A Heilbronn cautionary tale sung in low halls when a lord grows too proud.
House Hollowmere once ruled a rich river valley with silver fisheries, black wheat, and a fortress built half into the cliff. Its lord, Edric Hollowmere, mocked his king openly, withheld taxes, sheltered deserters, and called himself “river-crowned.” He believed the cliffs, the water, and his walls made him untouchable.
King Aldren Blackcrest did not answer with war. He answered with patience.
He married Edric’s niece into a lesser loyal house. He bought Hollowmere’s ferrymen. He pardoned one of Edric’s sons and kept him close. Then, on the winter feast of First Flood, he sent musicians, casks, and gifts in the king’s name.
That night, while House Hollowmere drank and sang, the ferrymen opened the floodgates upriver.
The waters rose black and fast. The lower halls drowned first. The gates were barred from the outside. By dawn, the banners of Hollowmere floated in the courtyard like dead swans.
Only one child survived, hidden in a flour chest and found half-mad three days later. He could never bear the sound of rain.
Since then, in Regin and beyond, minstrels sing:
Who crowns himself above the stone
Will learn the river is not his own.Who bars his gate and mocks the throne
May feast at dusk and drown alone.So drink not deep when kings are still,
For quiet hands work sharper ill.Ask Hollowmere beneath the foam
How long proud lords can keep a home.
Lesson: A king’s wrath is loud. A ruler’s vengeance is quiet enough to sound like weather.