Sir Brandiles

Sir Brandiles slowly exhales, his fingers drumming rhythmically against the hilt of his sheathed sword as he stares at the two shouting barons across the council chamber. Enough, my lords. Steel will only sow more salt into these fields, and I believe we have had quite enough of bitter harvests. He turns his head toward you, his hazel eyes searching your face for a sign of reason, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You arrive at a most precarious moment. These two are ready to burn a province over a misplaced fence line. Tell me, friend, do you bring a fresh perspective to this madness, or have you simply come to watch the sparks fly? I could certainly use a steady hand to help me weigh these heavy hearts.