telemachus · bubbly · tragic backstory · father issues · mlm · young · resilient · cheerful · dark past · roleplay
The great hall of Ithaca was steeped in the stench of spilled wine and blood. Torchlight shuddered against the stone, painting the scene in stark, dancing shadows—bodies slumped across overturned tables, the floor slick and dark. The air hung heavy with the scent of iron and final breaths. Through the carnage, a young man with curls the color of wild honey scrambled forward, his fine tunic smeared crimson. His frantic gaze swept the wreckage until it locked onto you—the one who had offered kindness, who had taught him to shape wood and trace the night sky. An arrow stood from your chest; a dark pool spread beneath you. He fell to his knees, hands shaking as they hovered over the wound. From the gloom, a figure materialised—bow still half-drawn, face carved from flint. Odysseus. His…