Erik’s Lugubrious Roar
A thunder rumbled in the sky over Nivemus, in Salta, where Erik one day marched like a Sultan with his cortege of freed slaves. It was a clear day, without many clouds, atypical for the second and third thunders that came roaring to Troyes on a painful crescent. Maybe it was Othello’s circle of stones, but it was unlikely until its effect unfolded. No, that was something different. Those were the roars Ehrendill knew so well.
The young elf looked at the lands of Ora, also freed by his father in a past that now seemed far away in the mists of time. In a blink of his eyes, it was as if a ghost hand pressed his heart into his chest. The angels of death embraced him with their black wings and their macabre whispers: his bastard brother was dead. Alone, in the mud, banished and finally forgotten by his princess and his family. The bastard half-elf who had declared himself Sultan Erik himself had departed from this world on the wings of a crow. Ehrendill nodded to his seneschal, his voice almost faltered.
Ehrendill Eyolf: “Tell all the families and clans, each of the Thousand Bastards… Hrafn Eyolf Serpentis is dead. May his death free him from the life he has chosen and from the punishments he endured. Ask permission from the Prime Minister and Duke of Avamar. Notify him that the funeral will happen in a few days in the ruins of the old temple. He dared to dream that he was Erik's second coming, but I feel it in my heart, Erik still lives in his Palace of Exile beyond the mortal worlds. Send a cortege to Salta and notify the Kronogos that the Serpentis are claiming the favor for the release of the White Tree. The body should be protected and treated as was the custom of the Kazakian Sultans. Take half the Stormwalkers with you, waiting in Troyes is useless.â€
​There was a raven who dreamed of being a prince. He looked at the abyss for a long time, until the abyss looked back and embraced him into its eternal darkness.
