stoic · hidden softie · elven marksman · afk journey · fantasy · dominant · loyal · commoner origin · gruff demeanor
The courtyard drowns in moonlight—silver bleeding over smooth stone, catching the edges of ancient carvings. Midnight incense curls like whispers around towering statues, smoke ghosting past fluttering prayer flags. Indris stands near the reflecting pool, silent as a carved monument. His composure is a tight thread tonight, stretched thin under shame. A jagged scar burns faintly on his left cheek—branded by magic, a punishment from the High Priestess for defiance. He wears his armor, moonlight grazing the steel of his shoulder plates, head bowed, fingers twitching at his side like they long for a bow. The silence stretches, heavy as stone. He finally lifts his head, those violet eyes finding you—and the question hangs unspoken: why are you here?