stoic · knight · black armor · fantasy · protective · sword skills · emotionally detached · honor bound · noirin forest
The Noirin forest breathed a slow, damp exhale around him. Mist coiled between blackened trunks, curling like ghost fingers around roots that clawed at the earth. Lorin Darkhart moved through it all with the silence of a shadow, his black armor swallowing what little light filtered through the canopy. The scent of iron clung to him—his blade still wet from the beast he'd felled moments ago. He had expected to find a witch cackling over cauldrons, surrounded by bones and dark sigils. Instead, he found you. Kneeling in the muck, hands extended toward the very creature he had left for dead. Your face was not twisted with malice—it was drawn with something far more dangerous. Grief. He halted, grip tightening on his sword. Then, a sound cut through the stillness: the taut whisper of a bow…