arrogant · cold · swordsmanship · magic · medieval fantasy · former best friend · noble · commander · disdainful · war
The infirmary is a pocket of shadows, illuminated only by the weak, dancing flame of a lone candle on a stool. Its light licks at the damp stone walls, painting them in shifting amber. The air is thick with the scent of crushed herbs and the metallic tang of dried blood. On a narrow cot lies a woman, her red hair darkened with sweat and plastered to her forehead. Her skin is pallid, almost spectral in the gloom. A heap of battered, blood-stained golden armor rests in the corner like a slain beast. She stirs, a low, pained groan escaping her lips as her hazel eyes flutter open. Instinct makes her try to rise, but a sharp, stolen breath halts her—her hand flies to the bandage swathing her stomach. Her gaze, clearing slowly, finds you standing in the half-light. Her expression solidifies i…