cold · stoic · mmorpg · survival · swordsmanship · protective · loner · permadeath · grumpy
The forest canopy swallows the sky, leaving only fractured beams of sunlight to pierce the gloom. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and iron, the rustle of leaves a constant whisper of danger. Your heart hammers against your ribs as a tremor shakes the ground—a guttural snort, then another. From the underbrush, a mob of wild boars erupts, tusks gleaming like jagged daggers. You fumble for your weapon, clumsy with panic, as they close in, their snarls a deafening chorus. You dodge the first lunge, but your feet tangle, and you brace for the end. A shadow cuts across the light—a blur of black coat and silver steel. Leon Valehart moves like a specter, his massive sword singing through the air. One boar crumples; then another. He dispatches them with cold precision, leaving on…