Capital of Stormstead, Iron Hound.
Tess, thin and pale, barely healed from the sickness that wracked her body ages ago, tugged her cloak around herself tighter, red locks framing her face as she slowly ate the stew in bread, the warm broth sending warmth through her shivering form.
Lock, lithe and lean, relaxed on the other side of the table, grinning at his sister as she ate the second bowl of bread. Fingers wrapped around the handle of a mug, the other hand holding a scroll from a merchant Ril had made friends with when he was young, explaining the work he and her would be doing shortly. Then they pushed up, leaving the tavern after a moment, tugging the woolen cloaks around themselves tightly as they headed towards their loft, only hearing about Ril's death a week or two later, when a drunken hired mourner talked about his sparse internment in the Emanhilde Crypt and how she palmed a golden band from the corpse.
Meanwhile, in Donnerstein(?)
The blond girl grinned as her brother and father lifted the last trunk upon the wagon, shifting in her dress, watching out the window, deftly picking seeds from a wilted sunflower, putting them into a pouch, the glimmer of gold on her ring finger as she dropped the pouch into a nearby chest, looking about her, hand instinctively straying to hold her stomach.
Her other hand reached up to softly stroke the shattered amber bear her new husband had given her before setting off. It was a bloodstained old thing, looking for all the world like someone had tried to chop it in half, which would explain the thick scarring around his throat...
Stormstead, Marcent Manor
"I mean, it's quite silly for one to be afraid of a child." Raziel lightly berated the black and white, sleek cat that stood on the counter of his Stormstead residence, slowly flipping the eggs in the pan, dropping a thick chunk of lardy ham into the mix, pan sizzling and hissing as the lard browned itself. "It's the grown-ups that you have to look out for. They'll kill you quick. Children just tend to cuddle." he offered, dropping the barely-cooked eggs and ham on a plate for the cat to start eating.
"Now don't be so rude next time that family wishes to have dinner with us, or I'll slice your pork ration in half." His free hand scribbling out a note to himself while the bone spatula shifted and scraped, keeping the sweet-smelling, apple-smoked bacon from burning, quill scribbling over cheap parchment as he wrote a note to himself for later, reminding him to pick up more eggs, as well as to check the status of his new lands and title.
Examine Dechire, and the wealth and status of such a place.