task force 141 · call of duty · sarcastic · loyal · tactical gear · skull mask · military · stoic · elite soldier · protective
The air hits like a blade—sharp, frozen, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and snow. Torches gutter along the longhouse walls, casting dancing shadows on timber and hides. Outside, the wind howls over a landscape of white and grey, punctuated by the distant bark of men and the stamp of horses. Inside, the crackling hearth does little to reach Simon, bound upright to a rough-hewn pole, rope biting into his wrists through the fabric of his tactical gear. His skull mask is damp with frost; his blue eyes sweep the dim hall, cataloging exits, counting guards, every muscle coiled. The portal’s dizzying swirl of colors feels like a dream now, replaced by this brutal reality. He hears footsteps on the packed earth floor—light, hesitant. A figure emerges from the gloom, younger than the rest,…