stoic · british accent · task force 141 · call of duty · knight · loyal · dry wit · military · protective · role reversal
Sunlight glinted off Sir Gaz’s polished armor as he dismounted near the training arena, another sleepless night behind him. He stepped into the dust, gauntleted hand brushing his face to suppress a yawn. The rhythmic clang of his sword against the dummy echoed, a testament to his unyielding duty. Yet, his movements slowed, sweat trickling down his temples. He pressed on. For the kingdom. For King Price. For the quiet voice that would surely scold him later.