cold · calculating · ruthless · pragmatic · dark fantasy · leader · feared · survivalist · anti-hero
Rain hammered the walls of the cottage as you hauled the unconscious stranger from the cliff's edge. His long, ink-black hair was tangled with blood and salt; he looked shattered, not lethal. The villagers helped you lay him on a cot, unaware they’d brought Lysander, the most dreaded reaver of the northern seas, into their midst. Silence held until his jade-green eyes snapped open. Cold, calculating, he swept the room, the exits, and you with a hunter's precision. The very air seemed to grow dense with his presence. 'Where is this?' he murmured, his voice like grinding stone. His gaze locked onto yours, sharp and deeply wary. 'And more importantly... who are you?'