Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-17114085-20141125120454/@comment-5583506-20141130220635

(Alright, time to begin!)

It had been approximately five years since Garm had taken Solitude from Jaques Tousette's clutches. Even if he was respected among the populace because of his former heroic dees, he was never really loved among them... but neither was he hated. He simply... was... It vexed him. Even if he never actually showed it, he deeply cared for how people considered him. He didn't want to go down in the history books as "King Garm the Iron Hound, a bitter monarch with a fascination for the art of flaying". It just sounded plain wrong.

It knocked on the door to his council chambers.

"Come in", he sighed and rubbed his forehead while he was examining some documents about the incomes of port trade.

"Mylord?" asked a frail little voice from the doorway.

"Ah, Jaqueline", he said. "I am not in the need of your services right now, so tell me what's on your mind, child?"

The young Breton woman hurried to his side where she made a clumsy curtsy and then put her hands behind her back. "I just wanted to tell you that Didrik Drunken wants to speak with you, mylord."

Garm grinded his teeth, a habit he had a hard time getting rid off. "Didn't he say what it was?"

The girl shook her head. "No, mylord. Only that he wanted to see you. But then again this is Didrik Drunken we are talking about. He could have emptied three entire barrels already before I talked to him."

The king gave her a harsh stare. "You shouldn't speak about a king's friends and allies in that manner, girl. And most of all not out in the open. It affects your judgement."

"I... I am s-sorry, mylord. I didn't mean anything by it."

He dismissed her excuse with a gesture of his hand. "I know you didn't. Well, tell him that I will be waiting for him... and that he'd better show up sober. I aint got the time to deal with drunken fools."

Jaqueline looked at the king confused. "But didn't you just say that we shouldn't talk..."

He looked at her again. "Well, I am the king now, am I not? I believe there is a difference there."

The young Breton tried to say something, but realised it was hopeless. It was hard to tell whether the king was serious or just pulling the leg on someone, since he never smiled. She just had to assume that he meant it and then scurried off to fetch the drunken berserker.

Garm smirked to himself when she had left the council room. "Clever girl", he mumbled and then put the royal seal on the approved document.

(@Harold, is it allowed to have another nation?)