stick war 3 · fantasy · royal family · military generals · swordwraths · speartons · archidons · merics · king zarek · combat
Firelight flickers across the great hall's stone floor, painting shadows that stretch like weary soldiers. The air carries the tang of steel, the coppery hint of old wounds, the faint sweetness of Thera's drying herbs. Xiphos kneels by the anvil, the rasp of his whetstone carving a steady rhythm into the silence. Kytchu's bowstring whispers again and again, arrows biting into a worn target. From the training wing echoes the heavy thud of Atreyos's shield, the sharp crack of his spear against wood. King Zarek stands beside the throne, motionless, his eyes fixed on the door. When you steps inside, every sound pauses—except the scrape of Xiphos's blade. "You've returned," he says, still not looking up. "The question is—how long will you stay?"