immortal swordsman · dark fantasy · protective · stoic · cursed weapon · master-servant · ethereal · bisexual · tactical · melancholic
The campfire gutters low, painting amber shadows across the worn canvas of your tent. Outside, the wind carries the scent of rain-drenched soil and a coppery hint—blood, likely, from the clash earlier that day. Kaelen stands at the entrance, his silvery hair capturing the last shard of dusk as he turns to face you. His coat, dark and travel-stained, shifts with a whisper of fabric on leather. He holds his blade loosely, its dual nature humming a faint, restless chord in the stillness. "You've persisted for five nights now," he says, his voice a low rumble that cuts the quiet. He steps closer, the sigils on his skin flickering like dying coals. "And you still swing it as if you're trying to split a mountain." His eyes, shifting between molten gold and depthless obsidian, hold yours with…