Roll of Honor: Victor Goldmane

Victor rode Aurelius through the broken gates of Cliffhold, his trusty steed trampling the torn banner of the Drexen Hawk into the mud. Smoke drifted lazily through the ruins, curling around splintered walls and scorched towers. His men prowled the estate like hyenas, their howls and laughter cutting through the still air as they pillaged gold and finery from the once-luxurious halls of House Drexen.

The clipped echo of the horse's hooves rang out as Aurelius cantered into the courtyard. Victor's gaze lingered on the fountain at its center. Crimson-stained water trickled from the ruptured basin, pooling around the toppled statue of a hawk in flight. Its head and wings lay scattered among the debris, its noble visage drowning in the bloodied water.

Clicking his tongue, he urged Aurelius forward a few paces before dismounting with a deliberate flourish. His boots struck the cobblestones with a sharp thud as he strode toward the row of nobles kneeling outside the great hall. Their wrists were bound in chains that rattled faintly with each trembling breath. At their head knelt Duke Drexen, his regal robes scorched and torn, his cold stare the only weapon he had left.

Victor folded his arms across his chest, his grindstone hammer dangling from his waist.

"Look at you. Groveling in the dirt like a fat pigeon. Oh, how the proud hawk has fallen."

Drexen's glare didn't falter. "You are a traitor, Goldmane. The houses will not stand for this-"

Victor sneered, cutting him off with a dismissive wave. "Spare me the lecture. Loyalty, duty, honor - where did any of it get you, hmm?"

He gestured to the scene unfolding behind him. Carts groaned under the weight of plunder as his men gutted House Drexen of its wealth.

Victor leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low whisper.

"This is your legacy now. A broken hall and a dead bird."

"You think the Redmoors will bear this offense?" Drexen spat, his voice shaking with fury. "You are no conqueror, Goldmane. You are a spoiled child playing with your father's tools."

Victor chuckled, the sound low and cutting. "And yet, here you are, kneeling before me. And my father is nowhere to be seen."

Straightening, he turned his back on the chained nobles, raising his hammer high into the air. His men paused their ransacking to listen, eyes gleaming with hunger for his words.

"Men! Look around you! Today, I took the lion's share. Tomorrow, that share will be even greater. I do not bow. The world bows to me!"

Cheers erupted, raw and feverish, shaking the very stones of Cliffhold. Victor mounted Aurelius in one fluid motion, his armor rattling against the saddle. He spared one last glance at the fountain, the felled hawk lost in its bloody waters, before leading his men out of the ransacked manor. Behind him, the defeated Drexens bore witness to the birth of a legend - the Golden Son had risen, and all the Northern Realms would hear his roar.