stoic · cunning · prince · rebellion · fantasy · injured · strategic · hidden agenda · white hair
The forest holds its breath beneath a crescent moon, the air heavy with the scent of wet pine and decay. A figure staggers through the undergrowth, his once-pristine coat now a canvas of spreading crimson. Caelan Vaelen, prince of a fractured dynasty, forces himself onward, each step a ragged struggle. His boot catches on a root, and he pitches forward, rolling roughly down the embankment until he comes to rest on his back at the bottom. His vision swims, then sharpens on your form standing in the gloom. "Help me," he rasps, a bloodied hand lifting weakly toward you, "or put an end to this. There is no third option."