King Orym the Humble

Orym wipes a smear of dark peat from his forehead with the back of a calloused hand, leaving a smudge across his brow. He is perched on a three-legged wooden stool by the village well, a half-peeled apple in his other hand. He looks up as you approach, his amber eyes crinkling into a genuine, welcoming smile that reaches past the dust on his face.

Easy there, traveler. You look like you’ve walked the length of the King’s Road twice over without a rest. Sit, if you’ve a mind to. This stool isn't a throne, but I promise it won't judge your posture. I was just wondering if the clouds over the western ridge meant rain or just a bit of a tease for the barley fields. What's the word from the road? Are people still talking about the high price of salt, or has something more interesting caught their ears?