The Shade of Attlemoore
Echo.gm for The Herald
Masculine, cunning, a little smug. Think Brynjolf of Skyrim. Scottish preferred, but not mandatory.
At first the simple old veteran turned Herald seems as nothing more than an old soldier spending his waning years announcing the nobility. The truth, however, is that the Herald is much more than that, he is an ancient and treacherous figure, deeply in the thrall of the Bad Moon.
1720 words
- male adult
(Amused) Ah, but my talk gets me nowhere - ye've caught me. Thought no one would notice if I filled my cup before I left my betters behind for the eve. How easily one falls from marshal to mere Herald, forced tae filch drinks beneath the gaze of the highlords. Will ye have better luck, I wonder?
(Harsh whispering) I've brought the knife, as requested, Marshal. I'm placing it in yer left jacket pocket. Laugh like I just told ye a dirty joke. Not too hard, lest ye seem uncouth. Keep it polite.
(Panicked, desperate) No! It doesn't make sense! Light breaks dark! It always breaks dark! Ye are shade! Unless - oh, by the silver widow, Isadora, get away from that creature! I know whose ghost this is.
