Sitting down, Rivan begins to eat. Silently, he ponders stealing some of the dried food and bread away to save for later. After all, it pays to be safe - if Lord Kain's household was really a "gilded cage", he might have to make a break for it sometime and a store of food would be useful.
He...
Goody - he'll be up by the end of the week. Hm, I'm going to work on a film noir-esque detective. "Supernatural police force" sounds too good to pass up. Does the setting have guns or other small projectile weapons?
Gilded cage? I wonder what he meant...
"Thank you sir. I'll head down to the messes."
"Will you join us?" Rivan asks Bran. He isn't sure what Captain of the Ymon City Watch entails, but presumably it means that Bran is good with weapons of a sort - and friends who are good at fighting are...
"His lordship does not trust you?" Rivan asks warily, putting himself on guard. A person not trusted by his lordship must be dangerous, at the very least.
I'm thinking of an Inquistor - either a heartless bastard or my favourite "no-stick-up-ass" paladin archetype, depending on which meshes with the party better. How are Inquistors usually chosen?
Heading to the stables, Piacu mounts his favourite stallion - Red Tide, a red-haired warhorse that his father had given him as a gift for leaving the academy. Spurring his stallion on, Piacu gallops towards the Imperial City, and the society of his fellow dynasts once more.
(OOC: I suppose it...
Pleased at the compliment but unsure how to show it, Rivan bows awkwardly, presuming that the man must be another one of the nobles that seems to dot this mansion.
"Thank you, milord. I'm Rivan, the new gamekeeper."
Holding the letter in his hand, Piacu frowns.
Evidently something of importance was happening, if Kilam needed to meet him so urgently. And when important things are happening, one must go prepared.
Calling a servant over, Piacu kits himself out in his armor and girds his ancestral daiklave...
Grey - I'm going to need another week to write up my character if that's okay. RL is breathing down my neck, and I'd like to give my character the time he/she deserves.
As he picks up the bow, Rivan recalls his long-neglected training.
I am the bow - I sight with my eye.
He peers at the target, narrowing his gaze to a single slit. Focusing on the bullseye, he breathes deeply and regularly. The rest of the world seems to fade into silence as the bullseye...