Dungeons and Dragons Online

A torn and tattered land...

     He stood on the balcony of the tower and looked to the horizon, seeing more than just the trees and the rocks and the lay of the land. A tempest blew and he knew it was not a wind but the cry from the hearts of those he ruled.
     Finally, many years after he had rallied the six realms, the war against the Sythian Mages was over. Only now do they realize the destructive results; hundreds upon thousands dead, farms ruined, towns leveled, castles and keeps destroyed. A high cost to pay, but to lose would have been worse: enslavement. Now, as he faced the sunlight, he would accept a toil and burden for the people of this land. He had lost many of his forces and he felt as though he had aged 50 years in the last 30.
     His eyes lingered on the land. Even within his sight there were there were destroyed farms, estates, buildings whose purpose had been forgotten. Those that lived there had been killed, and what had been once standing proudly would probably never be rebuilt.
     Shaking his head, a feeling of regret and weariness settles over him. "So much to do..."
     Turning his back on the devastated horizon, he returned to his private study to continue reading the desperate scrolls amassing on the table. This was his burden, the responsibility of the position he held. Written on each of those scrolls was a request for help, a request for aid. If only they needed gold he would gladly empty the coffers of his own vaults in response. Sadly, these scrolls were not of that type. Instead, these were written by that needed help in finding those who were lost, or taken hostage, from those that needed help against brigands, those that needed protection to transport desperately needed goods, to those that needed protection against creatures that raided farms and villages.
     This was a time of reconstruction, a time of rebuilding, for the people of the land and for himself. His forces were now small, not enough to answer each frantic call for help. He had thought of a general conscription to enlarge his forces, but that would take people away from tasks that were needed. It was a time to rebuild farms, towns and fortifications; it was a time for others to return to and establish vocations that would help rebuild. That was where the people were needed, not in his military forces.
     But that did not stop the swelling mound of requests for help, legitimate requests that were his heavy burden.
     His eyes drifted to the horizon again. He knew that there was help there, he had heard the stories and received the reports. Groups of mercenaries and bands of adventurers were moving across the land, performing deeds that he was helpless to perform at the moment. He wondered if they knew what service they were doing for him, and how grateful he was for it.
     He was the Emperor, yet they were the heroes. These unknown adventurers would do more to help those that needed help than he ever could.
     "So, come," he said in a whisper, carried on the winds. "Come, I welcome you. There is need for you. Seek your fortune and help fulfill the destiny of their land."
     A warm wind blew around him, rippling his robes and tussling his hair. The wind swirled around the tower and then surged into the six realms.

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