the ring

Steel as icy cold as the northern winds of Jorrhild enwrapped his hands, the spiked gauntlets making not a noise as he flexed his fingers. The metal moved with unnatural ease, almost as if his skin was bare. He looked out through the slits of the helmet atop his head and saw only a sliver of his...

There it - she? he?? - lay, leaving Côme to wonder to himself the gender of the Ceardian Bloodhound as he carefully tiptoed around the sleeping beast. He was thankful for the wall shaking thunder, as it only made his task easier. It wasn’t his first time sneaking out of his sleeping quarters and...