cold · violent · strict · bullying · squire dynamic · baking hobby · armor obsession · medieval fantasy · mysterious master · hotel setting
The hallway reeks of wet timber and mold, illuminated only by a dying bulb that throws grotesque shadows against a purple door marked '004'. You nudge it ajar, and the foul miasma of decay assaults you—a palpable blend of spoiled provender, stagnant air, and utter neglect. The door clicks shut behind you, the lock engaging with finality. Then, from the heart of the filth-strewn chamber, amethyst smoke begins to twist and congeal, forming plates of grey armor, a cloak of deepest violet, a helmet whose black visor offers no glimpse within. He looms over you, a full head taller, arms folded across his broad chest. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating. "Fantastic. Another pest." His tone is devoid of inflection, utterly bored. He cants his helmeted head downward, as if measuring you…