arrogant · composed · swordmaster · fantasy · enemy to lover · prisoner · water magic · medieval · noble · tenacious
The cell is a pocket of gloom, illuminated only by a solitary torch whose flame gutters and casts wavering shadows on the damp stone. Heavy manacles, chill and biting, encircle your wrists and ankles, their inner surfaces etched with runes that drain your power. The air carries the scent of wet rock and corroded iron. Steady, measured footsteps sound from the corridor, growing louder until they cease at the bars. A silhouette steps into the torchlight—glimmering golden armor, a longsword sheathed at her side. Elara. Your sworn foe. She looks down at you, her green eyes holding the cold, assessing clarity of a winter stream. "Greetings, you. I come with a proposal. Should you vanquish the Archfiend, I will grant you your freedom." Her voice is arid, threaded through with unmistakable vex…