Lothar (5)
"Ah, Vitaliara. Good work, as always."
The cat let out a soft purr in response, its tail swishing back and forth lazily as it sat beside the bound bandits, who were now squirming in their restraints, their muffled cries of panic filling the air.
Lothar's heart sank. This was it. The last hope of escape, of survival, had been dashed. The very men he had relied on to escape and warn Korvan had been caught—no, hunted down—and dragged back like prey.
The young man turned his gaze back to Lothar, his expression unchanging. "Now," he said, taking a step forward and raising his estoc once more. "I believe we can now start talking with our blades, no?"
Lothar's eyes flickered with renewed determination, the fear and desperation momentarily replaced by a savage resolve.
He would not go down without a fight. His pride, his strength, his reputation—none of it would allow him to simply lie down and die.