BattleMaster Community
BattleMaster => Roleplaying => Topic started by: Eduardo Almighty on October 29, 2014, 06:30:43 PM
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Gold
Happiness resides not in possessions, and not in gold, happiness dwells in the soul. - Democritus
The Emerald Dragon was worried for a moment. He was visiting the walls of Akesh Temple, making plans to turn the Fortress into a real Stronghold, surrounded by seneschals and scribes, a couple of bureaucrats and an old architect. In a first moment he had to lower the taxes to please his people, to stop the emigrations to Nascot, to deal with the long distance from the Capital and even to stop hurting his own production. The result? Gold has become insufficient to pay the militia. Edric was facing his first obstacles as Lord and he needed to prove his lessons were learned. His family has always prided on having the best Lords, the best Bankers and Judges. 'Give me a challenge and I will conquer the world', his father used to say.
Edric Eyolf: "Send a letter to my brother, the Margrave of Trinbar. He's a rich bastard without use for his gold..."
Scribe: "I fear it's too late, Sir..."
Edric Eyolf: "Why?"
Scribe: "You just received 700 gold despite what your family sent this morning... from generous colleagues"
Edric Eyolf: "Who needs gold when you have a name!? Do you know what do we need now?"
Scribe: "Sir...!?"
Edric Eyolf: "A bank. We need a bank in Akesh Temple and there is just one way to do that. We will travel to Krimml, come with me, I will dictate a letter to the Council..."
************
White Room
With Black Curtains
Nesrah pushed the heavy door open, letting some light in, creating a dance of shadows. In his first step he kicked away an empty bottle and then his path became a slow dance by itself, trying to avoid the huge mess scattered across the floor. Before him, the hall seemed to stretch up to a gloomy mausoleum at the bottom of the room where Erik was sitting with his pipe hanging from his mouth with spiraling smoke filling the darkness. On both sides, at his feet, languid young concubines rested their heads on the thighs of the old conqueror. One hand stroked the hair of one of them, lazily, like a fat cat on his lap. On the other the goblet of wine. Bigger than him, a statue of himself behind him reaching the high roof, covered with perfumed oils, looking at the sorcerer with silvery eyes.
Nesrah: "Your son became Margrave of Akesh Temple with the highest count of votes I saw in years. You should get out of this abyss to greet him."
Erik Eyolf: "Consolation for the old wound now forgotten. I'll wait in this place where the sun never shines. I'll sleep in this place with the lonely crowd. Lie in the dark where the shadows run from themselves..."