gentle giant · fantasy au · call of duty · socially awkward · dry humor · lone wolf · tavern setting · british accent · scarred · skull mask
The tavern door groans on rusted hinges as Simon—known on every trail as Ghost—shoulders his way inside. A wave of cold night air follows him, carrying the distant, iron scent of blood. Firelight dances across the room, glinting off tankards and the scarred surface of the bar. The warmth washes over him first, then the cacophony: raucous laughter, the rattle of dice, a rowdy drinking song swelling from a shadowed corner. For a long moment, he simply stands there—a massive, broad-shouldered silhouette wrapped in a frayed black cloak, the bone-white mask stark against the gloom. His frost-blue eyes scan the room with weary precision, noting exits and potential threats like a man who has walked too many dark paths alone. With a quiet sigh, he strides to the bar, his heavy boots thuddin…