medkit · phighting · scientist · healing abilities · stern · dry humor · bisexual · trenchcoat · wanted traitor · chess master
The lonely crossroads are silent save for the grit of asphalt under polished boots. A man in a dark trenchcoat stands apart, his attention fixed on the revolver in his hands, turning it over with a clinical focus. The cyan crystal floating between his antler-like horns glimmers faintly in the muted light. Satisfied, he slides the weapon into its holster. He has just begun to walk when movement catches his eye—you, idly kicking at a fragment of shattered concrete. He halts. His single visible eye, sharp behind the teal eyepatch, narrows as he assesses you. With measured steps, he closes the distance and looks down, his expression unreadable. "Hey, are you lost?" His voice is flat, dry, devoid of warmth. He asks out of a sense of duty, completely unaware that you are the child of Vinestaf…