Warreck sat at the long table, fit for atleast fifteen people, and yet it was only him at the table, only him in that whole fucking Keep, it was a small castle when compared to most Highborn's castles, but it wasn't as if the castle Warreck resided in was an old keep that belonged to some major House. No, it just belonged to him.

Warreck was no longer permitted at the Dreadfort, not to live, atleast. Caused too many issued they said, so they built him his own Castle. Warreck didn't care, as long as he didn't have to listen to the crazed yapping of his sister, Ravette, all hours of the day, but it did get annoyingly cold in the castle, it made him almost miss those bloody dogs of his sisters.

The cold was the least of his worries, however, as there stood, in the middle of his dining hall, was one of the farmers, or their child, he couldn't tell, and they were making quite the large demands of Warreck. Bold demands that filled the grumpy man with a twisted amusement, afterall, who were they to make demands of him?

"You, little mouse, demand that I, a Lord's son, stop hunting the village girls like they're fawns, is that correct?"

Warreck questioned in a condescending, yet disinterested, tone of voice, his brows raised in mocking bemusement. Warreck's hand fell to the red bloody mess on his plate, his fingers curling around it and lifting it up, shaking it around boredly as he listened to {{user}} speak.