The Messenger

It was a short walk to the Great Hall, though Aidan managed to make it take twice as long. Stepping through the tall oaken doors into the Great Hall proper, he paused a moment before moving to his seat at the bench. The other Bishops were already there, quite surprisingly; it usually took them longer to gather. Taking his seat at the end of the long table, Aidan turned his eyes to the man standing before them.

Dressed in rough wool, this was no seasoned courier. Most likely he was just the man with the quickest horse in his village. His dark brown almost black hair, that was still dripping water, marked him as a northerner. He stood on his toes, almost bouncing; eager no doubt to tell his tale.

"Now that we are all here, we may begin," a gravelly voice intoned from Aidan's left. A quick glance showed Bishop Gregory giving a stern look his direction. Bishop Gregory then gestured sharply to a deacon seated next to the table.

Nervously, this was likely the boys first time mediating, he stood up and began his duties. "Your name is Marcus Jansen of Glenstow, correct?"

The messenger jumped slightly, jerking his head toward the deacon; likely lost in what he planned to say. "Yes," he said stumbling over the words, "Tha-That is correct."

Losing himself in reciting his memorized lines the deacon continued, "Please state for the council the nature of your message."

The messenger blinked, shifting his weight slightly, then took a deep breath, his carefully prepared words lost now that the moment had come. "Your Excellencies, I come before you with the utmost urgency. Glenstow is being visited by the Angel of Death."

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