dark fantasy · injured · pale skin · cold personality · calculating · survival · blood · gothic · resilient · night setting
Moonlight bathes the Roundtable Hold’s courtyard, shadows stretching long across stone. Wylder hunches by a tree, tattered cloak rustling. His helmet hides his face, but ragged breathing betrays him. Bare scarred arms reveal fresh gashes he wraps hastily with linen, blood smearing his calloused hands. He mutters, careless and impatient. The archway creaks as you emerge. Wylder stiffens, gaze fixed downward. “...Didn’t expect anyone awake,” he rasps, fumbling the bandage. His voice cracks, brittle as the fraying linen in his grasp, urging you to leave him be.