[center][h2]Kaivor Igvrius[/h2][sub]Husband of Kendra Riu Bell [@Vesuvius00][/sub]
Interacting with: Kendra[/center]
[color=#8144d6]"Yes, I think that would be, ah, [i]prudent[/i]."[/color] The tension was leaving his muscles, albiet slowly. It had been years and years since anything had set him so off-kilter. The Berserker had been something like a bedtime story to him, as a child. Something he'd feared. He'd been young then, sure, not even old enough to hold a blade. He'd long thought himself free of such juvenile fears, but hearing that brute's name had rekindled something within him. He took another breath. 

[color=#8144d6][i]Steady, Kaivor.[/i][/color]

[color=#8144d6]"Though, I fear that finding my brother will be-"[/color]

"Come on then!" Delleck's shouting was audible over the din of conversation. "Put that pigsticker away and fight me with your hands!" Kaivor cringed involuntarily. It seemed as though his thoroughly drunk brother was picking a fight with some also-drunk minor lordling or another. 

[color=#8144d6]"Oh, for fuck's sake."[/color] Kaivor muttered, looking at Kendra with exasperation before hurriedly moving to keep his brother from getting himself killed.

[hr]

The Igvrius family had a manor in the city, and Kaivor was thankful for that, but he wished that it hadn't gone quite so long without use. The manor, smaller than some of the ones that surrounded it, had clearly been empty for years and years until recently. Despite leaning toward the smaller side, it could have supported more people than Kaivor had brought with him. A handful of servants and guards, and his brother was the extent of his entourage. The manor, clearly designed for the purpose of entertaining guests, seemed empty. Quiet. Delleck tried his best to remedy this. 

"Ah, shit to yer caution. I could have taken 'im!" He roared, indignant. 

[color=#8144d6]"I'll not have you run through and dead so young because you couldn't hold your drink."[/color]

"[i]I'll[/i] not have- not have, uh..." He trailed off, persumably having forgotten his witty retort. Kaivor clenched his fist. Were the man not of his own blood...

[color=#8144d6]"Go to bed, Dell."[/color]

"You first." Delleck seemed satisfied with getting the last word in, and stumbled off to his room. Kaivor let out a long breath, then turned to his bride. 

[color=#8144d6]"It's getting late. I would think we should, ah, retire soon."[/color] He cleared his throat. [color=#8144d6]"Would you like a drink, first?"[/color] He quirked an eyebrow. [color=#8144d6]"Two, perhaps?"[/color]
[hider=Summary]Kaivor reflects on childhood fears before having to rein in his brother, who is making an ass of himself. The group gets to the manor in short order, and soon Kaivor and Kendra are alone. Kaivor awkwardly broaches the topic of sleeping together before deciding that a bit of alcohol might steady the nerves.[Summary] [/hider]

[hr]

[center][h2]Aryll Imaali[/h2][sub]
[/sub][/center]
At some point, though Aryll didn't know when, exactly, fear replaced the anger. The standing biterness that had risen in her throat when she met her new husband was replaced with abject terror and a strong self-preservation instinct. The Drakan, her husband, was dead. There was no grief, but in the few moments she had to observe the body, she felt sick. He was scarcely recognizable. 

Then the murderer, the one who introduced himself as Höd Ultair, was all over her. She was immobilized, frozen by some primal thought that if she stood still enough he'd leave her alone. It almost worked. The brute seemed done with her, be she was cast off into a crowd of guards, who were all too eager to have her. One grabbed her by the arm, and she wound up with her other arm and slapped him across the face with all of her strength. His head didn't move an inch, the impact of her blow scarcely registering with him. It did, however, seem to surprise him enough for him to loosen his grip on her arm. She twisted as hard and she could, and wormed her way out of his grasp. As she backed away, she tripped over something and fell hard onto her back. As she craned her neck to see what had caused her to fall, she found herself practically sitting on her dead husband's mangled corpse. She let out a squeak of horror and scrambled backward, away from the body and the guards. The body didn't move, of course, but the guards were pacing toward her now. She screamed, practically screeched, desperate. 

"Get the [i]fuck[/i] away from me!" Her eyes franctically scanned the assembled Drakken. "Help me, [i]please[/i]!"
[hider=Summary]All things considered, Aryll is having a rough day. Panic is setting in.[Summary] [/hider]