Role

Chapter 1

They speak my name wrong. They walk heavy. They are blind.
Those who would die off Below will be killed off Above. In time, we
will slip out, first to the secret half-cave valleys of the high mountains
and then later down the slopes and onto the country roads. We will
knock as the poorest peasants on the farmer's door in hopes that his
daughter will answer. We will live on the farm like the kings we are
for as long as it sustains, let the air calm and the scent disperse as
we rest and then, of course, continue. The farmer and his life's work
will be left to our god unknown.

We will tear down the city gates and use them in the structure of a
slow live funeral. The guards, the elves, paladins and whatever else
stands fast will be securely fastened and let dehydrate and consider
and wish at the rats for several days in the sun and smoke before
their last gasps for breath bring them only the ashes of their own
legs, finally burning to release them.

But first we will figure out this sword and this dagger, and put our
stolid daydream away. We are not often carried away.