Alber's audience

With the death of Arnethius the rebellion had ended, and the westerners dared to look to the future once more. The order in Arkalon was still far from being restored though, and many people with ill-intent used this chaos for their own gain. The famine among the common folk that had been slowly increasing during the never ending god-wars, had now reached it's peak. For months the loyal students of the Arc had been living on small rations provided by local farmers, who we are for ever in dept to. Now also their resources have depleted, and I, Alber Benth, have taken on me the responsibility of finding new resources. As nearly everything the land had left to give was flowing to the grand-city of Arkalon, that was the only logical destination. I managed to implore an audience with our god-lord Arkun, the biggest authority in the western continent, who I knew held us in low regard.

As the announcer shouted my name, the gates to the great throne hall opened for me. Arkun sat nonchalantly in his throne on the opposing side and didn't even acknowledge my entry. I bowed, and made way to the front. About twenty strides away from the throne I was stopped by two guards, mages. They would remain at my side the entire duration of the meeting. As I made my plea and demanded the bare minimum to ensure the survival of our order, the vesajan did not once look at me. Instead, all of his attention went to the magic in his left hand; a purple ball of bright magic flashing on and off, fidgeting between his fingers. While it looked playful, I was under no illusion that this small ball probably held enough energy to burn up the entire city in a matter of seconds. The sound the magic caused somewhat gave away the true power that our god-lord wielded, as the distorted flickering noises bounced through the hall, and made it difficult for me to even hear myself speaking. If you ask me, the intimidating effect was well intented by Arkun to emphasize his autority.

My plea got interrupted as the Vesajan spoke and lifted himself up from the throne. "DUN-ER-KUNN", he said. The deep tones of the vesajan tongue resonated through my body. A man stepped forward right beside him, a translator who started to repeat after the god-lord as he continued to speak. This surprised me, as Arkun was known to have mastered the therian language centuries ago. I suppose this was yet another act of displaying his superiority over his subordinates, a technique also used by his closest generals. The substance of his message was clear even without translation: we would get no aid from the capital.

I could not help but feel relieved when I got escorted from the palace. I did not get what a came for, but after seeing the state our god-lord was in, I felt happy to still be alive.

_{~Document d.d. 60.4., 541 A.V., Arkalon palace, Throne hall.}

_{~"Alber's audience", by Alber Benth, Archive elder.}