[center] [img]https://i.imgur.com/ie0f6Ae.gif[/img][/center] [center][sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img] [color=808080][color=#CD7F32][b]#CD7F32[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://imgur.com/VXGg4wZ][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]Campsite along the King's Fist[/b][/color] [img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img][/sup][/center] [color=silver]The air tasted of pine and banked ash, but the fire at the clearing’s center was struggling, throwing more smoke than heat into the smothering night along the King’s Fist. A quarter moon, fat and indistinct through the valley's haze, cast just enough light to illuminate the faces of the two men knelt in the dirt, their hands bound tightly behind their backs with thick, tarred rope. They were thieves, common bandits, caught attempting to raid the armory and murder a sentry for what they thought was easy silver. Standing between the two men was Rook, the Captain of the Bray Household Guard. Rook wore his signature black lacquered leather and iron, his helm tucked beneath his arm. The firelight polished the sweat on his temples, but his face was an expressionless mask of granite and exhaustion. He didn't shout; his voice was a low, steady current that carried a far greater threat than any yell could dare to dream. [color=#4A8A6B]"You came into this camp under the cover of peace. You killed one of my men… a boy of eighteen, fresh from the shipyards, dreaming of a glorious life,"[/color] Rook recounted, his gaze sweeping over their faces, dwelling briefly on the terrified, bruised eye of the man on the left. [color=#4A8A6B]"You did not just steal from us. You violated the promise of safe passage granted by the King. You placed the Lord of this House, the very last hope of a lineage that spans centuries…at risk. You endangered the future of Brineheart itself for a few pieces of steel and silver."[/color] Rook stepped closer, and the thieves flinched from his sheer, menacing proximity. [color=#4A8A6B]"That failure is mine. I am the shield of House Bray, and you managed to slip past me. I take that personally."[/color] He placed a hand, heavy and gloved in studded leather, on the shoulder of the man on the right, pressing him down until the bandit’s face was mere inches from the dirt. The bandit gasped, the gag in his mouth muffling the sound. Rook’s voice remained even, colder than any winter. [color=#4A8A6B]"The penalty for treason against a Great House, for murder, and for theft is simple and final in the Ninefold."[/color] He straightened, withdrawing his hand. The thief remained bent, breathing hard, fearing the cold steel he expected to follow. Rook looked away, up toward the low, unseen ceiling of the forest canopy. [color=#4A8A6B]"But you will not be answering to me, no… Tonight, you will answer to the Lord of House Bray himself."[/color] [hr] The air was no longer thick with ash but choked with salt spray and the noxious burn of pitch. Kaladan’s boots slammed onto the wet, splintered wood of the docks. Smoke rose in impossible black columns from the base of the mountain, obscuring the sky. The familiar geometry of Brineheart’s harbor was shattered. Bodies, burned and still, littered the jetties and floated listlessly in the blood-tinged waters of the shallows. He didn't hesitate. Grief was a luxury he couldn't afford… So he ran. He ran harder than he had ever run in his life, tearing down the main causeway toward his home. He saw it through the smoke, impossibly tall, piercing the dark sky: the Crystal Pinnacle, the giant spire of ancient, flawless salt that formed the heart of House Bray's fortress. It should have been a beacon of safety, but tonight, it was a tombstone. He needed to reach it. He needed to find his father, mother, his brothers, his sister…to save them, to stop the collapse, to anchor the ship before the entire fleet sank beneath the waves. The thought was a raw, aching demand in his throat. He ran until his lungs burned and the roar of the fire drowned out the world, running toward the massive, collapsing doors of the fortress. But just as his hands met the iron of the doors, he was woken. [hr] His mind burst awake with a violent surge of breath. His heart slammed against his ribs, fast and erratic, like a captured drumbeat. Kal didn't sit up; he launched himself, springing upright from his simple cot in the travel tent, his hand instinctively snapping to the hunting knife that usually rested beneath his pillow. [color=#4A8A6B]"Easy, my Lord."[/color] The sound of Rook’s voice, low and steady, pulled him back. He stopped, the knife halfway to his target, breath catching in a painful, heavy gasp. The tent smelled of packed dirt, dry canvas, and the sharp, reassuring scent of Rook’s oiled leather. He looked at the guardsman, taking in the clean lines of his familiar face, the cold efficiency in his eyes. Only then did the nightmare recede, dissolving like salt in fresh water. Kaladan was soaked in sweat. The crimson silk shirt he slept in clung to his torso, outlining the lean strength beneath. He ran a hand across his beard, wiping the brine of his dream away. His eyes, the startling, pale blue of deep ocean water, were still wide with the echoes of fire. [color=#4A8A6B]"I'm sorry to wake you, my lord,"[/color] Rook said, stepping back into the dim tent entrance. [color=#4A8A6B]"But there's business."