Lord Baron Valfryn sits at his writing table, methodically iterating through parchments. Missives, movements, reports, and orders. The sparse and pragmatic furnishings of his campaign tent seems to some as antithetical to what many would consider “Drow”. His passive face rests in what could best be described as a scowl, with the only movement evident being the pupils of his eyes scaling across the pages, returning at regular intervals.
In the past few years, he has had little use for this table. In fact, he reflects on how rarely he ever had cause or time to sit at it. He stares past the paper in his grasp to the sheathed blade, hanging upon the corner of his cot, his eyes and his thoughts lingered upon it for a brief moment, then returned to the less than remarkable missive regarding the feeding of refugees that the Order has placed under their care.
A rustle at the entry flap of his tent caused him to turn his gaze away from the light of the few waning candles resting on the table. A voice called out from behind the threshold of the parted canvas veil, “Lord Commander. “ It harked, more as a statement. “Continue.”, spoke the elf, in a dry and flat tone. “Disciple Belryn has requested your presence.” Replied the footman. Valfryn set his the parchment down, rising to his feet. He briefly glanced to his blade, resting still on his cot before returning a firm “Understood.”
Lord Valfryn walked at a moderate pace, flanked by two mortal soldiers, each carrying a torch. “The Disciple is within the keep, my Lord. “ Said the taller of the two, a young human, but by the drow’s estimation, a serviceable age. The soldier did not seem surprised by the lack of response from the Lord Commander.
Another keep, Valfryn mused silently as he walked through the main gates. The thought of its previous undead inhabitants made him again think about his blade resting in his tent. The thought was quickly dismissed. He had full confidence that his advance party cleared the structure with great care, and the full report concluded that there was no threat left to be had within the keep or in its outlying hills. All scouting parties returned negative contact.
The sight of a small gathering, arranged in a semi-circle, torches in hand- drew his attention. After spotting the red robes of the Chosen Blood Disciple, the Lord Commander grabbed the torch from the footman on his right, and curtly said “Dismissed.” After the two soldiers dispersed, the Commander walked to the gathering, stating “Report.” As he approached, the torchlight played against his slate gray skin.
Without turning to face the Lord Commander, the Disciple placed his hand upon a large stone object, one that Valfryn believed to be debris left from the struggle days prior. “This is worthy of note.” Said Belryn, as he lifted the large stone object off of the ground with a wave of his hand, barely touching it. “Explain this to me.” Valfryn said, eyeing the display before him. “It struck the ground here a few hours ago. I’ve been studying it since.” Said the Disciple, evenly.
“We believe it to be a boon from Thrym, as we have sided with him in an upcoming engagement.” The Lord Commander looked at Belryn quizzically. “Thrym? Do I know of him?” He asked. The Disciple with trained patience responded. “No, it appears as though you do not. Do you care to be briefed?”
Valfryn handed the torch to one of the Disciple’s acolytes. “No, that won’t be necessary. Brief the forward Command. I trust your judgment in the resolution of this. When it is finished, add it to your report.” He said, turning away.
Walking back to his tent in the darkness, Valfryn thought of the large amount of parchments that still needed review. “For the Order.” He sighed.
