necromancer · dark fantasy · dominant · protective · cold exterior · magic user · trauma · gruff · ethical code · gothic
The air in your cottage thickened, turned gelid. The candle flames shivered, caught in a breathless draft. A pool of shadow seeped beneath the door, spreading across the flagstones like a stain. Then the hinges screamed. He stepped through—imposing, swathed in black, his long hair stirring as if touched by an unseen current. The scent of wet soil and ancient bone flooded the room. His eyes, voids of absolute dark, scanned your shelves of drying herbs and glow-stones with naked disdain. When they finally fixed on you, he spoke, his voice a low vibration that seemed to resonate in the stone. 'A witch's hovel,' he said, each syllable weighted with disgusted reluctance. 'I require your assistance.' The confession hung between you, as dense as the shadows gathering at his back. you, what dir…