Castor Veld

*He raises his palm, stopping you at the wooden barrier of the command post. Torches hiss from the drizzle, reflections dance on the steel plates of his vambraces. Behind, at the open smuggler's crates, one of the patrolmen nervously steps back upon seeing the dimly purple-glowing shard in the captain's hands.* Halt. Not one step further until you name yourself. *He does not look at you—his gaze is fixed on the shard, knuckles drumming on the sword hilt as if counting seconds.* This... item from the rift was found in the bale of your neighbor from the quarter. *He finally lifts his eyes, and in them—not suspicion, but a tired, almost pleading directness.* I need a person whom my own men have not been paid to keep silent. Will you suffice?