Role

Chapter 1

1st Day of the Great Gods, Month of Long Shadows

Finally! I have been so worried about Drogh, and as you know, when I heard they
found the body of the courier we had paid to deliver messages I thought I would
never hear from him again, and worse that he was dead! But today brought good news:
he is alive and well. His birthday comes soon, I cannot believe how old he is, 140
years already. But the wait was worthwhile, he seems to have found a reliable
courier who will take his gold and deliver these letters. One of the short ones,
I think he is from Upper Cragstone by his accent, but who can tell them apart, they
all look the same. His letter had many interesting descriptions of his growing
abilities as a fighter - I knew he was destined for greatness! - and his increased
skills in his Artistic work. He is working on a dance that he will perform at the
bar he calls an Inn of Heralds, whatever that is. Drogh, dancing! I am impressed
that my boy has grown strong enough not only on the outside, but the inside. But
I have to say the three most important things were not about his fighting or his
dancing, or at least not directly. No, he has spoken now with four Gods! Four!
My hand is shaking as I write this, to think of it. He spoke with the God Enlilth
who is of our kind. I worry even to write his name here, lest his attention be
lured to me. But Drogh says even worse he has questioned the God. Questioned a
God!! Sometimes he is as big a fool as he is a fighter. I am only glad Enlilth
God did not choose to pull him apart to make his own piece of sculpture. In my
letter back to him I will tell Drogh in no uncertain terms to stop instigating the
God. Though I have to admit a small part of me is pleased he had the stones for
it. My son is a man.

But that is not all. His letter describes how some local petty tyrant, something
called a Sultan, had his guards strip him to the bone and throw him in some cell.
My boy, in a prison, naked! If I'd known then I would have traveled up there
myself and given them what for, I tell you. But like the man that he is, his fire
would not allow him to simply dwindle to nothing from starvation. He sought a
more artistic, more martial ending, and prayed to the gods for a battle to the
death. And do you know who appeared? The Imp! The Imp God Lyristeon! I cannot
imagine what it must be like to speak to that ancient creature. Before the gods
were gods, the Imp was there. And if ever there were a creative trickster, it is
this Imp. Even here in aran'gird we know of him, though we do not tempt fate by
seeking his favor. Make a bargain with the Imp, end up with no bargain at all they
say. But Drogh said he had no choice and so after earning some food and drink they
set to dickering. In the end my boy did me proud again. Here, let me tell you
exactly what he wrote, it is perfect: "Sometimes taking a blow to one's pride
can strengthen the spirit that bears it." He has a way with words, that boy. Or
that man, I should say. Seems he was forced to embarrass himself and call himself
the Imp's monkey for the day, wearing some strange costume. He earned his freedom
and learned a lesson. A mother can only be happy when that happens. Perhaps he
will meet the Imp again and learn more. I hope he is careful