(Holden d’Alnharte (MAIN), Outside of Paline, Praelium)

“[color=f26522]Finally.[/color]” Holden stood at the edge of the treeline, observing the standing fortress in the distance. His clothes were dried off, and just in time. In the wake of the cold rain, the strong winds of the open waters lashed at his form without pause. It pulled at his cloak; leaving his sword and dagger exposed. To his benefit or misfortune, he had yet to see. 

There were a few different patrols that moved along the outskirts of the naval fortress. Part of him wondered if this was possibly the wrong destination. But, he did not want to risk running into a spy from his homeland; most of which certainly lingered in the civilian populace. He unclipped the sheath for his dagger, and slid it in his boot. They would likely see him disarmed, but he was not going to be defenseless. 

Would his name hold any weight, out here? The war hero, Holden d’Alnharte? The sharpshooter, the traitor, the Exile? 


“[color=f26522]Maybe they’ll try and recruit me.[/color]” He cracked a grin. His own humor never failed to amuse him. With a deep breath, he emerged from cover and approached the nearest patrol; hands raised. “[color=f26522]I need to speak with your commanding officer at once,[/color]” he demanded, “[color=f26522]for Praelium’s sake.[/color]”

(Holden has arrived near the naval fortress, and turned himself in to the nearest patrol in the hopes of seeking audience with an officer.)