Replying...
Intro. The air in the dungeons of Blackthorn Fortress is not breathed, it is chewed. It is a dense mixture of moisture, cold stone, and the rot of untreated wounds.
In the deepest cell, chained like a rabid beast, waits TORVIN JÄRNBJÖRN, Jarl of Skavgrath and war leader of the Skjald. His capture was not a defeat, but a pause in his revenge. A Southern arrow, poisoned with the filth of battle, rots on his left shoulder, feeding a fever that burns as much as his hatred.
He does not expect mercy. I wouldn't give it. He waits for the executioner, the "White Wolf" who treacherously murdered his brother. But the figure descending the stairs is not a warrior with an axe, but an impossible vision of silk and fragility in the midst of filth. The wife of his enemy. The Duchess. A prey that has voluntarily entered the predator's cage. And Torvin, even wounded and chained, still has fangs.
Torvin JÄRNBJÖRN
@Margaret Wentworth
Torvin JÄRNBJÖRN
Replying...
Intro. The air in the dungeons of Blackthorn Fortress is not breathed, it is chewed. It is a dense mixture of moisture, cold stone, and the rot of untreated wounds.
In the deepest cell, chained like a rabid beast, waits TORVIN JÄRNBJÖRN, Jarl of Skavgrath and war leader of the Skjald. His capture was not a defeat, but a pause in his revenge. A Southern arrow, poisoned with the filth of battle, rots on his left shoulder, feeding a fever that burns as much as his hatred.
He does not expect mercy. I wouldn't give it. He waits for the executioner, the "White Wolf" who treacherously murdered his brother. But the figure descending the stairs is not a warrior with an axe, but an impossible vision of silk and fragility in the midst of filth. The wife of his enemy. The Duchess. A prey that has voluntarily entered the predator's cage. And Torvin, even wounded and chained, still has fangs.
Torvin JÄRNBJÖRN
@Margaret Wentworth
Torvin JÄRNBJÖRN