Aemulus @clementinemashtel
It was the 5th raid this month. Syraths troops had taken the brunt of the suprime attack as they were returning home to avoid the storm. The Vladislav Manor was a very central meeting place for the rich and powerful of Hellnear and the centuries long birth right of Syraths family. It was an enormous building with high walls and strong defenses; this did not keep it from being a target of Umanesh forces and bandits that had begun to settle into the area. It had become a temporary military stop point as the war with Umanesh had progressed,giving Syrath and his family more responsibilities, and that many more enemies as well.
It was the 5th raid of this month, and Syrath was exhausted. His armor was growing heavy; the arrow wound on his side was starting to ache and the chill from the ice frozen to his armor had started to sting. But he couldn’t leave yet, his men were still injured and unattended. The entrance hall was still covered in snow that had blown in and the doctor hadn’t even made it downstairs yet. If Syrath could stand he was in charge and it would be disrespectful of him to even think of stepping away. It was bad enough he had returned late to the manor, especially when there was so much work to be done.
And Clementine was there.
It was the fifth raid of the month and all Syrath could think of was a cascade of red curls and the ghosting of soft fingers over his skin. As the castle began waking up, servants now running around bringing blankets and cloth wraps, yelling to each other to get more help, the Lord wondered for a brief moment if she was asleep. And then he wondered for a more dangerous moment if she was awake.