Fantasy. Epic. Narrator.
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EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
British (General)Transcript
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Part one. My brother, the Morgues chapter one, Thorton or Huge Thorton as the small people of lowland Guard called him had never seen anything like it. Nor had he at any point in his life thought he might. The Golden House home of the high kings of Bed guard burning in a towering inferno. A column of smoke rose up high into the sky, easily visible from where Thorton stood. Perhaps it was even more disturbing from his vantage point outside the door of the low town inn. Now, the lowborn long, poorly treated could see for themselves, the unmaking of the king and his nobles, the outsiders, the foreigners who entered the city had freed them from their shackles. But were they better off? Food was in scarce supply? The crops had in all likelihood failed soon. Starvation would set in. Thor didn't shivered at the thought. The sight of the burning golden house awakened in him something he had tried in recent days to suppress for most of his adult life. Thorton's lust of gold had ruled him. He had given no heed to the sanctity of life. He cared only about accumulating wealth and the lives he had ended were without count. But he had atoned. The goddess herself had come to him in a dream. He had thought himself beyond morality or compassion, beyond help. But one look in the eyes of the goddess pure and holy and the weight of his crimes fell upon his shoulders like a mountain. He had gone to Nerheim to the goddess's holy temple and offered all the wealth he could to her, all the gold he had not spent on whores and mead. The goddess had forgiven him. But Thorsten knew someone who would not. Thorton's mother lived in AOL Vela, by all accounts, she was alive. Who knew how such a saint had given birth to such unfortunate twins, Goodstein and Thorsten, both thieves and murderers of the lowest degree. Was it her husband? That was anyone's guess? But Thorton's mother though close in flesh could not be further from Thorton or Guste in spirit pious to the last making offerings every week to the gods. At least from what Thorton remembered of his childhood, she could never accept him. And yet did he have a choice? Winter was coming and it promised to be the harshest in history. Who knew what had happened to Goodstein. In all likelihood, he was dead, food for worms and no one would know or sing of him. No one would care. Thorton and Guste after a falling out over gold had split up and Thorton could only envision death in his brother's future. It was the price one paid for the kind of life they led. But regardless, Thorton had to go to a Bella before starvation set in the evil that had entered Bedel. God would not climb so high into the upper mountains. It had not in ancient times and it would not. Again, even if starvation touched the lowland, the vale were hunters, not farmers and no matter how cold it grew, no matter how deep the chill, the hunter's bow could always find its mark venison and bear meat, trout and mutton from highland goats. Those would remain the greatest question for Thorton. The one that meant everything to him was whether his mother would forgive him for the way he led his life. But he had to go. The burning of the Golden House, the bright flame and the column of dark gray smoke showed that the old bed guard was coming to an end. He would have to go back to Ado Vela. Everything he had was gone in the high mountain passes, rested his only hope he had to go now.