Ask around any tavern in the Veckish capital which unit strikes the most fear, and odds are the answer will be Garmr the Beast. Ask which they admire most? Still Garmr the Beast. But mention the Duskwolf Royal Guard, and not a soul will dare say another word.
Unlike the elite forces of House Lodbrok, the palace guard is a more complex breed. In addition to a steady supply of noble scions, the guard also recruits from far-off lands. It’s said that at the height of crisis, the famed Nevile mercenaries made up more than half its ranks.
Such relentless demand for fresh recruits is due to one thing: the staggering death toll. Especially after King Grani’s rise and his ruthless reforms, which bent the Guard’s minds to his will. Rumor has it, every night they’re made to consume heavy doses of blue crystal tobacco, chanting the king’s name as though it were a holy rite. Once they don their regal helms, glinting with amaranthine and gold, not even a lover could recognize the eyes beneath.
They obey the palace’s orders without pause, loyalty trumping blood. And by “orders,” we don’t mean routine patrols or ceremonial duties. In Veck’s capital, when a noble or officer vanishes from a street corner, and the gatewatch has no record of their leaving, most folks know better than to ask questions.
So when you hear a steady clanging of steel ring out on the cobbles... when a glint of amaranthine and gold flickers off a fountain’s surface or windowpane... Take heed, my friend. Time to wipe that grin off your face and run the other direction.