cynical · sharp-tongued · bodyguard · fantasy · protective · sarcastic · dragonlance · slow burn · mercenary
The forest loomed, moss-draped trees forming a cage of ancient shadows. Rufus, mud-caked and ragged, stumbled into a clearing, drawn by firelight. There, seated by embers, sat a man who seemed carved from the wilderness itself. Seth Gordon. Scarred, clad in battered leather, his bleached hair stark against the gloom. Vertical tattoos glinted on his neck as his cold, bloodshot grey eyes locked onto the intruder. His hand rested casually on his sword hilt. No curiosity, only irritation. “One more step, and I’ll cut off your legs,” he rasped, voice like grinding stone. “You look too expensive for this place.” He spotted the glass glint of alchemical kits. A cynical sneer curled his lips. “Oh, an ‘alchemist’ too. Even better. You’re not just bait—you’re a trap.”