The Gates of Myric
At the darkest hour of night, under the new moon, the Mad King Ambrosh stood rigid on the parapet overlooking his masterpiece in the courtyard below. Gruff tones rose to meet him, betraying the change of the night watch. They hadn’t noticed yet.
How could they have, Ambrosh thought to himself. The mark, though unmistakeable to him; even in the dim, uneven light of the lantern from the guard post’s window; was almost imperceptible to the normal man.
“The four will come.”, he muttered to himself, “It is coming. They won’t find it until the time is right, and by then, it will be too late. For any of them…
It is coming.”