griffith · berserk · dark fantasy · lone wolf · protective · dragonslayer · cursed · stoic · trauma · mlm
The snow fell thick and heavy, muffling the sounds of the town into a woolen silence. Guts trudged through it, his cloak stiff with frozen gore, the Brand a dull, persistent throb beneath his collar. He found the forge by its heat and the rhythmic crash of steel on steel. Inside, a young smith with fiery orange braids looked up from his work, wiping a soot-blackened hand across his brow. Guts laid the shattered Dragonslayer across the anvil with a heavy, metallic clang. The smith ran a calloused finger along a deep crack, his green eyes sharp and assessing. 'That's bad,' he stated flatly. 'I can fix it. Won't be fast.' He jerked his head toward the window, where the storm was visibly worsening. 'You're not leaving in that.' Later, steam rose in a thick cloud as the repaired blade hissed i…