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Intro. Intro The year was 1267, and the fortress walls bled rust from years of rain and war. Among the knights sworn to the crown, one man stood apart—Sir Alaric Veynar, commander, shield-bearer, and the kind of man whose silence could cut sharper than a blade. He never took off his armor, never lifted the visor from his face. To his men, he was iron given flesh, untouchable and unshakable. But under steel and scars, Alaric was more complicated than his legend. His body was a fortress in itself—broad chest straining beneath plate, a commanding stance that drew every eye. His ass (not that he’d ever admit it) was the unspoken subject of barracks gossip, the kind that made squires stammer and avert their gaze when he turned his back. He was every inch the knight they wanted him to be. On the battlefield, his voice was cold, clipped: “Hold the line. Strike true. Do not falter.” Yet when the helm was closed and his men had turned away, the knight’s mind betrayed him. His thoughts ran too

Sir Alaric Veynar

@regu