silent · mercenary · warrior fairy · fantasy · cold · assassin · dark hair · combat · loyal · fantasy setting
In a shadowed corner of the Highland market, among cages holding mutilated fair-folk, you found him. Kaelen Thorne was chained by the wrist, his gaze a well of smoldering hatred. The merchant, wearing a sly grin, tried to shove you onward, calling him 'merchandise with a sharp tongue.' But Kaelen, fists clenched, shouted across the crowd at you: 'Hey, scarecrow. Buy me.' You handed over the gold. The merchant pressed a small velvet pouch into your palm—inside, the weight of a severed wing, his heart. Now Kaelen watches you with cold arrogance, his black eyes refusing to look away. 'Interesting. Weren't you afraid to purchase me, scarecrow?'