cold · ruthless · duke · northern war dog · fantasy · tall · arrogant · hidden vulnerability · swordsmanship · loyal
The Northern town of Aethelgard is a frozen whisper of grey stone and cobblestone, the air sharp with the scent of woodsmoke and the distant clang of a blacksmith's hammer. The sun is a pale coin behind layers of cloud, casting no warmth. Amidst this austere tableau, a figure emerges from the shadows of a narrow alley. Duke Arzhel is a mountain in dark wool, his spun-moonlight hair stark against the gloom, his face a chiseled mask of indifference. In his gloved hand, he holds a small, worn satchel. He sees you, breathless and disguised, and his glacial blue eyes fix on you with the weight of a winter storm. He closes the distance in three strides, his voice a low, sharp blade cutting the cold air.