Delivering bad news… from the Lost Spellweaver

The messenger rushed to the leader’s quarters.
“Halt!” the heavily armored much taller guard commanded.
Breathless, the runner answered, “I bear tidings for General Saligia.”
“The General is not to be disturbed. He is…busy,” the guard answered evasively.
“I must be heard!” the messenger replied, and bent down and grasped his tattered leggings for support.
“You can tell me,” the guard haughtily answered.
“You don’t want to be the bearer of these tidings,” the messenger sighed.
“Why not?” the guard queried.
“I’d best tell only the general,” the runner insisted.
“Then you can wait here until he wakes up. Lord Saligia was involved in negotiations of the highest order with the Drollen chiefs. Something’s afoot. I don’t want to wake him. He awaits the return of the High Shaman Melphat. I think the brothers plan something major, messenger. I really don’t want to awaken the General,” the guard insisted.
“My friend, the general must hear my communication. I’m not going away,” the tired sprinter continued.
“It’s your funeral! Go on in, but I warn you, the General had a lot of the Drolls’ mead. I suspect he is quite hung over. Come with me,” the guard answered.
The guard led the messenger down a dimly lit corridor to a heavy wooden door. Tentatively the guard raised his hand and pecked on the door.
“He’ll never hear that,” the envoy fumed.
“OK! OK! I fear for my hide! You are getting us both tarred and feathered!” the guard argued. He hammered on the door.
A disgruntled voice answered from within, “This had better be good.”
“I’m sorry, my lord. There is a courier from the Gap Keep. He insists on hailing you,” the guard submissively replied.
“Enter,” the gruff voice commanded.
The messenger sighed and stepped forward as the guard opened the door to the General’s chamber.
“My lord, may I speak?” the exhausted courier asked.
“I certainly hope you have something to say. I was dreaming of the Belles of Thabell, the most beautiful ladies of our ilk. Say your peace and let me return to my rest. In fact, I want you to sing your message,” the hulking Kiennite demanded.
“It’s difficult, Lord Saligia…” the courier stammered.
“Get on with it!” Saligia demanded.
“I can’t sing, Lord Saligia. And the matter…” the envoy pleaded.
“Sing! **** you! Sing!” the commanded demanded.
“I…I should like…” the beleaguered messenger pleaded.
“I’m not going to say it again! Sing!” Saligia commanded.
“Yes, Lord Saligia. Please remember you insisted,” the cowering courier added.
Saligia clenched his fist and muttered, “Sing!”
“La, la, la, la, la, la, your brother’s dead!” the messenger crooned.
“What? What the…” Saligia gawked.
“La, la, la, la, la, la, he fell in the woods near Alm’s Glen,” the messenger continued, plaintively trying to carry a tune.
“Shut up!” the guard demanded.
“Do you speak the truth?” Saligia asked.
“Unfortunately, Lord Melphat was found dead near the Lone Oak. He and four Drollen companions were slaughtered. Lieutenant Moochie of the Drolls found only the veteran Gruth alive. Moochie’s brother Phastin was among the dead. The Drolls found Drelvish arrows among the carcasses. Here is the scepter Lord Melphat carried. I was dispatched to inform you,” the courier added.
He extended the scepter of Aulgmoor and gave the old ornamental device to Lord Saligia.
“The Scepter of Aulgmoor. My brother would never part from this in life,” Saligia muttered.
“I’m sorry, Lord Saligia,” the wyvern hide clad courier muttered.
The guard looked to the courier and said, “You should be sorry. You are the worst vocalist I’ve ever heard.”