Auditing Accounts

At the start of the month, the setting sun was like blood, dyeing the rough stone buildings of the capital of Hewenham Territory an ominous ocher red.

On the dusty street, a travel-worn party, their armor covered in the grime of the road, passed through in silence and haste under the guidance of a herald. Horseshoes struck the flagstones with crisp, urgent clacks, making the sparse residents on both sides of the road shut their doors and bolt them, casting startled, uncertain looks through the cracks in their windows.

At the very front of the procession, Tri-Border Governor Count Boles sat astride his warhorse. He was past sixty, with a gaunt, cold face, deep-set eyes, and thin lips pressed tight as blades. Even after a long journey, his back remained ramrod straight, and his whole body exuded the pressure of a man long tempered on the battlefield.

He wore no splendid formal attire symbolizing noble status, but a dark, studded leather cuirass suited for movement, with a slightly worn black velvet cloak over it. His only ornament was a golden Broomflower crest badge on his chest, representing royal authority.

His gaze was sharp as an eagle's, sweeping quickly over the somewhat dilapidated sights on both sides of the street and those sallow faces. His brow tightened almost imperceptibly.

The Governor's Office stood at the center of the town, a somewhat old but massive stone fortress.

When Count Boles's party arrived, the scene before the Governor's Office was already something else entirely.

Lights blazed, carriages and horses crowded together, and several dozen prominent local figures had long been waiting there.

They wore silk and satin, displayed their family crests, and had carefully prepared smiles piled onto their faces.

Local squires and elders, landed Baron, knights, as well as the Chief Prosecutor