Angered over recent events, Ennrion is pushed to a decision…



Somewhere Deep and Dark, Kurkar Hold

OOC Date 21 Jan 2018 05:00



Somewhere Deep and Dark…

… and unnamed in Kurkar's depths.

Deep in the depths of Kurkar Hold, where few tread and fewer still know the paths, a man sits alone in the semi-gloom of private quarters. Ennrion has spent much of the day brooding in his own self-made quiet anger, seated in a crudely made wooden throne-like chair. Fingers rasp idly where they rest against his bearded jawline, features set in chilled stone like grimness. Most know to avoid him in times like this, when the very atmosphere about him is as biting as winter’s chill.
Days before, he had sent his best scouts and spies out across the deserts. Most went to the outskirts of the Weyr, some as far in as the Bazaar and to the other corners of Igen’s territory. Word has trickled back now — mostly of the gold flight that occured not far from Kurkar Hold itself.

That’d explain for some… odd behavior among some of the people here.

Ennrion is not so much angered by that, but by another fallout; recalling the numbered report by the scout only brings a disgusted growl from the man. So many wild caprines lost in the wake of the dragons blooding, but that wasn’t the worst of it. What truly set his temper to spark was that a good draft runner was felled as well — news like this only further deepens his dislike for the Weyr. No matter if it was the fault of the handler or not!

Not that any of that matters now. Save that hunting is going to be piss poor for awhile.

And they expect us to keep within the law. Ennrion remarks bitterly to his own thoughts.

Grudgingly, he’s beginning to think Tareq had the right of it. They’ve been sitting idle too long. If only they hadn’t lost so many good men! Names drift from the depth of memory, along with faces long gone. Some dead, but most having fled once the Underground was discovered; others less fortunate saw only the brig and relocation to the mines. Such a waste

There was no sense in nagging that old wound. Baham’s rule has ended, but some of those who remain here remember how it was and never sought to see what was theirs change.

Except Asemra and her people. Ennrion has become increasingly bitter towards the woman over the last few weeks and even the thought of their recent encounters sets his teeth to grinding. He’d have nursed over that grievance if it weren’t for his uncanny sense of a presence hovering near the entranceway…

“Don’t skulk.”

It’s reprimand and warning both. He doesn’t wish to be disturbed and just as the figure turns to leave and Ennrion recognizes the young man (not much unlike a younger version himself, really…), he immediately reconsiders.

“Wait. I’ve a task for you, lad.”

As the young man pauses, wary and attentive, Ennrion straightens in his seat and levels him with a deep, hard stare.

“Rally the men and those of kindred minds to our cause. Tell them we’re to meet at the usual gathering spot.”

Without pause, the young man nods and fades back into the thick shadows of the tunnels. Satisfied and feeling a touch improved in temper, Ennrion leans back in his chair with an air of purpose.

The time will come and that time will be soon.

Enough has been endured.

What is theirs will be reclaimed!

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