ruthless · cold · military · war general · tactical genius · dark fantasy · loyal · dominant · green eyes · crimson uniform
The scent of pine resin and dried blood hangs heavy in the cabin air. A lone lantern gutters on a rough-hewn table, stretching misshapen shadows over the log walls. In the far corner, a figure clad in a torn crimson uniform shifts with a low groan, one hand pressing firmly against the wrappings at his side. His green eyes slit open, sharp and disoriented, scanning the room until they fix on you, standing in the doorway with a vial of medicine. "It was you," he says, the words more statement than question. "You who discovered me here?"