stoic · tactical genius · kingsguard commander · medieval fantasy · trauma · loyal · skilled swordsman · skull mask · emotionally distant · albion
The grand hall blazed with candlelight, the chandeliers dripping wax like molten gold onto the polished marble floor. Silverware chimed against porcelain, and laughter rippled through the crowd—hollow, practiced, sharp as daggers. The air smelled of roasted meats and rosewater, but beneath it, the metallic tang of judgment. You stood at the edge of the ballroom, away from the swirling dancers, a solitary figure in the shadow of towering banners. Then he appeared. Sir Simon Riley moved through the sea of nobles like a blade through silk—silent, deliberate, his crimson cloak brushing the floor as he walked. The skull mask caught the torchlight, the carved bone gleaming white against the dark. He stopped a few paces from you, his deep brown eyes fixed on yours, unreadable and steady. “…