Recent content by Pawel Wilhart

Pawel's jaw set for a beat, resolute in disapproving of Vel Anir's excuse for better practices. The man had a rough idea of how much worse life had been for the Academy's Initiates; the tales from former Anirian Guards of cruelty-stunted Dreadlords to whom mercy was an alien concept was proof...

It was a tragedy, no, a travesty that any Anirian could stand there and say with crushing confidence that their life was not destined for joy. Pawel grew silent, knowing that words and platitudes could only try and fail to improve things. What could he say? Every word the woman spoke was...

Pawel might have been willing to talk to a scarecrow if it meant not having to watch the children fight one another for the eyes of wealth and influence, but as luck would have it, Liliana Lorel was much better than a scarecrow. "The pleasure is all mine, Lady Lorel," he replied, indeed not...

The Dreadlord's answer was more than telling. To question whether anybody was happy suggested that Livia's life had been so devoid of joy that she had assumed misery as the natural state of the world around her. He couldn't blame her; even from the brief snippets of her life that she'd shared...

Pawel was sure to do exactly as was told, raising his fists in front of his face in a manner that struck a small measure of fear in his heart that she was about to punch him. The relief when she moved away to get some padding was not a feeling that could be measured, although it did make him...

He was about halfway through the first sandwich when one of the fights began, which was taking place between what appeared to be a child with a shield and an acrobatic young woman. There was something distinctly unsettling about having a ten-year-old fight what was nearly an adult. It inspired...

There was something unsavoury about attending a demonstration of teenage soldiers' combat prowess. Pawel Wilhart didn't want to spit in the face of Anirian military traditions, silently acknowledging that war was in Vel Anir's blood and soaked into the soil of her territories, but that didn't...

All business, little pleasure. Pawel supposed it was inescapable that children reared by a military institution would value their mission above personal satisfaction. He didn't have to like it, but the man could at least accept it as a truth. Had it changed following the revolution? Internally...

How strange and a little sad. What little he knew of the Dreadlords was from word of mouth from others and rumours of the common man, often less-than-charitable descriptors. What else could be expected from those trained from childhood to become the killing machines of Vel Anir and her...

The draft bill had not been an enlightening read, nor would it change the future of mankind. In fact, it had taken Wilhart several passes to read the entire bill in full. Minister d'Avernus was well-known for using obtuse and archaic language, which caused eyes to water from the sheer effort it...

What was that saying? Pearls before swine? As they went around on another lap of the room, his expression turned curious. If it hadn't been evident before that they were from different worlds, it was now. On matters of pearls, he was oblivious, entirely unsure of what could be written about...

In the vacuum of silence, Pawel did become acutely aware of the increasing pace of his breathing. It was somewhat mortifying to be exposed as comparatively out of shape, although, the thought of how well-trained the Dreadlords were gave a small measure of relief. Miss Marzipan had, naturally...

Pawel fell silent into a regime of huffs and puffs through his nose as Livia served his curiosity a grim answer. Tension pulled at his jaw, causing his lips to thin in a sombre frown better known as the Wilhart grimace. The man was no stranger to stories of trauma, his year of service and...

With stretching done, they moved onto jogging, the sight of which caused Miss Marzipan to let out a dramatic huff from her spot on the floor, signifying her disapproval of such an activity. Pawel himself couldn't remember the last time he had jogged anywhere—a great omen. He'd expected to get...

Good grief, she was flexible. Pawel's labourer's strength didn't lend itself to such suppleness; if he'd tried to twist like that, he would have been like to tweak something. He offered a polite smile as she answered his question, his inner politician digesting the woman's words and weighing...