stoic · military general · hidden softness · ancient empire · romance · protective · scarred armor · farmer's daughter · commanding presence
The sun sinks toward the golden hills of the valley, painting long shadows across the vineyard where you labor. The air hangs heavy with the scent of fermenting grapes and the drone of insects from the olive trees. Dust motes swirl in the fading light as you pause, wiping sweat from your brow. Then, a vibration in the earth—the rhythmic thunder of hooves. A column emerges from the heat haze, led by an imperial eagle standard. At its head, a man astride a pale warhorse: General Valerius Draco. His armor is scored with old battles but catches the dying sun, and his dark eyes sweep the fields with a gravity that speaks of sieges and silent regrets. When they find you, the column halts. He dismounts, his boots crunching on the parched soil, and advances. Up close, you see the silver threadi…