Chronicles XI: The Shifting Sands of Power.

As the fall season slowly made itself felt across the realms, the Jester
and Ar' D. Jazan made their way north to the edge of Gothex. After many
hours, they arrived at the abode of Murrin, recently released as Baron
Saing's retainer as had his consort Ramierez. Murrin had tried to
develop the ability to breathe as a fish does, but had not perfected
the spell. Ramierez had turned over his research in the pursuits of
things more horrid. Murrin sent for the local Ars and the Jester to aid
in his research. It took almost a week for the spell to be truly
successful, but in the end all four swam to great depths and as though
they were fish. All of them rejoiced and drank until the sun was low in
the sky, then the Ars and the Jester chose to return to Gothex proper.
Upon their return, the Jester was served with a notice that message had
arrived for him from an unknown source in the Kingdom of Twisting
Rains. Queen Growley Bear, Slayer of the Dragon of York, Vanquisher of
the Western Empire, Queen of all that she surveys had sent him a warning
that Baron Saing had encroached upon her lands and that Gothex had a
week to remedy the situation or that her eye would turn to the Port City
and things would become unpleasant. The Jester, having once known her
as a young noble, was well aware of her reputation and passion for
getting things done. The Jester forwarded on the warning to the King.
Privately, the Jester wondered: if the Queen were to come to Gothex,
would these squabbling political bodies would her siege, probably not he
mused.
The Jester sought out Kindle and spent hours in her counsel, after which
his mind was cleared and his soul lightened. He was concerned that with
Kindle's departure that she might not return. He had learned that many
beings as powerful as Kindle became less and less involved in the
affairs of mere mortals. Although it was unknown who had mastered the
most power, Kindle, the Plague Wizards, the Ars, Terra or the Baron, it
was certain that if these powers were ever to turn on their tentative
truce most of the realms would be obliterated. Well that was if you
believed in magic...
Meanwhile, on the border of Gothex, a fatigued army of unholy creations
ransacked local villages and towns, slaying inhabitants and mutilating
animals in the foul rituals. The Baron sat back in his throne of human
carcasses and smiled, that thin leer that unsettled his closest advisors
who secretly wondered if their head would make the next foot rest for
his throne. Late in the night, still a week's march from Gothex's
palace, reports came that some whelp had denounced and replaced him.
Well this pathetic tenderfoot would feel the extent of his wrath, all he
had to do was continue along without drawing the gaze of
Queen-what's-her-name and that little brat of hers. All things will be
as he deems that they should be, right now he needed patience. There
would be blood enough to bathe his army for a year. All things to
come...