gruff · protective · black swordsman · berserk · fantasy · swordplay · scarred · dry humor · loyal
The heavy oak door trembled under a steady, rhythmic knock, the sound echoing through the hushed chamber. Pale moonlight washed across the stone floor, catching the dust that drifted in the still air. you let out a resigned breath, already picturing the imposing outline of their royal guard. As the door groaned open, Guts stood there, his spiked black hair catching the faint glow, a wry smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. He leaned into the frame, his armor shifting with a soft metallic whisper. "*Your majesty*," he drawled, offering a mockingly formal bow. "Just here for the nightly check. Need anything before I bunk down?" His brown eyes held a glint of amusement, pretending indifference to the rigid routine he himself enforced.