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[Thrax]

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The empty golden goblet fell from his outstretched hand to ring loudly on the white marble floor of the living room. Baron Thrax hardly noticed as he sat gazing into the crackling fire. He leaned back and mused over the night's events... events that he knew would change his life and the lives of those around him, and likely not for the better...

He had traveled to Nujel'm palace to witness and record the meeting that would decide who would be the Governor-Regent over the Britannian Protectorate, the amalgamation of nobles and their vassals who had, by this action, openly rejected the Regency of which he was an officer and emissary. Regent Ramses had suggested he go and report, and so he did.

There was no doubt in his mind who the new Governor-Regent would be, for the moment Talon Skyfire spoke up to nominate Adrien Garnier to the post, he knew it was all over.

The key to government or power is the strongest sword, and Adrien has no army. This is merely a formality; the deal was done days ago. Talon is the real power here.

So as votes were being cast and counted he decided to record a few notes and comments into his journal... but then noted he needed more ink. Realizing there was a library in the south wing and downstairs which should have ample supplies, he quietly withdrew to it, knowing he would not really miss anything.

He had no more than sat down than a voice behind him spoke his ancestral name, "Thraxanduril." He hadn't noticed anyone following him and that was disturbing. A bit alarmed, therefore, he stood up and turned around to face a green robed, hooded, figure. "Yes? What do you want? Who are you?"

The man removed his hood and cloak. "Your former Master, Oggaroth!"

But he was looking at Lord Spawn whose eyes blazed crimson red. A sudden dread fell over him. He reached for his mace, usually slung at his waist, but he grabbed at nothing; he had left all his weapons at home. He then stared bravely into the eyes of his greatest nemesis, a monster of unspeakable evil and cruelty, brutal beyond human comprehension. A sudden calm fell over him, that which dying men claim to feel moments before the end. It gave him courage to speak. "I am unarmed, but I will not run from you. I am tired of running," he said, fully expecting to be butchered within moments.

Oggaroth laughed and merely spoke of the meeting. "The Light bearers in there," he said, pointing upstairs. "They are all going to die. Soon all those who hold to the virtues shall be destroyed! I will kill them all!"

Thrax laughed. "Them?! They wouldn't know virtue if they fell into a vat of it," he replied fearlessly.

Oggaroth's eyes blazed momentarily. "I see you have not changed that much. Always the cynic."

"I am not convinced that the virtues are worthless; I merely see them badly translated and practiced by their very vocal and enthusiastic adherents. There is a difference."

Oggaroth dispensed with the philosophical repartee. "Do you know why I am here?"

"To kill and destroy... what you do best."

"I came to offer you a choice."

"I know. Your servant sent me a letter. Submit, join you, or die."

"Aye, I gave him that command. How do you answer?"

...Thrax's reveries were disturbed by the sound of Poppy's sudden appearance behind him. "M' lord, you did not eat dinner tonight. I kept a plate warm for you in case you got hungry."

"Thank you. Leave it out. I will get to it shortly."

She bowed her head and was gone.

Thrax stared at the fire. What price to keep one's family safe?

Regardless, he had paid it.