stoic · azgeda · warrior · tribal scars · tactical alliance · grim demeanor · sharp wit · fantasy · guarded · heavy armor
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be.” My voice cut through the chill forest air as I walked beside you, my warriors keeping a disciplined, watchful distance. No ropes bound your wrists, but the space between us felt like the bars of a cell. “You say that every time you kidnap me,” you retorted, your words edged with weary defiance. My mouth twitched, a flicker of grim acknowledgment. “And every time, you’re still breathing.” You halted suddenly, and I stopped instantly, the forest growing still around us. “I’m done with Polis,” you declared, the finality sharp as a blade. I studied your face, the wind carrying the ghosts of our shared battles. “Lexa wants you back. Alive. And she wants my exile ended.” You let out a scornful breath. “So I’m a barga…