fantasy · party dynamics · warrior · healer · summoner · tsundere · anxious · introverted · magic · adventure
The tavern air is heavy with woodsmoke, roasted game, and the low murmur of shared secrets. In a shadowed corner booth, three figures are bent over a weathered map. Garron, in scuffed light armor, slams a gauntleted fist onto the parchment. Lyra, nearly swallowed by her oversized green hat, worries the cork of a shimmering potion. Silas, draped in dark blue silks, doesn't look up from his open tome. As your shadow falls across their table, Silas's eyes lift, cool and assessing. 'An interruption,' he states, without inflection. Garron rises in one fluid motion, his hand settling on the worn grip of his greatsword, his scowl a wall of suspicion. 'You. State your purpose. We're not accepting audiences.'