Few are the thoughts that are spared for those who watch. The victim and the aggressor, the families and their vendettas. Gossip may spread for the rest, intrigue and interest following suit, and guards and executioners may be busy or too early summoned in the matters of folk both grand and poor. Yet little is the thought for the silent witnesses. Those who see and watch whether willingly or no.
What visions have danced before the eyes of the silent witnesses, what sounds have met their ears. As great oaks on a forest path, watching for generations of men as all things about them in their world occur from the insignificant to the cataclysmic and monumental. From the passing of a stranger and the falling of a leaf to the burning of the woods themselves, and the killing of a king. Yet none will hear their tale or see what they have seen.
Such is the nature of the silent witnesses, chosen as much by fate as timing or location. But for those silent witnesses of which I speak, another die was cast on their behalf, another hand interjecting. That of greed and ambition in a world which lacked the tempering of aspiration. Where the careless learned too late.
The Ederren 