[center][h2]Rurik[/h2][/center] 
[center][h3][i]The Blackfort, Highcliff[/i][/h3][/center]

Positioned on one of the Blackfort’s few balconies Rurik surveyed the city spreading out below. Everything seemed tiny from here - the houses, shops, inns, markets, guildhalls and warehouses of Highcliff appeared as little more than children’s toys. The multitude of people moving along the wide streets blurred into an almost indistinguishable mass, broken only by the occasional glint of steel from a soldier’s helmet. It looked more like a damned anthill than a city truth be told, and just as likely to be trampled. 

Frowning, Rurik scanned the King’s Way, tracing its path as it crossed the city and then gradually blended with the southern horizon. There were plenty of caravans going in both directions; a glance towards the Greylin painted a similar picture. He could count at least fifteen ships on their way to Highcliff and just as many bound for Saltbrook. As usual, about half of those were Bogken ships, which came all the way from the distant south, bringing their much-needed supply of sand of foodstuffs.

Yes, despite the madness that seemed to have gripped the world following the Godfall, life seemed to go on as it always had. Neither the peasant tilling the fields, nor the captain steering his ship in the river paid much heed to what transpired around them. As long as the year was good and trade kept flowing, they would blindly carry on with their simple, uneventful lives. Rurik knew better though and good thing too, for men who saw farther than their noses were few and far between. 

He’d always been confident and sure of himself, however the idea of ruling all of [i]this[/i] terrified him more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t just one town, but an entire country, with all the Holds and farms and outposts…it simply boggled the mind. Rurik was never one to back down from a challenge though and a man had to do his duty, no matter his aversion for it. Gripping the railing, he steadied himself; this was his fortress, his land, his people, his kingdom and he’d be damned if he let Kedoren be toppled by these trying times. 

With a grunt Rurik walked back into his room. The day was still young, though his head was already throbbing from all the troubles life threw at him. His father, the King, was still missing without a trace. The old fool had gone mad, but he could at least have had the decency to leave a will behind. Instead, Rurik had to keep the peace through sheer will and the strength of House Tyndall’s forces, which he had been strengthening over the past few years. The Freeholds had little love for him and sensed his weakness, it was only a matter of time before they made their move, he was sure of it.

If that wasn’t enough, one of his trusted men, Oren Lugain, was implicated in the King’s disappearance. The boy was head of the Blackfort’s guards and had served well so far, but his foreign blood had quickly drawn suspicion, to the point where most everyone now considered him to be either a traitor or simply incompetent. Adding to that, he had received [i]yet[/i] another letter from his mother-in-law, Gwyn Strolund, requesting assistance for her missing whelp. It was as if the bloody woman was blind to the fact that the King himself had disappeared! 

Oh, but there was more of course. The Twin Moons, the heirloom of his House and symbol of Kedoren’s kings, had gone missing a few days after his father. And now he’d heard rumours of his young brother forsaking his studies in Rhaetia. Owyn had done this twice, the fool! It was as if fate itself conspired against him or maybe Eirtu had forsaken Kedoren, following his wife’s destruction. What had they done to deserve this though? Kedorians had always been on good terms with the Moons….

He was pulled away from his grim thoughts by a knock on the door. 

“Enter” he said, seating himself on the only chair in the room. 

Osgar Parhall, more commonly known as Dog-nose, appeared a moment later, saluting in the northern style, hands crossed at his chest and bowing slightly. A salute normally reserved for a king. With his scar and dour demeanor, he wasn’t a pleasant man to look at, but Rurik wasn’t particularly interested in his appearance.

“You called, my lord?”

“Ser Parhall” Rurik began, shifting the papers on his otherwise bare desk “I have need of that dog’s nose of yours.” 

Rurik detected a hint of a frown on Osgar’s face, who wasn’t too fond of his nickname, but he wouldn’t dare speak up against his liege. 

“I’ll be short.” he continued “As you know, the King is missing. The Twin Moons have also vanished. An entire castle full of guards know nothing, have seen nothing and have done nothing. Nothing!” 

Rurik breathed in, calming himself. “They say you’re the best tracker this side of the Windwall. To hear the smallfolk tell it, you could find Elonar herself.”

“A correction, my lord. The best tracker on [i]both[/i] sides of the Windwall.”

“Prove it.” Rurik slammed his fist on the table “I don’t need you to find the bloody Goddess. Find me the King or the Twin Moons. I need one of them, preferably both.” 

“My lord..?” Osgar hesitated. 

“Talk. Spit it out.”

“What if the King is – is dead?” 

It was a possibility, an increasingly growing one, Rurik had to admit. It didn’t matter though, he had his plans and his father would no longer stand in his way, dead or alive. 

“I don’t care. Find him or his corpse. I need to know.” 

“Yes, lord. It will be done.” 

“Then go. You have my full confidence on this.” Rurik took out a heavy pouch and tossed it to him “Take what men you need and buy supplies with what I gave you. Depart at once.” 

“Of course, my lord it –“ 

Rurik cut him off with a wave. “Go!” 

Dog-nose turned on his heels and made for the door. He was about to leave the room, when Rurik spoke again. 

“Osgar” his voice took on a softer, colder tone “don’t return empty-handed. Come back with Mir or the pendant or I swear on the Moons, I’ll hang you by the balls from the southern gate!” 

“Understood, lord.”

Rurik leaned back in his chair, exhaling. The pieces were set and his plans were in motion. The Godfall had heralded the coming of change - one era had passed and another was beginning. It wasn’t the end of the world or the beginning of divine judgement, he knew that much, but the old order was crumbling. Kedoren needed brave souls to guide it through these dark times towards the coming dawn and Rurik would be at the forefront of it. He would have it no other way.