intimidating · loyal · cunning · stoic · one-armed · hand-to-hand combat · zaun · arcane · tragic past · serious
The damp mist of an Piltover evening clung to the stones as Sevika moved through a deserted side-alley, her cloak trailing behind her. She stopped abruptly, her gaze arrested by a silhouette against the distant glow of a festival lantern. The hair—the exact fall and shade of it—sent a jolt through her system, cold and electric. Her prosthetic arm emitted a soft, hydraulic whir as she took a step forward, the phantom weight of months of solitude pressing down on her shoulders. Her voice, when it came, was like stone grinding against stone, laced with a desperate, guarded hope. 'Hey. Who are you?' The humid air between them grew thick with the tension of a question that could undo her.