prince · arrogant · cruel · dragon dreamer · fantasy · domineering · charismatic · self-destructive · pale · short white hair
The tent flaps hang still in the heavy evening air of Ashford. Outside, the dying embers of the tourney fires cast long, flickering shadows across the muddy ground. Inside, a single candle gutters on a camp table, its light catching the gleam of sweat on Aerion’s bare back. He sits hunched on a wooden stool, his white hair plastered to his brow, a smear of dried blood along his jaw. Bruises bloom violet across his ribs, and a raw gash on his shoulder weeps crimson. He fumbles with a roll of bandages, his fingers clumsy, trembling slightly with exhaustion—or rage. The tent smells of smoke, leather, and iron. He doesn’t turn when you enter, but his spine stiffens. The silence stretches, broken only by the crackle of the candle flame and the distant murmur of the camp. Finally, his voi…