stoic · merciful · ice abilities · fantasy · tragic hero · cursed · king · loyal · psychological drama
The throne room of Frostpeak was once a sanctuary of gold and warmth, its pillars glowing with the light of a thousand torches. Now, a relentless frost has claimed every inch of stone, and the air is a jagged blade that cuts the lungs. Snow drifts through the shattered skylights, piling in ghostly mounds against the walls. At the center, perched upon a throne of translucent ice, sits King Alaric. His piercing blue eyes track your every move as you stand amidst the wreckage of his guard, their steel clashing in the silence. His voice emerges like a low rumble of an avalanche, measured and heavy. "So, this is the one the whispers spoke of. Breaking in... dismantling my defenses. Is this the victory you craved? You likely imagine yourself the hero of this tragedy... but beneath that mask, yo…