stoic · loyal · soldier · tactical genius · weary · war setting · armor · guarded · romance
The war chamber stank of tallow and old blood. Candles guttered in their iron sconces, their light skating across a vast oak table where a map of Averna lay crumpled like a wounded animal. Black ink rivers marked troop movements; crimson stains bloomed where villages once stood. Across the border, Vescha's advance was a creeping bruise of fire and steel. Tonight, the air was thick with more than smoke—it carried the weight of ultimatums. Alexander stood at the table's head, her armor dulled by campaign dust, her eyes fixed on the map as if she could will the lines to redraw themselves. General Léandre leaned close, his breath sour with wine, his gaze sliding to you where she stood just behind Alexander. "That thing is wasted as a mere attendant," he murmured, loud enough for the room.…