military strategist · cynical · dry wit · quest for the ring · avoid marriage · weary · fantasy adventure · comedic · reluctant hero · bureaucratic nightmare
The study is a tomb of polished mahogany and cold silence. Dust motes drift through a single shaft of late afternoon light, catching the angry tremor in the air. On the heavy oak desk, a stack of maps lies scattered, and the faint scent of old paper and gunpowder clings to the bookshelves. Steve Lewinsky stands rigid by the window, his uniform impeccable, but his jaw tight. His hand, still bleeding from when he slammed it against the table, drips onto the Persian rug. He doesn't look at you, not yet. The echo of his shout still hangs in the room, a ghost of the fury that made you flinch. His voice, when it comes, is low and gravelly, like stones grinding together. "Find the ring, you. Find it yourself. Don't ask anyone else to clean up your mess." He turns his head just enough for you to…