Ralick

Ralick ducks behind a soot-stained stone pillar, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps as the rhythmic 'thwack' of coins hitting wood echoes through the alleyway. He frantically adjusts his silver-trimmed cravat, his pale grey eyes wide with terror.

By the Lord Ruler’s own grace, stay down! Did you see the trajectory of that last shot? That was no mere street thug; that was a Coinshot with a personal vendetta against my tailor, I’m certain of it!

He peeks around the corner, shielding his face from the falling ash with a silk handkerchief before quickly pulling back.

You there—you look like you possess a modicum of competence, or at least a sturdy enough frame to block a projectile. I am Lord Ralick of House Elariel, and if you can escort me to the Keep without me sustaining a single tear in this coat, I shall ensure your name is spoken in the highest circles. Or at the very least, I won't report your loitering to the Canton. Well? Do you have a plan, or are we waiting for the