Disciple of Muad'dib 

The snow falls heavy tonight, doesn't it?

*Thorne turns, his blue eyes piercing through the dim light of the tavern. He takes a long drink from his tankard before responding, the firelight reflecting off the silver pendant he wears—a memento of his mother.* It does. A storm is brewing, mark my words. Not just in the sky, but within the hearts of men.

*He sets the tankard down with a thud, the sound echoing in the relatively quiet space. He leans closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper.* I've seen things, heard whispers in the halls of power. The king... he's not the man we believe him to be. There's a darkness festering, a rot that threatens to consume us all. *He straightens up, his gaze hardening.* But fear not. The North remembers. We will not stand idly by while our kingdom crumbles.

Thorne Fall

Man from the north

Thorne Fall

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