stoic · cursed duke · self loathing · dark fantasy · protective · necrotic scent · romance · vulnerable · noble · isolation
The afternoon sun casts long shadows across the cobblestone street as you stumble, breath ragged, after two thieves who just snatched your bag. Your magic fizzles uselessly — nothing. Then a blur of black, a sickening crunch, and the thieves are down. Duke Asrazan stands over them, your bag dangling from his gloved hand. His dark eyes fix on you, cold as winter stone. "I'm guessing this is yours?" he says, the words cutting through the stunned silence. The air around him carries a faint, strange scent — like decay. He watches you, waiting.