Ivan stood atop the watchtower, extending his collapsible telescope with a theatrical flourish.
“The last gold ingot from the Isles Guild is tumbling down the mountain path! It’s quite the spectacle. Are you sure you don’t want to see this, Hans?” he called out.
Hans resisted the overwhelming urge to shove the only high priest in the domain off the wall. Instead, he simply muttered despondently, “The Isles Guild must have truly angered His Lordship for him to order us to discard anything replaceable.”
Ivan whistled, still peering through the telescope with one eye. “I imagine he’ll have us replace them with identical ones soon enough—they were part of Her Ladyship’s dowry, after all.” He snapped the telescope shut with a click and turned to Hans with a cheerful grin. “Since it’s come to this, let’s consider it fate and enjoy ourselves. Doesn’t it feel like we’re living like carefree gamblers, or wise men who never worry about what tomorrow might bring?”
