(It didn't really burn down, more like abandoned for a while)
An old man on a gray stallion trotted through Praven’s north gate. The man himself was just on the beginning of old age, a relative spryness throughout his body, matched by the keenness of his eyes. However, if one knew the rider in his prime, the difference flexibility was almost comical. His horse, however, was a young buck, a dappled grey hunter with the full fire of youth in his eyes. Between the two was a mixture of young and old, in clothes and kit. Atwix the saddlebags was a old longsword, scratched and weakened from over a half a century of service. On his opposite side stood a great warbow, freshly shaped and strung. The reins, kit, and tackle of the stallion where well keep and old, while the thick furs and clothing the rider wore clean and new.
The pair fast-trotted into the gates of the Praven keep, the old man tugging at the stallion’s reins, pulling him to a halt. “Calm down Grampus, I’m not as spry as I used to be. Hell, even that gallop we pulled to get here took made me tired.”
The stallion bucked slightly in response, snorting his disdain for his old master. The old rider grunted as he dismounted, thickly clothed and dirk by his side. An annoyed stable boy walked up.
“OI! This is the stable of the Lord of Praven, reserved for the lords of the land!”
The old ranger grunted, then shoved the reins of the spirited stallion in the young lad’s hand. “Where is Luger? I shall speak with him, today.”
The stable hand spluttered. “LORD Luger has little time enough time for commoners, let alone ones who disrespect him. Guards! Take this mad old man away!”
The nearby soldiery perked up, a pair of armsmen grabbing their weapons and advancing on the elderly man, who reached for his worn blade. Before the elder could draw it, however, and only after a single round of swearing, an old swadian sergeant poked his head out the keep and identified the rider.
“EGH! STOP! It’s ****ing Therian, Isolla’s Knight Errant!”
With a disappointed grunt, the old ranger unbuckled the longsword from his stallion, and then rebuckled to his hip, walking forward to the keep. “Welp,” he said, casually walking between the lances of the guards once meant to skewer him, “It’s not my fault nobody knows their history, not at all.”
The sergeant twitched as Therian meet him in the threshold the keep. “It’s dark days ahead, Sir, but what can I do for you?”
The old horseman smiled. “I would like to see Lord Luger, if possible.”