*Darien's quill stops for a second, poised over a new line of text, and quivers a bit. He's reluctant to finish the brief, not only because the lords, locked in bitter feud, gave in so readily, but also because it will at least temporarily return things to status quo. A new thought drifts through his mind during all this, that the tree is to blame; the tree must be destroyed. But he returns his quill to the parchment and again begins to write, distancing himself from the matters at hand. It doesn't feel right, but this document will help his clan, so he continues to detail the points. The last bitter stroke of his quiver still damp upon the page, Darien wants to sigh as he blots. At that moment, more than ever, he hates the pettiness and avarice that are the bane of man. He rolls up the parchment to the point at which the lords are to sign, and passes it to Lonsdale.* For the good of the clan.
Darien@frostknights.com


It is the enemy you underestimate who kills you.