Thread: Two Nations' War

Rorkovic generally liked to get at least 3 hours of sleep a night, and as of late, this was normal. However, last night, just a few hours ago, he was not able to sleep in the slightest. He began to wonder if more than his insomnia was to blame. The effects of more than 3 days of straight battle, physical exhaustion, and no sleep certainly showed themselves in Rorkovic's appearance today he was sluggish, unkempt, and looked like he had been severly beaten and tortured for months on end. Some of his own advisors and servants began to worry. Nevertheless, he pushed onwards through the day small, mundane tasks culminated in one hell of a meeting with his father. He dreaded it all day, being unprepared in both presentation and mental stability. When he finally was called to see the King, though, he stiffened and held himself high as his father had taught him to do to preserve honor and integrity, even in times where he was feeling sick or down. My King, he bowed, flinching in pain, You requested to see me? Yes, Rorkovic. We have much to discuss. Please sit. The King looked aged by worry and temper his face furrowed inward even when he was in a state of content. The King had always been known for his exceptional vitality something was obviously wrong today. I've heard from your field commanders that you were requested to sign a treaty under... his circumstances. I need you to explain those to me. The king's voice dipped and hissed at the word, acting as if even referring to him were unholy. Rorkovic took in a deep breath. Again, he flinched the King's office was bitterly cold and the air stabbed at his lungs like tiny icecicles. He began to relay the entirety of last night's events, leaving out any mention of the Oracle or the opposing king's advisor. He wanted his father to believe that the situation was brief, and that Rorkovic was able to handle it without conflict or sudden uprise. At the conclusion of his memory, though, the King looked past Rorkovic. He wore the face of understanding, but something else was wrong though. I've always been at war with Lemuel, and now we're not even to be in contact... he sounded remiss, almost sad that the two of them wouldn't fight for dominance. Please leave me to my studies, Sventhor. I cannot discuss this any longer. Tears ran down the wrinkled, leathery face, pooling at his chin and dropping down upon his equally dry and wrinkled hand. Rorkovic could no longer tell if the King was supremely happy or extremely sad that the event took place. He retired to his room though and fumbled around with more parchment, aiming to move it into his study for more nights like the one before. When is that damn bird going to get back? he thought impatiently. His want for contact with the Oracle was becoming overwhelming- the connections he believed they had in the meadow were popping up in random moments of memory recall, turning any normal event or task into a hurried and rushed mess. He grew anxious, and the very feel of this emotion surprised him as he had never been anxious before. Rorkovic abruptly called for his servant, who came running and panting in at the sudden alarm. Yes, my sire? the servant responded through catching his breath. Bring me my night riding cloak, and tell the horse-keeper that I will be needing my black stallion at dusk, in exactly 4 hours. With the command and the sound of Rorkovic's precision in his voice, the servant clambered down the hallway, running for the wardrobe and stables. Rorkovic wished beyond belief that the pigeon would return before he left. The act in itself may alter his course, which at the moment, was currently undecided.