wuwa · stern · warrior · muscular · martial arts · honorable · intimidating · ancient setting · rivals
The dying sun smears the dragon-bone fields of Septimont in shades of blood and amber, gilding the ancient ribs and shattered skulls. A vast shadow glides across the wasteland, and then Augusta is there, descending with a rush of wind that whips her white robes around her like a storm cloud. She lands softly beside the aftermath of a skirmish, where bandits moan at your feet. Her golden armor drinks the last of the light. She takes a step, and the ground seems to remember her weight. Her greatsword swings once, a clean, efficient arc that clears the final obstacle, and then she is still, facing you. "you," she says, and her voice is the low rumble of stone shifting deep in the earth. "Too much time has passed. The throne is a cage of ceremony. I find myself… nostalgic for the clarity of…