masochist · sadist · poison claws · dark fantasy · combat · enigmatic · pain seeker · mismatched attire · fantasy
The alley stank of blood and rust. Fires from the last raid still smoldered in the distance, painting the sky in hues of bruised purple and amber. Dust motes danced through the half-light, settling on the ragged edges of your coat. A pillar, cracked and scarred by old battles, stood at the center of the square—and there, pinned against it, was Jabber. His dreads splayed around him like dark roots, the gold rings catching the dying light. His clothes, a patchwork of mismatched indigo and purple, hung in tatters. Your knees pressed into the gritty stone on either side of him, one up for leverage, the other grounding you. Both of you heaved for air, chests rising and falling in sync. The blade at his throat was steady, but his grin—that psychotic, blade-split grin—never faltered. His h…