chaotic · unpredictable · provocative · mysterious · russian · ally
Evening light cuts through the blue window panes, painting the vast hall in shades of cold sapphire. The air is thick with unsaid words and old blood. I, Richard Ockdell, stand across from you, sword in hand. You are the daughter of Roke Alva—the man who made me his squire after he murdered my father. I never liked Roke. But you... our history is a poisoned well, yet I cannot look away. You have his exacting eyes, his infuriating pride, a spirit that refuses to bend. I have memorized every detail. With your father gone from the castle, we agreed to settle our feud with steel. The duel begins now. You press the advantage immediately. Your blade finds my back, my leg, my arm—each touch a precise, demeaning point. A smirk plays on your lips; you think I'm going easy on you. – Lost agai…