Artislaf, Chapter 1

Artislaf of Korahora rode slowly up the long, winding road to the castle’s gate. 
What had been a village a few short years ago had grown into a bustling town, no doubt influenced by the sheer amount of silver flowing from the hills here. 
The morning was crisp, the cold air and a light flurry of snowflakes falling about him and his small host, and a light fog saturated the valley below. “It was a successful day”, he thought, reflecting back on his ambush of a large group of bandits from the Free Army the previous day. 
The great Gate of Kostravald loomed ahead of him, the Raven, Wolf, and Stags of Waldemar painted above the doorway 
“Halt, who goes there?” a guard called from the battlements. 
“Baron Artislaf, Commander of the Lord’s Armies!” 
“You May Enter!” the small host rode into the castle, and Artislaf dismounted, handing his horse to a stable boy 
“Give her the best stall, and a bag of oats” he commanded, and began striding to the great hall. 
The snowstorm was worsening, the wind whistling across the mountain and about the towers and battlements of the great castle. The morning sun was blocked by the grey-blue clouds which blanketed the sky, leaving the day dark.
He was accosted at the door for a short time, but he was soon let in. There, he absorbed the sight ahead. The hall was mostly empty, save for a small group clustered near the thrones, a common sight. Waldemar often drank late into the night, especially since his advisor Vera had disappeared. 
“Thank Werry that Beldam witch is gone. She’s brought naught but bad luck to our cause, but she was a good influence on the duke” he reflected out loud, approaching the throne.
As he came closer, he noticed a deep red, or perhaps purple liquid dripping down the tablecloth, as well as an overturned goblet. The duke had spilt his wine tonight, same as he always did. 
The group parted around him, and there Artislaf saw Waldemar, collapsed on the table, a dagger in his hand