A still fell upon Curaw this night, clouds blot out the stars and the moon from the sky. A soft snow fell from the darkness above to an empty battlement below. The once Great Dictator now sat atop his throne, his crown seemingly smaller than it was not long ago as his nails were chewed to the bone in angst for what would come soon. His Kingdom, once merry for those whom could withstand the cold, now was nothing more than forward bases with fine women for raping and treasures to be looted by advancing armies. A chilled gust of wind spat its way through the grand door as a small group of vanguards made its way into the grand chamber.
He had sat alone for some time at the head of the table, maps and scrolls and many mugs of ale sat emptied in front of him. The foot steps approaching and the gates slamming shut and latching brought his gaze up from deep within thought. There, down some distance from the table stood four men, all of them kneeling down but obviously war torn and frigid. Their pelts were laden with snow and their brows and beards iced over. He looked to them as he readjusted his stature and with a movement of his hand beckoned them to lift and present their news.
"My Lord," the man whom spoke was tall and slender, his hair long and his shoulders broad. "Bhulaban has fallen. The Remnant Army has welcomed themselves to this slaughter in an effort to gain more territory." He paused a moment, tears wanting to form but ice stuck to his lashes made it painful to put them forth. "Our men, we are but sixty heads, no more left. Sire, what is your plan? Will you be able to get us out of this mess?" The man stood there, his band around him looking towards Lord Tanken with heavy intent upon what words he would say.
"No," he said at last. The King would shift in his chair as he pulled a map with tiny flags posted upon it toward him. He licked his fingers and reached out towards Bhulaban, plucking it from its position and tossing it aside carelessly as he simply sat back and stared at the four men before him. It was crushing to them, it was as if he just was playing a game. Wide eyed, bloodied and frozen faces stood across from him, their faces in disbelief. Had their leader just simply thrown aside what was once a rightful and fruitful claim?
Finally, he spoke further, "Two months ago, we had on my count Twelve fiefs. Our economy was growing, our scholars intriguing us, trade coming in and going out at astounding rates. We were peaceful, albeit, for the most part. I made some misjudgments I suppose. Sending armies and gold to men whom would later stab us in the back, being generous to traders that would soon fund armies that would destroy us, and sell off what aid we could have used now for petty coin. I see my words are no longer well received in Calradia, which is fine, most of the lot could tickle the tip of my member with their tongue for all I care." He would place both hands down on the arms of his throne and lift up, his hand going forth and brushing aside the map so that it just scattered and fell to the floor.
The King would walk towards a sill at the side of the room, beckoning the men to follow him. As they approached, he would perch himself against it and peer out to the silent streets of Curaw. It was late, and a dense snow had riddled the houses and stalls below. "This, this is what I have to show of my remaining Kingdom." he indicated the beggars, their poor souls hunkering together beneath an outcropping with little cover. In the morning, guards would take to tossing their bodies over the wall as they would most likely freeze to death like others had many nights prior. "Noblemen once of their faithful houses have been reduced to scraps. Their once finely sewn coats and gowns now are exchanged for bread or a warm bed for a fortnight.
"Knights of my army, men I can pay no longer, still bear their arms for me despite knowing I have no coin. Men travel in, and must be turned away, left to freeze outside our gates. On your ride in, what did you see?" The men would look at each other and lower their heads, "Many thousands of travelers have fled to Curaw from my Kingdom, as a last chance to reclaim what is ours, and I cannot do that!" He called for a squire to bring him forth a goblet of wine and he would polish a good portion of it. A good King never went without, but his people were. "We are spent my young lords, Curaw and Yruma are all that remain. For these nights, our banner waves in its halls and above its gates, but in a weeks time my head will take its place, I know." His face was gray in contrast and his thick beard had grayed quickly within the past weeks. Hair had started to leave his scalp and once a large and robust man now looked feeble and malnourished.
He would carry himself back to his seat and slump back down onto his throne as he looked at the empty chairs across the table. Nobles, scholars, strategists and writers once graced his hall with their presence, now they either lay dead in their homes, frozen over and taken to the tundra, or they fled for better lands. The walls and floors around him were iced over in spots. Precautions normally taken to fortify all houses and keeps were not taken yet due to their need for defense against assault--not nature. He would say to the men there, "I would ask of you to get sleep where you can find it, and what left of your men you have, take up sword, Curaw shall be attacked soon. I would hope they give us honorable death. May the Tundra rest our wicked souls."
