In the city of Confluendi, a dark mood had settled like a storm cloud. Three weeks had passed since the first whispers of defeat arrived,brought by ragged and fleeing soldiers who had barely escaped the battlefield, whose fate would be that of the chopping block as ordered by their young lord's regent.
A week later, the tension deepened into despair. The body of their fallen lord was paraded through the streets by royal envoys, a cruel display meant to hammer home the power of the crown and the consequences of defiance. The sight of their once-proud leader's lifeless form, battered and bloodied, had a profound effect on the people.
Crowds gathered in silence as the procession moved, the only sounds being the clatter of horses' hooves and the quiet murmurs of disbelief.
Yet the message was lost on the streets apparently when it was whispered that their young lord's mother had refused to send even a token envoy to congratulate her nephew on his coronation.
