The old man’s scowl deepened as he considered the ruby wine shimmering in the guttering flame of the candle that sat next to the bottle on his oaken table.  Its scarred surface held the remains of his midwinter’s feast, but no joy did he hold in his heart.  With a grumble, he picked up his goblet and took a deep draught.

Suddenly, the door to his chamber rattled.  A servant wrapped in wool and furs pushed it open.  The wind of its passing caused the candlelight to shake violently.

The servant skidded to a stop a few paces from him, bowing low at the waist.

“My lord,” his breathless voice broke the silence.  “It has arrived!”

The old knight nodded gravely.  “You’re certain?”

“Yes, my lord!  The herald passed through the gates just  moments ago, crying out his news with joy!”

The nobleman stood, pulling his robes tight against a frame that had once held more strength than five men.

“Praise be,” he said as he strode toward the door.  “How much?”

“Hours, my lord!” the servant replied, taking his place one stride to the rear and slightly to his lord’s left.  “Enough for months!”

“Excellent.  Make sure that it’s rationed.”

“Of course, my lord.  We shan’t see more of this for quite some time.”

An icy wind blew into the manor as the doorservant opened the portal at his lord’s approach.  Outside, a crowd had gathered at the news.  A murmur ran through both peasant and noble.  A pony, steaming from the sweat that soaked its mane and neck, stood to one side.  Its rider, upon seeing the lord approach, fell to his knees.

“My lord,” he proclaimed, his voice ringing out into the gray winter afternoon, “It is here!”  He offered up a leather wrapped package with both hands, his head bowed.

The nobleman took it from him and examined it.  Turning it over in his hands, he saw that the seal was intact, and that the oiled leather shone in the waining sunlight.  With a flick of his hand, he broke the seal, and unwrapped the vellum underneath.  His hand trembled as he read the words.  His eyes closed for a moment in a prayer of thanksgiving.

He raised the scroll above his head and turned to face the crowd.

“My people, harken unto me!” he roared.  A raven that had been resting in the barren branches of a nearby oak tree, squawked and flew off into the approaching darkness.  The sound of its wings beating against the air punctuated the nobleman’s words as they echoed from the walls.  

“Our winter feast can finally be complete!  We can celebrate the return of the sun in the months to come!”  A wave of whispered prayers met his ears as the crowd fell to their knees.

“Yes, my children!” he continued.  “Dan Carlin has published another episode of Hardcore History!”