanity. Yet, to Morvain's surprise, a bald, portly man raised his hand, commanding silence. Astonishingly, the lord held his temper in check.
"My dear people, let's keep our composure," he reassured in a soothing voice.
"Who the hell are you?" demanded another voice from the crowd.
"I am Rowen, advisor to High Lord Ravencore." The mere mention of the High Lord hushed the agitated crowd. Rowen produced a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing away the sweat from his forehead. "Now, gentlemen, I understand your concerns, and the lords are currently deliberating on the matter."
"So they'll be released, right?"
"Yes, they will be released..." He cut off the protest brewing from young Lord Emberfall. "But they must face the consequences of their actions."
"What crimes would those be, Lord Advisor?" questioned Ron.
"Insulting the heir to the most powerful family in the kingdom, and then attacking him like a coward even when he refused to take up arms against them. Those, my gentlemen, are their crimes," Rowen declared. "No matter, Lord Emberfall is still a lord, and you are well aware of the punishment for insulting, let alone attacking, one of them. You all know the laws of this kingdom very well, don't you?"
"But they didn't attack him; they just defended themselves from him!" accused a voice from the crowd.
'Most powerful family? Interesting.' Morvain scratched his jaws.
"Lies!" the young lord bellowed. "They attacked me, the cowards! Jumping on someone defenseless, like a pack of hyenas."
His right eye still proudly bore a burnt mark, a twisted badge of honor.
Morvain felt the impulse to step forward, set the record straight, but another mission tugged at him. Time was slipping away, and he couldn't afford to be late, even amidst this chaotic spectacle.
As he turned away with a heavy sigh, his gaze was drawn back one last time to the lady. Her face remained veiled, a deliberate choice to avoid meeting the eyes of the intrigued onlookers.
'Whatever secret pact binds these three provinces together must be so valuable that they're willing to spin lies to the lowborns.'
...
Morvain strolled leisurely through the corridor, unfazed by the hurried crowd rushing past him. It was almost as if he wasn't on a mission to pilfer something valuable. But, of course, he was.
He casually sauntered by an opulent door, circling back once and ensuring the coast was clear. With a swift movement, he draped a piece of cloth over his head, then slyly opened the door, slipped inside, and closed it behind him.
"Alright! Time to reclaim what's rightfully mine."
The room exuded opulence, much like Nolan's. However, a peculiar sight caught Morvain's attention – a collection of spears scattered around. Unlike Nolan, who needed no weaponry for show, it seemed this room had a different taste.
Morvain swiftly surveyed the room in search of the azure spear.
"Where is the thing?" Anxiety crept in as the fear of the spear being lost loomed over him.
The prized possession wasn't among the displayed spears, nor did it rest on the bed roll. A thorough search inside the wardrobe yielded no results. The elusive azure spear remained hidden.
"Where is it? Where is it?" Morvain anxiously paced around the room, racking his brain to figure out where Lord Emberfall might hide the coveted spear.
Then, a spark of inspiration hit him.
Approaching the wardrobe, he pressed his face against the wall. There it was – behind the wardrobe, cleverly concealed. Morvain grinned as he placed his hands on the wall, feeling for the handle of the spear. With a triumphant pull, he retrieved the hidden treasure.
"Finally."
Morvain hastily inspected the spear, relieved to find it unchanged with his stone still embedded in the handle.
"My precious, I thought I lost you forever."
Just as he was celebrating his success, a movement caught his eye behind the closed door.
'Shit!'
Cursing under his breath, he swiftly dropped to the ground and rolled under the bed, clutching the spear and holding his breath.
The door slammed open, and three pairs of boots stormed in. The first one, with heavy steps, kicked the wardrobe, shattering it.
"Low life shits!" Lord Emberfall cursed. "Mother pimping fuckers!"