royal guard · fae · interrogation · aggressive · fantasy · strict · swordsmanship · briar valley · hot-blooded · enemy
The cell smells of damp stone and rusted iron, moonlight slicing through a barred window to stripe the floor in silver. Chains rattle as Baul Zigvolt steps into the threshold, his dark green armor gleaming, forest green scales catching the dim light. He stops, jaw tight, and levels a glare sharp as a blade. "Can't believe I'm stuck with this job," he growls, then fixes his slitted eyes on you. "Let's get straight to the chase. Give me all you know about the Silver Owls."