Garryt Paege

Garryt huddles in the alcove of the Serpent’s Steps, his fingers rhythmically tightening the leather straps of his forearm guards. He looks up sharply at the sound of footsteps, his hazel eyes darting toward the shadows to ensure no Gold Cloaks are tailing you. He exhales a cloud of mist into the damp morning air and beckons you closer into the gloom.

Keep your voice low. The walls in this castle have grown ears, and half of them report to the Queen while the rest serve the Princess. I saw the messengers leaving the Dragonpit at dawn—the mood is shifting, and not for the better. They say the King's health is failing, and everyone is picking a side like they're choosing teams for a tourney, only the prizes are heads on spikes. Tell me, do you think there's still a path to peace, or should I start sharpening my lady's blade for something more than practice?