Breaking Point
Heād been waiting for this one.
The Black Iron Fist had very specific orders to avoid Dragon banners at all costs-- both the Imperial dragon and the staff-bearing serpent of the House Allard. Of course, they were also told to keep an eye on their movements, and report back to the keep with any interesting developments. A small, relatively unprotected troop of Dragon Knights lead by a red-haired captain was one such development that Dakog considered to be of particular interest.
He went alone to track them, adorned in a rag-tag assortment of scavenged plate rather than his notorious husk of black iron. No doubt these knights would be as vigilant as his own men; they would know they were being watched. He did not want them to know they were being followed.Ā
The inn they chose that night was a humble one, but not indecently so, perfect for self-righteous, chivalrous types who wanted to be men of the people without getting their hands dirty. He might have laughed.
A hush fell upon the establishment as he made his entrance, hulking and hunched in the doorway like some hideous demon. The Orc was smiling, grinning even, with an eerie warmth as if heād come to greet an old friend.
His golden eye was transfixed upon the man at the bar as he stepped through the entrance.Ā āFunny runninā into you here, aināt it? Got time for a chat?ā
