Deceit: Hern

It Happened
I was in the center of a dark room, nothing on sight but the darkness, bearing fear and malice. Sitting somewhere in the room I feel ill, head spinning and stomach grumbling. Such is a punishment from the tyranny of Feroié: bore spite and evil as they claim theirs and we heed their orders as we slaves remain unpaid, debted, and abused. I felt pride and ego once but I sadly fell into misery.

Why? King Drucht, the unruly king of Feroié, was assassinated by one of his guards and I was suspected for the crime I've never done. Oh, what has the king done? Well, Feroié has been known as the only country having mageborn inhabitants, all unholy and holy inhabitants live here in spite and hatred. So, to drive off this violence, they crowned Neru Drucht as the king, who was a former Peacekeeper.

Well, let's say all former Peacekeepers have turned against their own kin and thus caused their exile from this title. Neru Drucht is a Peacekeeper, yes, but in his research he found out that violence will be the only solution for the country. That's all I could say, to be quite honest.

After the assassination Neru's son Prince Keno investigated his father's death. The investigation resulted all evidence points to only one person: me, Hern Gret. Following the aftermath of the investigation, I was immediately sent here on this dark room. Alas, this is such an unfortunate thing to happen to me as I couldn't prove I was innocent and had nothing to do with the crime.

I feel cold winds flowing inside the dark room. With my experience I followed where the wind is located, hoping it'd be a tiny passage for me to pass through and escape. Shivering, desperately searching for the source of the wind as I knock my head on the wall.

The winter winds end. Left lonely and clothless, I lay down and contemplate what this kingdom has wrought. Thinking the time before I became I am today.

Beforehand
T'was busy day in Dursle, a little town located near the Feroié Keep. Villagers backing up their supplies from their warehouses, farmers hastily harvesting their crops, birds flying south, all those things happening at once within a month before a winter. This is a routine frequent at the end of each month. Sitting on a porch on an elevated house I gaze upon the men babbling their businesses about. King Drucht said that there'll be visitors from outside the country who'll be coming here for the annual grand festival, a celebration dedicated to Eraktar the Vizier.

Writing in progress!