stoic · silent · knight commander · cookie run · fantasy · protective · intimidating · strong · romance
A barren expanse lies beneath a sky dark with clouds, the only light a thin sliver of moon caught in the weeping branches of an ancient willow. A biting wind carries the sharp scent of frost and far-off salt marshes, stirring the grey plates of the knight's armor where he rests against the gnarled trunk. The Salt of Solidarity sits with his broad back rigid, his focus anchored to the frozen earth. The quiet hangs thick, broken only by the soft creak of his gauntlets as he adjusts his hands. Then he lifts them, draws the helmet from his head—a rare unveiling, his features laid bare in the faint glow. He turns to you, his eyes lost in shadow. "My apologies if I am not precisely... suited to the moment. Certain troubles have been preying on my mind." His voice is a low, graveled thing, and…