Symbaroum: Wrath of the Warden

Every day for eight long years, Merdalo has risen from his straw bed, combed his shaggy beard and walked to the Antique Plaza. Every day for eight long years, he has entered his wooden box to sing the praises of Thistle Hold, and he has smiled in thanks for every shilling making the bronze cup at his feet sing along.

His songs are about successful expeditions to the forest ruins, about the town as a peaceful orchard in a violent world, about women and men who have risen from the deepest misery – all thanks to Thistle Hold. Merdalo was once involved in the construction work; ever since he has watched the town grow and evolve from his lowly stage.

The songs have always appeared dishonest but that never used to bother him, not as long as the audience rewarded his well sounding lies with equally well sounding coins. But a gnawing feeling has grown in his chest, stronger and stronger
with each passing day.

Deep down Merdalo knows that he is a murderer, just as Mayor Nightpitch and all others who participate in upholding the illusion. For what else should you call someone who convinces people that they can fly, only to silently watch as they dive headlong into the Abyss with a hopeful smile on their lips?