The burden of authority.

[Cinnabar]

In the lamplight of his office, the grey of dawn gradually brightening the sky outside his window, the man who would see himself Governor leafs through the reports on his desk and frowns in thought. Worrying news indeed, though hardly surprising coming on the heels of Thessilane's secession from Trae Kelsan authority.

The reports are hasty, in some places confused or hard to believe; word from along Derry Row, from traders and travellers and those foresightful souls who had fled their homeland ahead of the Thessilanean advance. Borders overrun, armies swept aside by a combination of military might and sorcerous power. Worrying news. Frightening news, in all honesty, and he can only curse its timing as he sips at a cooling mug of tea and considers strategies. In light of Burel's avowed aim of reuniting Amasynia - under his rule, no doubt - it was only prudent to suppose that once Derry is secure, his attentions will turn to Myrken Wood.

In which case, preparations must be made. Some were already underway, presumably down to Karolinger taking the initiative with his deployment at the Ringwall - which was of course another concern: would the Thessilanean mercenary commander show greater loyalty to coin or country when Duke Burel came knocking at the gates? Then there's the matter of refugees already hurrying westward along the Derry Row, hastening through the Gilroy Pass before it is closed by winter's approach. What of those still on the far side of the Ringwall who wished to flee occupation by Thessilane, only to find the gates barred before them?

After a time his gaze turns to the thin sheaf of paper to one side of his desk, once-folded and sealed pages with a different hand's script on each. So, his position thus far: clear support from Sir Malaroth and Councillor Treadwell; implicit support from Councillor Goldenhair, and what might best be termed grudging acknowledgement from Marshal Karolinger; no decision yet from Councillor Spier, though at least he seems willing to discuss matters; negotiations ongoing with the Lothbury estate; and... no word at all from Councillor Aldred.

This last has his frown deepening, as it presents him with a troublesome decision. Aldred's position as Councillor for Defence and Civil Security means that any preparations for a potential Thessilanean invasion fall under his remit; however, his apparent refusal to respond one way or the other makes his position... unclear. Meanwhile time passes, Burel marches for Wrexham, and the necessary preparations remain unmade.

Eventually he sighs, sets aside his tea, and gathers his writing materials together; an elegant silver pen, fine black ink, and smooth, creamy paper bearing the crest of the Office of the Governor. And he begins to write as the sun creeps over the horizon.