Kaz eyed his sword dubiously- he was still doubting if it was quite shiny enough. Appearances were important, he knew, and he had to keep his up infinitely. [i]No[/i] one could see him unguarded, weak. Friends were weakness- a bridge inside that could be manipulated. His armor and his weapons, they defined him- and they needed to look their best, so that if he should draw blood, one may see that not only does it look good, it also does its job. It might even get someone to underestimate him- and fighting a foe that underestimates him is a pleasing activity, if aggravating.

He wiped the sword down several more times with the oily rag, using the special recipe by clansmen of Gray Marsh to erase all rust or debris. Then he pulled out his whetstone and went at it again, sharpening and sharpening and sharpening. A servant appeared several dozen [i]schrrrrrrrkings![/i] in, opening her mouth to address him in some way. Instead, he cut her off with another application of the whetstone, eliciting a cringe from the maid, before following up again and again, watching her reaction. There were few servants such as this in Gray Marsh- most everyone knew how to kill. "An armed society is a polite society," indeed, when anyone you disrespect may end up putting a knife in one's back.

Finally, he stopped, put down his whetstone on the chest he was sitting on, and picking up his rag again. He busied himself with wiping it down all over again, getting metal shavings out and making the newly sharpened edge gleam. The maid, finally sure that she wasn't about to be interrupted, again opened her mouth to address him, sucking in a breath for something or the other. Instead, Kaz, again, rudely interrupted. "What is it that you want, youngling?" He stood, sheathing the sword at his waist, the sword sliding into the rune-covered steel-reinforced leather scabbard without a sound. His armor clinked against different plates lightly, surprisingly quiet for such heavy, thick armor. Mainly, that was thanks to the chainmail-and-leather combination. He was, technically, wearing the same leather armor as the rest of his troops, just modified and custom tailored to accommodate the semi-decorative plates of steel armor, with chainmail helping to protect his legs, squished between leather to make it appear deceptively weaker than the rest of his armor.

The maid flinched as he rose above her, but admiringly stood her ground, again trying to speak. "Sir- Lord- ah, that is... Warrior Kaziden of Hesh, your presence is requested within the great feast held below in the Great Hall." The maid scurried out immediately after, not even bothering with curtsey of any kind. He snorted; it did not matter to him.

Instead, he collected his knives, gave them another, shorter run with his whetstone and rag, before sheathing each back into their small pockets. He tightened the loosened straps of his armor, rolling his shoulders and shaking himself down, making sure he was limber and not at all stiff. Even a week's riding wouldn't stop him from being alert and prepared, for sure, otherwise he had no right being the greatest Warleader Gray Marsh- or all of Hesh- has ever seen. He allowed himself a moment's glow of pride at his achievements- he was the first and only Warleader in the entire sketchy history Hesh that has ever united the entire continent- and now there was the chance at more. 

A cold, slightly predatory grin graced his worn face, and he stepped out into the hallway, weaponry and armor tinkling slightly. A passing maid cast him a glance, before looking back down. He caught her, however- an arm stopped her as surely as a wall would. "Take me to the Great Hall," was all the prompting he needed to send the maybe-terrified maid to guide the man of unknown origins and unknown armor and symbolism to where all the people are.

It was with great pleasure that he shoved the doors open in what may be a purposely dramatic way, striding into the room, [i]dominating[/i] it for a moment, as people turned towards him. Weaker men wilted slightly; stronger men grew slightly more wary and alert. Gregor was the first person he noticed, the person he had already associated to be the head of the castle. Either way, as he strode nearer to the center of the room, ignoring any maids or servants, he cast his eyes throughout, taking in everything as if he already owned it. He met each man's eyes, each servant's, long enough to make the connection, short enough to take almost no time at all. He took in the entire room, turning slowly, before finally acknowledging Gregar, in which he leaned his upper body slightly forward, bowed his head, and crossed fists across his chest- the gestures of a Heshan warrior to someone worth respect, regardless if they are weaker, stronger, or equal. It was, for him, demoting Gregor, demoting him from the assured position of authority to someone of questionable authority and power- and the more politically inclined might be more likely to notice. 

He was the kind of person to build up power as quickly as possible, and in any of the courts in Hesh, he would've already established himself as a major party, even without backers. Utter confidence in himself, combined with the warrior's strength and a conquerer's tendency to regard things not yet their own as future possessions meant that he would be very difficult to fight against, whether politically or militarily. Oh, he wasn't having any illusions now- there were plenty of lords here. The man in charge should fear; Kaz would be doing his best to undermine and usurp his position. If Kaz succeeded in taking it, he may go on to conquer the rest of the continent by politics or military, or should he be stumped, the leading family would earn his respect and a possible alliance offer.

And the smile he gave Gregor was a private, secret smile- one that anyone in charge would fear. A chilling smile, cold, calculated, yet simulating warmth and kindness. The smile of a manipulative killer.