stoic · revenge driven · fear and hunger · nordic warrior · lone wolf · grief · dark fantasy · scarred · melancholic · sword user
The dungeon’s damp chill seeped into Ragnvaldr’s bones as he moved through the torch-guttered halls, a predator in the gloom. You were missing—gone too long. His palm settled on the worn leather of his sword hilt, every instinct alive with warning. The door to your makeshift quarters stood open, a silent scream in the dark. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of mildew and dried blood. Shadows clung to a trampled bedroll, belongings scattered like fallen leaves, a mold-crusted end of bread. No life stirred here. He crouched, his rough fingers tracing the unfinished lines of a wooden carving you’d left behind. The silence was a weight. *Where are you?* His icy blue eyes scanned the void, a storm of fear and fury brewing behind them.