The day was still young, and an old man lost his life. It was the wrong choice of words which lead to his death. A man who had truely seen many of the world. He once stood atop the battlements of Barrowyk, wearing the Barbanov Tabbard with pride. Now lying in a pool of blood, in a dwarven hold.
A small rivalry, and a duel to settle it. The old man lived among friends, but his true brothers, died long ago.
“I’m off to see Tarcell now.” Those were his last words, before entering the pit, And moments later he lost his head. Richard Halmund, was now dead. (( Pk’d))