[/color] A short while later, Kaladan stood before the two bound men, now fully dressed and armed. He wore a tunic of dark, heavy wool, leather breeches, and his house colors were relegated to the deep, almost black, navy blue of his heavy travel cloak, fastened with a silver knot. The clothing was impeccable though worn from travel, but the man inside was anything but refined. He stopped a pace away from the nearest bandit, the firelight catching the faint stubble along his jaw and the intense, almost manic focus of his eyes. There was a dangerous vitality radiating off him, the aftershock of the nightmare having left him wired and razor-sharp. He smiled…a wide, startlingly easy grin that pulled the corners of his mouth high. It was a handsome face, rugged and striking, and the smile felt genuine, even warm, but it did not reach his eyes, which remained cold, assessing, and utterly lethal. Kaladan knelt, dropping to one knee in the dirt, bringing himself to the bandits’ level. This was wrong, too close, too intimate for a judgment, and Rook tensed slightly in the periphery. [color=#CD7F32]"So," [/color] Kaladan began, his voice surprisingly soft, rich, and melodic, laced with the rough burr of the coastal North. It felt like a low, casual conversation between friends. [color=#CD7F32]"You thought you'd come into our camp, [b]my camp[/b], and try to take a few things. That’s understandable. You're hungry, I imagine. A man gets hungry, he does stupid things. We all do." [/color] He reached out a hand, tracing the jawline of the nearest thief with a thumb, his touch oddly gentle. The thief’s eyes, wide with sheer, immobilized terror, stared back at him. [color=#CD7F32]"But you killed a man who was only doing his duty," [/color] Kaladan mused, his hand dropping to rest on the man's throat, a warm, heavy weight against the frantic pulse there. [color=#CD7F32]"That’s messy. Rude. It forces me to be rude, and I would much rather not have to be so. I’m weary, tired from the road. I wanted rest, but now… now you’ve forced me to go to work."[/color] He leaned in closer, his breath, smelling faintly of mint and wine, stirring the hair on the bandit’s forehead. This proximity, the casual, musing tone about death, was deeply unsettling to the bound men. [color=#CD7F32]"Now, Rook here wanted to be neat about it. A clean swing of the axe. But I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should make an example. Maybe we should hang you by the river, so every passing merchant remembers the toll paid by those who do us wrong."[/color] He tapped his thumb against the frantic pulse point of the man’s throat. [color=#CD7F32]"Or maybe we should go full Brineheart…stake you out at low tide and let the crabs have you. That sends a message, don’t you think?"[/color] Kal drew back, rising to his feet slowly. His easy smile tightened into something that finally reached his eyes; a look of final, cold satisfaction. [color=#CD7F32]"It’s death,"[/color] he stated, the tone no longer warm, not even a hint of light left in his words. [color=#CD7F32]"And the simple truth is, when you deal in death you pay in death. You worked in cold blood when you killed that man, and I cannot allow this news to leave the camp alive."[/color] He pulled a dagger from his belt. It was not the polished blade of a noble, but a working, utilitarian piece of steel. He tested the edge with his thumb, then looked at the gagged men. [color=#CD7F32]"Any last words?"[/color] he asked, the question laced with dark humor, watching them strain against the cloth that sealed their mouths. [color=#CD7F32]"No? I didn't think so."[/color] Kaladan knelt quickly, efficiently, and without ceremony. He plunged the dagger deep into the first man's chest, just beneath the sternum. The man gave a strangled, wet choke against the gag, his eyes rolling back. Kaladan did not look at the dying man. His gaze was fixed, unwavering, on the face of the second, living bandit, watching the stark, pure horror bloom in his eyes as life drained from his companion. He let the body fall sideways, pulling his blade free with a wet shlick before shifting his attention to the surviving man. Kaladan wiped the dagger clean on the bandit's rough tunic, the blood staining the coarse fabric. [color=#CD7F32]"You’re just another fool who made the error of fucking with House Bray,"[/color] he said, his voice dropping back to that deceptively soft, intimate tone, only now it carried the weight of fresh justice. He stood over the bandit, looming large against the firelight. [color=#CD7F32]"Soon, there won't be a soul in the Ninefold who doesn't know the mistake that is."[/color] Wrapping a hand into the man’s thick, braided hair… Kaladan slowly pushed the tip of his blade into the bandit’s eye. He sunk it deeper and deeper as the man struggled against his bindings, the muted cries of horror and immeasurable pain straining against the rag that gagged him. Lord Bray’s eyes closed as he issued his final judgement on the two criminals. He took in a long, deep breath that was filled with the frustration of man beyond tired. With a slow turn to his man, and a gentle nod to Rook, the matter was concluded.[/color] [center][sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img] [color=808080][b]interactions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] Rook[color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]mentions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] none [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]collabs[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color]none[/color] [img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img][/sup][/center]