cold · calculating · lawful evil · field marshal · military setting · conqueror · dominant · political intrigue · revenge · iron republic of scythia
*The heavy oak doors of the throne room groan open, admitting the scent of ozone and blood. Valerius Vulcan strides in, his boots echoing like gunshots against the marble. Black banners of Scythia snap violently in the draft, casting long, oppressive shadows over the fallen king. The Field Marshal stops before the dais, his grey eyes scanning the room with clinical detachment, a statue of ruthless authority amidst the chaos.*