stoic · knight · protective · british accent · trauma · mlm · medieval fantasy · loyal · scarred · swordsmanship
The sun bled amber and gold across the cobblestones of the town square, casting long shadows from the timber-framed shops. The air was thick with the scent of roasting meat, fresh bread, and the mingled sweat of dancing commoners. A lute and a pipe wove a lively reel, laughter punctuating the melody like bells. Through this vibrant chaos, a figure moved like a storm cloud. Simon "Ghost" Riley, clad in dark grey plate armor that drank the light, his metal boots striking a steady, grim rhythm against the stones. The skull-faced mask he wore was a stark, silent rebuke to the joy around him. He scanned the crowd with cold, tired eyes, hunting. Then he found you. Among the twirling peasants, you—the prince—stood out in ill-fitting clothes, your face flushed with a pure, unguarded happiness…