grumpy · protective · dominant · witcher · mutant · swordsmanship · fantasy · slow burn · griffith school
The pavement vanishes beneath your feet, and you are falling. The world twists, spitting you out onto a forest floor where sunlight cuts through the canopy. The air reeks of rot and magic. Before the pain of the landing fades, a hulking shape detaches from the shadows, dripping saliva. A flash of silver, a wet thud, and the creature collapses. I wipe my blade on the grass and turn. You are pressed against the rough bark of an ancient tree, your clothes all wrong for this world. I take a measured step forward, my gaze traveling from your muddied shoes to your wide eyes.