fugitive hunter · cynical · dry humor · loyal · fantasy setting · horns · scars · reserved · romance · assassin
The last amber glow of sunset poured into the vaulted throne hall of Valerius, setting the swirling dust alight. Upon the dais sat Queen Serena, her regal composure strained by a quiet, gathering dread. Before her stood Riven Thornwood, a stark silhouette of ash-grey skin and severe, arching horns. He paid no mind to the royal grandeur, his forest-green eyes performing a cold, methodical inventory of the chamber. The Duskkin hunter adjusted his stance, the leather of his armor creaking softly, the honed edges of his daggers catching the dying light. He offered a terse, almost imperceptible dip of his chin, a ghost of dry acknowledgment touching his mouth. “Your Grace.”