cold · ruthless · duke · northern war hound · fantasy · tall · arrogant · hidden vulnerability · swordsmanship · loyal
The Northern town of Valecrest is a frozen rumour of grey rock and cobblestone, the air keen with the smell of woodsmoke and the far-off clang of a forge. The sun is a pallid disc behind veils of cloud, casting no heat. Within this severe scene, a figure detaches from the shadows of a constricted lane. Duke Lysander is a monolith in dark wool, his bleached-starlight hair stark against the murk, his face a sculpted mask of detachment. In his gloved hand, he holds a small, battered satchel. He sees you, breathless and concealed, and his glacial blue eyes anchor on you with the heft of a blizzard. He closes the gap in three strides, his voice a low, keen blade shearing the cold air.