— 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐫𝐩 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

[moontwin]

HOLIDAY WISHES RP POST
— where Kazie tries not to be a super flake! —

make a wish

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[minorgod]

Yato's expression widens into a brighter grin at the mention of an offer and he slips off the ledge. It's strange... other than the blue of his eyes, he appears extraordinarily non-descript; his outfit is plain, if on the well-worn side, the sheath for his sword is unadorned, and he wears no obvious jewelry or insignias. He doesn't look poor, his clothes are neat and mended, but he doesn't seem especially well off either. One's eyes seem oddly pre-disposed to sliding over him, past, like he makes such a minimal impression on them that they almost don't even register that they're seeing him.

"Now that's a solid incentive I like to hear," he quips, taking the lead toward the bridge. It's another interesting departure from typical sellsword behaviour, as most are a little more cagey about presenting an undefended back to a complete stranger, but Yato apparently doesn't think twice about it.

"My name is Yato," he comments over his shoulder to Robb. The singular name, no surname offered, is less unusual here in Essos than it would be in Westeros, but might still seem odd. He lacks any particular accent, as if he's taken a little bit of everywhere and melded it all together.

[darys]

Robb finds himself surprised that Yato willingly takes the lead, leaving him open for any sort of surprise attack were Robb the dishonorable sort... not that there isn't anything to be gained from any such attempt. His sword is unadorned, he wears no obvious jewelry or insignias; one would fare better trying to steal the package in Robb's arm, for its craftsmanship would fetch a solid price.

He follows after a moment, keeping enough distance so they could converse without raising their voices, but still with ample space between them. "Yato," he repeats softly, and his tone says he's waiting for a House name or something to follow. When a beat passes and he gets nothing, he hums thoughtfully, before introducing himself in turn. "They call me Grey Wind." It's not a lie, but it's not the whole truth either.

When they get to the bridge, he also gets down to business. "I need men for an army."

[minorgod]

"'Grey Wind', now that's a name that has some flair!" Yato said brightly over his shoulder, and as with the first time he'd spoken to get Robb's attention, this slender stranger appears to have no trouble hearing him, nor does his voice get lost on its way to the eldest Stark even with the general hubbub as they walk.

Once on the bridge and a safely generous distance from any who could possibly overhear them, when Robb states that he's looking to hire an army, Yato's brow creases gently in confusion, though the smile doesn't leave. "What, like one at a time?" he asks, a bit befuddled.

"I mean... that's what the sellsword companies do, armies for hire. But you'd typically go to the company captain and work out an agreement. Since I can't imagine you don't know that... why use this method?"

TIMESKIP to the post-battle thingy

[darys]

Grey Wind had, indeed, built a small army one man at a time; his reasons had become clear to Yato soon enough. Though Robb no longer answered to his actual name, it was still what the Brotherhood called him when he wasn't around or within earshot, and alongside that, they whispered of his intent to secretly take back the North and reclaim Winterfell.

They also whispered of his death, and his undeath. Depending on who you talked to, his fate was attributed to the benevolence of some god who somehow decided to champion his cause, or the workings of dark sorcery. Some even spoke of prophecies and how, once, there had been talk of a child of fire and ice — and wasn't he, a man of the North reborn by fire, one such child?

Robb kept to himself, for the most part. He especially kept to himself after a battle, when he finally found himself back in his own body. He couldn't explain it. He'd moved like he never did in battles past, in control but not entirely. He brooded over that as he nursed a tankard of ale in the tavern he and his men had chosen to spend the night in; he sat alone in a corner, his thoughts still on the battlefield.

He recalled Old Nan's tales. When he was young, he'd thought they were mere flights of fancy and stories intended to scare children into behaving in a certain fashion. As the days passed, however, he felt he was becoming one of them, too: the king with the head of a wolf, half-alive and half-dead, fighting for the strange gods who inhabited the trees with the weepy eyes. Or at least, that was how one version went.

"Mister Yato!" a bright, girlish voice broke through the noise of the tavern and Robb's reverie. He turned toward the sound and found a girl no older than Sansa, with dirty blonde hair and a beaming smile, unbundling a piece of cloth a few tables over. He couldn't see what the objects were, but his men oohed and aahed while the girl began talking animatedly. She was a merchant's daughter, Robb was now sure; if she played her cards right, she and her family would be several coins richer tonight.

But Robb wasn't really watching her. No, his attention was on Yato, the sellsword he'd recruited in Braavos. Yato, he'd noted from the very beginning, had been extraordinarily nondescript, to the point that Robb had wondered if he was truly any good in battle. And yet—

The scenes of the last battle returned to him. The violence, the carnage. He'd cut through their enemies with a savagery he understood was unlike him and more like the wolf whose name he had taken for himself. Yet he hadn't been the only one. There had been one another swordsman who'd moved with the ease and the ferocity he did.

Yato.

[minorgod]

Yato broke into a wide grin as the girl appeared, banging his mug down and promptly sloshing some ale on the table, to which the men around him guffawed at his clumsiness. He seemed not to care, flinging his arms in the young woman's direction with a flourish, bright blue eyes dancing with mirth.

"And here she is, gentlemen: let's hear it for this evening's most charming chandler, our maiden of mercantile, the illustrious Ilda!"