This choice: A Certain Scroll Might Help • Go Back... "King Tyrl," the old man says as he begins to make his way across the eerie, dark confines of the library, "there is a scroll with a legend here. Maybe I can't answer your question directly, but you might find what you're seeking in there."
My doubts are not so sure, but I follow him anyway. The mantle of royalty seems to weigh more than ever before on my shoulders, and I try to straighten my back. It does not help. The weight is still there. The message's burning warning still flashes through my mind in warning. I shudder.
For such a bent man, the Elder Scroller moves with surprising agility as he thumbs through parchments soft and wrinkled with age. I fancy some of them are older than he is, but it must be a close match if they are. At last he eases one scroll free of a pyramid of others. The stack trembles, but somehow contrives to stay upright. This rolled parchment he holds out to me in one claw-like hand. I take it with some misgivings.
"It might hold your answers, Your Majesty," he tells me. "How you can prove yourself, and why you were chosen."
The scroll in question is so wrinkled and yellowed with age that I find it difficult to comprehend how it could have anything to do with me. I'm a young man yet, though this job seems to age me by the minute and I haven't even survived a week. But he stares at me with such urgency that I sigh and unwind the parchments from their fastenings.
Even the delicate rustle sends a nervous spike down my back, but I shove it away. The fading ink is so pale on the parchment's surface that it appears more brown than black, and in some places ancient stains mar the otherwise undamaged scroll. I squint in the feeble torchlight, but I can only make out a few words. Tyrl. My name?
The light adjusts as the Scroller walks about behind me and holds it aloft. Thanks to this, I can make out the beginnings of a legend I have never heard of before, but too many words are blotted. A cold claw wants to rake through me. I take a deep breath and hold it higher so the orange luminescence brings them out.
It is a letter.
A new king was born in the wake of the old one's demise. The gods choose one who is below all the others, someone who was not born great, but learned how to be great instead. Tyrants are not respected, they are feared. Assassins are not loved, but hated...
The words are too rubbed out for me to make out more. It tells me nothing. I have no greatness.
"I don't understand," I say in frustration. "How can this help me?"
"There's more, King Tyrl," the Scroller reminded. "You just have to decipher it. Your coronation is today. Sleep well."
I listen as he shuffles away, but I know I won't sleep. The night is too old, and I am too tense. The only thing I can do is try and decipher a useless old scroll with my name on it, and try to avoid the gruesome threats in my letter. How could I do that?
Word Count: 551    indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
| Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
<<-- Previous · Outline  · Recent Additions © Copyright 2025 Antonia Ryder (UN: takingafterme at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Gaby has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work within this interactive story. Poster accepts all responsibility, legal and otherwise, for the content uploaded, submitted to and posted on Writing.Com. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author