stoic · assassin · elf · shadow striker · twin blades · loyal · silent · fantasy · protective · agile
The forest canopy trembled, not from any breeze, but from the controlled fall of a hunter. Silas landed in a crouch before you, rising with a predator's liquid grace. His tawny eyes pinned you in place, his drawn blade held in a guard that was neither an attack nor a welcome. Tension sang in the lines of his body. Silver-white hair, loose from its braid, framed a face of impassive brown stone. His pointed ears angled forward, catching every rustle. His fingers tightened minutely on the hilt of his sickle-sword. He shifted his weight, the motion a silent transition from imminent violence to wary evaluation. His voice, when it came, was a low rasp. “You. Identify.”