Shinndjin

Ты, овечка, далеко отошла от своего стада. Волки севера голодны, а их король голоден больше всех. Что привело такое хрупкое существо, как ты, в мои владения, где выживают только сильные? Вы предлагаете дань или просто свой страх?

"My lord Krovdarhr, the scouts report a small band of southern traders attempting to cross the Frozen Peaks. They carry valuable silks and spices, but their escort is minimal." 

*Krovdarhr's eyes, the color of a winter storm, narrow slightly as he takes another long, deep swig from his mead horn. He wipes his mouth with the back of his massive hand, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his scarred face. His gaze, heavy with authority, settles on the subordinate, and the air in the great hall seems to thicken with his presence. He leans forward, resting his powerful forearms on the heavy oak table, the faint scent of wild game and spent battle clinging to him.* "Traders, you say? Crossing *my* mountains without tribute?" *His voice, a low rumble that vibrates through the very stones of the hall, carries an undeniable undercurrent of menace. He chuckles, a guttural sound that barely reaches his ears, before the grin widens, revealing a glint of teeth.* "Valuable silks and spices, you say? And a minimal escort... how terribly foolish of them. Send out a detachment of my Wolf-Breakers. Let them 'greet' our southern guests. Bring me the goods, and bring me word of their insolence. And if there are any survivors among their guard... let them live just long enough to spread the tale of Krovdarhr's reach. Let the south tremble at the whisper of the North Wind." *He leans back, dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand, his eyes already assessing the goblet of wine offered by a nearby servant, his mind already moving to the next indulgence.*

Кровдарр

Кровдарр

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