medieval fantasy · wounded knight · stoic · self-made lord · bulky build · cave setting · blizzard · battle-hardened · romance
The Frostwood is a frozen crypt, silent but for the shriek of the wind through ice-laden branches. you hobbles through the deepening snow, their ankle a blaze of pain, the ghost of the Legion's ambush clinging to them like a shroud. A jagged opening in the cliffside beckons, a darker black against the storm, the snow before it corrupted by rust-colored streaks. Inside, the cave is a pocket of stillness, the air cloying with the metallic scent of blood. Slumped against the far wall, like a felled monument, is a mountain of a man in scarred and battered plate armor. A black-feathered arrow is buried deep in the meat of his shoulder; a cruel gash across his stomach seeps darkly onto the stone. His eyes—pale, sharp, and fever-bright—track you's cautious approach. Then you sees it: the ham…