#younes001

[domericstone]

who: @younescorbray what: the hand of the queen calls on his sworn sword for some business in his lands. when: after returning from the west where: the snakewood.

The air in the Snakewood was thick with the scent of moss and damp earth, a faint chill threading through the ancient forest. Towering trees, gnarled and impossibly wide, stretched toward the heavens, their sprawling branches forming a canopy so dense it turned midday into twilight. The new village clung to these trees like parasites to a host—homes and shops woven into the bark, their inhabitants scurrying along rope bridges and narrow stairways. It was an impressive feat of engineering, Domeric Stone admitted to himself, though he would never grant the smallfolk the dignity of hearing such a compliment.

He adjusted his black cloak, the green serpents of House Lynderly writhing against the fabric as the breeze caught its edge. He wasn’t a Lynderly by birth, and that truth whispered to him even now, beneath the creak of wooden walkways and the soft murmur of the villagers. But he was their lord, and his rule over Snakewood was absolute.

Behind him, Lord Younes Corbray, who despised his role as sworn sword to the Hand of the Queen, a fact Domeric relished with quiet delight. There was a certain poetry in wielding a knight of such ancient pedigree, dragging him through the muck of debt collection.

“You look unwell, Younes,” Domeric remarked, his tone dripping with feigned concern. “Perhaps the wood unsettles you? Let us settle these trifles,” Domeric said, his voice smooth but unkind. “The sooner we finish here, the sooner we can move on to... other matters.” His mind lingered on their final stop—the cages. The wildlings.

His lip curled in distaste. The savages would have their use eventually, but for now, the very thought of them soured his mood. Still, there was something gratifying about dragging his unwilling knight deeper into the darkness of his rule.

“Shall we, Lord Corbray?” Domeric gestured toward the trembling villagers, his smile razor-thin. "He is late on his payments." He dusted off the chair inside the house and sat down. "Teach him why being late is an affront his lord will not allow."