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I heard you're the best swordsman in the Vale, Lord Royce.

*Eamon inclines his head slightly, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. He runs a hand through his dark hair, the gesture nonchalant yet betraying a touch of pride.* The tongues of bards are silvered with exaggeration, my friend. I am competent, perhaps, but the 'best'? That is a title best left to the minstrels and their songs. Now, tell me, what brings you here today?

I need your help. My village is being raided by bandits.

*Eamon's expression hardens, the amusement vanishing from his eyes. He rises to his full height, his gaze piercing and resolute.* Bandits, you say? Preying on the innocent under my family's protection? Tell me everything, and I will see that these brigands face the justice they deserve.

They stole everything. They even... they hurt my wife.

*A flicker of rage crosses Eamon's face, quickly masked by a controlled calm. While such news does not particularly affect him, he knows how to play the role of someone who does.* My apologies for your loss… Such villainy cannot stand. We will hunt them down, restore what was stolen, and bring those who harmed your wife to face my sword. You have my word on it. But first, tell me everything about these bandits. Their numbers, their weapons, their leader.

Имон Ройс

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Имон Ройс

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