The March on Icewall: Entry 9

These events take place before Rise of the Obsidian Legion.

Lynch’s Journal

Entry #94

All are silence.

All are stunned.

Not too long ago Prince Amon Frost was a young man who was passing through Red Larch before he knew what destiny had in mind for him. Seeing the the small town was in having some issues with some thugs, he took it upon himself and gathered a ragtag group of adventurers to bring the crooks down. Only then did Amon and his team realize the great threat the townspeople faced. Together the rose up to defeat the evil and became the Heroes of Red Larch. Everyone adored him, cheered him and trusted the prince with their lives.

Now Prince Frost stands before us marked with the brand of the same evil he helped vanquished.

The motionless, young prince hangs his head, trying to hold back his tears. As he does Lithia moves in front to defend him and gives the same story, Cindermaw cannot be trusted. The dragon branded Amon himself. His lover tried all she could to removed the brand before using fire.

Prince Frost goes on with his story, how Cindermaw gave him an undead mount of his own kind. This is when the brand had formed, this is when he knew something horrible was happening.

Before he can finish Henry clubs Amon between the shoulder with his warhammer. Tears and snot mat his beard. He screams at his now former friend and ally, questioning him on how he could do this. Emotion drives every word from him home.

The young prince tries to pull himself up from the dirt only to receive another heavy blow from the dwarf.

His screaming and questioning continues.

How could Amon accept such power when he knew what The Restless Hands represents? More importantly, how could he accept this after Henry had revealed how Novak had used him in an attempt to take over his young friend’s homeland?

The questions stab at me deeply for I was the one who brought this to everyone’s attention. I was the one who brought The Restless Hand to Red Larch.

Then I realize Amon is no different than Henry and I, he had made a mistake. And like both of us, he more than likely probably had no choice in accepting any offer coming from Novak or his cult. But I understand the dwarf’s frustration and so should the prince, Amon had taken his out on Henry months ago when this all started.

What is fair is fair.

But that has been enough. As Henry goes for another swing I tackle him to the ground. He freely gives up the weapon as he is overcome with sorrow, believing he had taught young Amon better than his actions have shown. I let him up and all he can do is shake his head in denial.

Their bond is broken.

Their trust is shattered.

With one last look of disgust toward the prince, Henry picks up the hammer and heads toward the castle once again. Balasar keeps pace just a few feet behind him, placing a barrier between the dwarf and the couple.

Weak and defeated in more ways than one, Amon lifts himself to his feet with the aid of Lithia. They keep their distance from the copperborn, unsure of how he feels or if they can trust him.

I go to gather Randle so we can pick up the rear. The grief of causing all this weighs heavy on him. The priest whispers to himself as much as he does to me, this is not what he wanted. As a tear falls from his eye he apologizes for what has happened.

I assure him it is all right, that he done the right thing. If not we would have never known about what Amon was going through.

And I remind him of what we had all swore an oath to months ago.

No more secrets.

No more lies.

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