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 Post subject: A Wrathful Vintage
 Post Posted: Thu Jan 26, 2012 1:40 am 
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Joined: Wed May 06, 2009 4:27 pm
Posts: 297
Location: Eagle Shire/King's Point
“I fear that the Monarchy may well try to turn this group into a Gestapo or secret police, and that cannot be tolerated.
Kenta Redhawk”

Fionnigan read the lines of the letter and chuckled to himself. Even into this new reign the old duals and the game of the nobles goes on. Well that was just fine to Fionnigan. Let them continue to fight and squabble amongst themselves. He had much greater things to consider.

For example King's Point. This still fairly young outpost of the realm had recently been taken over by a satyr witch. Obviously the satyr had been a humble and peaceful race within Tanglewood Forest, but there was no question that no one of the fae races should be allowed to take political control of an imperial outpost, least of all an abomination of a fauness. It was time to take action against her, and Fionnigan would use this new order of casters as a hammer to bring down upon her.

This order was indeed a tool as Sir Kenta had alluded to in his letter, but it was a tool with which Fionnigan would fix everything that was wrong with this realm. The time had come and the pieces were all about to be in their correct places.

As recently as the night before Fionnigan had been having dreams of himself surrounded by some of the best casters of the realm as well as many eager students of the arts. Approaching them was a large army bearing the royal crest. As the charge began Fionnigan could feel his body begin to rise off the ground. As he began to float higher and higher into the air he began to feel a vibration begin somewhere inside of his stomach. The vibration began to spread through his entire body, and he began to feel warm. As this feeling spread through his body Fionnigan noticed light coming up around him. He must have begun to glow.

As the thought occurred to him that he might be turning into living fire a blinding white light began to fill everything around him. Fionnigan would always come to at this point in the dream and wake. The dream had become so frequent he began having it every fortnight, and the thought had begun to grow in him that perhaps he was the herald of a new age. Perhaps he would consume the universe and it would be born anew, better and stronger. Tús a chur le céim nua.

_________________
"A mind needs books as a sword needs a wetstone, if it is to keep it's edge.”
Tyrion Lannister

I do not suffer fools gladly, and fools with white belts never.

Mortem proditoribus.


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