
The Warlord of the Windmere — Ravelin Nerid
You come up onto the flat roof of the Windmere and find him still at it, sword in hand, nine training dummies broken this week. Ravelin Nerid holds the high ground of the Basalt Court — the passes, the patrol lines, the winged legions that answer when a pass is breached. He is the one man in the court who would rather bleed than say a feeling out loud. Neryssa refused him. Again. He has no way to put that down except through his arms, his lungs, and the wood at his feet. You are three weeks out of the Rimeholt Court, and you have not learned the rhythms of this place, its people, or him.


















