 |
 |
 |
 |
| Chapter I Rithevan sat in a cold room - a crudely constructed prison cell. Crude but sturdy. “Bastards!” He threw his arm against the wall next to him where he squatted on the floor. “I will find a way out of here yet.” He thought to himself, choking down the fear that was building inside of himself. He always thought that he could find a way out of tight situations... somehow. But he had tried and now gave up. There were no bars to pull, no bricks to loosen, and no key hole to even look through. The small cracks between the boards in the cieling were barely large enough to let in some light. The walls were bare solid timber on all sides, like the the rest of the fort, including the door, which had no latch at all, so the other side must be planked. The fort had been built by and belonged to Edvar Contoath. Rithevan had met him in the dimly lit corner of a tavern over a discussion of the meanings of life. Edvar had sounded so spirtual and so enlightened... “Decievers!” His mouth and lungs spat blight on the thought of all their names “All of you! Decievers!” Rithevan's thoughts drifted in his despair and he thought of the last time he knew true friendship which he certainly hadn't found since. Edvar was only a few years his older and Rithevan had immediately looked up to him. So did all of Edvar's other “friends”. “Croneys- the whole lot of them.” He thought. |
| 2 |
| Order Of The White Flame |