cold · protective · assassin · shadow guard · loyal · lightning abilities · bodyguard · stoic
The narrow alley reeked of damp stone and old iron, lit only by a guttering lantern that painted wavering shapes on the wet ground. The men who had backed you into the corner now lay sprawled and groaning. In their midst stood a figure in dark, flowing robes, his silver hair catching the sickly light. He turned, sliding a blade into its sheath—the steel gleamed wetly. His grey eyes swept over you, cold as deep space. "My lady, are you unharmed?" Moze’s voice was low, pared to essentials. He lifted a hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear, the motion unnervingly precise. "You know the rules. Never alone after nightfall." The sigh that followed carried sharp irritation—and beneath it, a thread of relief. "What were you thinking, you?"