Little Witch(Revised)

288AC

Ser Merwyn had paid out two Gold Dragons—a hefty sum of 420 Silver Stags—for all the bandits' loot. To Damien, this seemed fair. Most smallfolk and hedge knights could only dream of holding such wealth in their hands, and even then, only after a year's hard labor or fortuitous gains. Yet Damien was no fool; he knew Ser Merwyn would soon sell these items to a nearby merchant and make a profit. It was sound tactical thinking, the shrewdness one might expect from their father's most trusted right hand. The earnings would likely climb to a figure closer to 600 Silver Stags after Merwyn's dealings.

Damien regarded the transaction with a mixture of admiration and detachment. The guards were in high spirits, each walking away with three Silver Stags for their troubles. It wasn't a fortune but enough to keep their loyalty and morale intact.

By all accounts, the day had been productive. Damien considered making bandit-hunting a more regular activity. The thrill of it, combined with the economic benefits, seemed promising at first blush. However, as he mulled it over, he shook his head and dismissed the idea.

"No," he murmured to himself, his tone contemplative. "This is hazardous work. It went well today, but luck doesn't last forever."

Instead, his mind turned to more sustainable ventures. The surrounding areas of Blackwater Bay saw a steady flow of travelers, merchants, and adventurers. Many sought refuge for a night or two, only to find themselves without a proper resting place. An idea began to crystallize in his mind: taverns. Small, humble establishments where weary travelers could find food, drink, and shelter. It wouldn't require much to build them, but the potential profits could be substantial. With that, a plan was born, a seed that would soon take root.

Nora liked to think of herself as an exemplary older sister. Despite her limited influence in the grand scheme of the Darke family's affairs, she did her best to take care of the castle's younger residents, especially the orphans who had no one else to rely on. Any coin they might need for essentials—or even the occasional indulgence—was provided by her, albeit in measured amounts. She was careful not to spoil them but ensured they never felt utterly abandoned.

This sense of purpose brought her a quiet pride. She gazed out over the lands below from her vantage point atop one of the keep's watchtowers. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint hum of distant activity. Thanks to her brother's vision, the once-quiet outskirts of the castle had transformed in the past year.

It had been Damien's idea to establish those taverns, and it had worked marvelously. The smallfolk had nicknamed him "The Little Witch" for his uncanny ability to generate wealth seemingly out of thin air. Amongst his siblings, the name was a source of endless jesting, though Nora couldn't help but marvel at how apt it seemed. At just fifteen name days, Damien had achieved more than most men twice his age. His knack for strategy and his eye for opportunity had even caught the attention of Daemon Darke, the family's steward. Rumor had it that the old man seriously considered stepping aside and naming Damien his successor.

"The old man will piss himself to sleep when he hears about this," Nora thought with a smirk, her dark curls shifting slightly in the wind. She knew her father's favoritism for Damien was a sore spot for many in the household. The boy was shrewd, cunning, and frighteningly adept with a blade. These qualities, while admirable, also made him a target of envy. Nora would be lying if she said she wasn't jealous of her younger brother's accomplishments, but she kept such feelings to herself.

Despite his brilliance and the occasional aloofness that accompanied it, Damien remained a loving sibling. He was distant at times, yes, but never unkind. He held a certain reverence for his family, even if he valued intelligence and debate above most things. When discussing philosophy, politics, or strategy, Damien was uncompromising, refusing to tolerate half-hearted arguments or shallow thinking. Yet, paradoxically, he would go to the ends of the seas if he knew that a loved one's genuine desire lay there. His dedication to those he cared for was as deep as it was quiet.

Nora's gaze lingered on the bustling activity around the newly constructed taverns. Travelers came and went, their coin flowing into the family's coffers. Her brother's schemes had brought prosperity and a sense of security to the region. Bandits were less inclined to roam near Blackwater Bay now, knowing the area was both well-guarded and well-patrolled.

"He's growing into a man far quicker than any of us expected," she murmured. Her voice was tinged with a mix of pride and melancholy. She remembered when Damien was just a boy, chasing fireflies in the castle gardens with an innocence that now seemed a lifetime away. Time, it seemed, moved too quickly.

Later that evening, Damien sat in his chambers, poring over maps and ledgers. His mind was a storm of ideas and calculations. The taverns were only the beginning. He envisioned trade routes, alliances, and perhaps even a small fleet to facilitate commerce across Blackwater Bay. His ambitions were grand, but he knew better than to voice them all at once. Such things required patience, careful planning, and, above all, secrecy.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. It was Nora, carrying a tray with two goblets and a decanter of wine. With a soft smile, she set them down on his desk.

"You've been at this all day. Even you need to rest," she said, pouring each a glass.

Damien chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Rest is for those who can afford it, dear sister. But I'll make an exception tonight."

The two siblings sat in companionable silence, the weight of their family's legacy resting heavily on their young shoulders. Though their paths were different, their bond remained unshakable. In the quiet of that moment, they found solace in each other's company, knowing that together, they could weather whatever storms the future might bring.

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Lunar Prince

Mossovy, also known as Far Mossovy, is a broad, forested region of northeastern Essos along the shore of the Shivering Sea. It is at the edge of the known world, east of N'Ghai and north of the Cannibal Sands and the Grey Waste. The Thousand Islands are found north of the grim, grey forest

Mossovy is said to be a cold and dark land of shapechangers and demon hunters. What lies beyond is unknown, although some septons claim the world ends beyond the forest.

Werewolf?

Stark/Targ Wank Is not tolerated on this page(heads up).