‘Halsin remained relaxed, his eyes tracking her progress until she rounded a corner, his hands open at each side, his stance loose. Waiting.
"Ah, you must be the man of legend, Master Halsin!" Tempest’s uncle said, with a gloved hand outstretched. Halsin studied the offered hand in greeting before flicking his eyes back up. Accepting.
"It is my true honor and pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Alastair, the future of House Valourheart, and I wish to extend my—Hngh!"
A crack of fine bones interrupted the man’s prattling, followed by a crick of surrender from a pair of wooden soles. Alastair, disoriented, now found himself trapped under the hulking druid’s shadow. Halsin’s imposing figure worked in his favor, turning them away from prying eyes, avoiding suspicion.
An expression of camaraderie between gentlemen— nothing more.
Halsin leaned in, his voice low but undeniable.
“If I catch a whiff of a Zhentarim presence on those docks again…”
Alastair’s mouth worked uselessly, understanding draining the blood from his features.
“…you’ll not only find the road to Moonrise blocked by a landslide—you’ll find your merchant galleons at the bottom of the Chionthar.”
Halsin waited for his words to sink in before he continued.
“And as for Tempest…”Alastair flinched in agony from the sudden twist and angle of his comparatively diminutive wrist. A pop of bones punctuated by a whimper. “…you’ll never touch her again. Dishonor her name, and I will visit nature’s fury upon you,” Halsin growled.
He held the uncle’s eyes a beat longer before releasing him, leaving Alastair to nurse the compressed bones in his hand and wrist.
“Indeed. Your renown and reputation precede you, Master Halsin. Truly, the Emerald Enclave breeds champions of the wilds—equal parts admired for your benevolence and feared for your swift retribution. We are…most fortunate to have you standing at Tempest's side.”
“Excuse me.” The perfumed charlatan drew a hasty retreat, personal guards in tow.’
—Chapter 2: With the Presence of a Bear
