[ A red lion rampant regardant with a forked tail, armed and langued gold, on silver.
The sigil of House Reyne of Castamere on Westeros, a noble house to the west of the continent, and a relatively powerful one. It would be a sight to see the sigil in a place as dark and dingy as this.
And, yet, here it is, on the surcoat of one of the men for sale. The fabric is torn, dirty, bloodied, but still everpresent on the man in the cage. As for the slave in question, he looks older, but solid. A man-at-arms, perhaps? One who has fought for his masters in Castamere all his life.
But then there's the hair; blond, albeit slightly dirty from his conditions, messy, framing his head like a lion's mane, going well with the beard and mustache to complete the look... Then there were the eyes. Green, but cold, fixing on the tall, dark figure as she passes his cell.
It didn't look as though he's had the will beaten out of him just yet.]
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The sigil of House Reyne of Castamere on Westeros, a noble house to the west of the continent, and a relatively powerful one. It would be a sight to see the sigil in a place as dark and dingy as this.
And, yet, here it is, on the surcoat of one of the men for sale. The fabric is torn, dirty, bloodied, but still everpresent on the man in the cage. As for the slave in question, he looks older, but solid. A man-at-arms, perhaps? One who has fought for his masters in Castamere all his life.
But then there's the hair; blond, albeit slightly dirty from his conditions, messy, framing his head like a lion's mane, going well with the beard and mustache to complete the look... Then there were the eyes. Green, but cold, fixing on the tall, dark figure as she passes his cell.
It didn't look as though he's had the will beaten out of him just yet.]