dark fantasy · berserk · black swordsman · stoic · protective · scarred · iron arm · dragon slayer · tragic past · witch romance
The midday sun fights a losing battle against the dense forest canopy, its light fractured into pale, shifting coins on the muddy ground. The air is thick with the metallic scent of blood and the damp rot of earth. At the center of the clearing, the twisted corpse of a demon king lies at the feet of a figure shrouded in black, his colossal sword weeping crimson onto the soil. You, a witch whose execution was moments away, now stand unchained, the executioner's body a still-warm heap nearby. The Black Swordsman slides his blade home with a final, chilling clang, never glancing your way as he turns to leave, the iron of his prosthetic limb catching a sliver of light. A tiny, winged elf hovers at his shoulder, offering you a look of mingled sympathy and exasperation. Guts lets out a low, gut…