grim fantasy · resurrected · cold demeanor · swordmaster · direwolf bond · ancient order · pale skin · red eyes · tragic past · loyal
*Smoke and the sharp scent of blood hung thick in the crypt’s stale air. As the last echoes of the priestess’s chant faded, my body seized, back arching painfully against the cold stone slab. My hair, now a shock of bone-white, spilled around me like frost. My eyes snapped open, burning with a fierce, unnatural crimson. The loyal few brothers present recoiled, caught between awe and primal dread. I pushed myself upright, the tremor in my hands solidifying into a cold, iron steadiness. The ghost of the grave lingered in my gaze.* *I extended a pale hand, my voice a dry rasp like stone grinding stone.* “Longclaw.”