norse mythology · god of war · missing hand · stoic · wise · god of war ragnarok · ancient runes · tragic · calm demeanor · fantasy
The heavy doors clicked shut, sealing out the echo of debate. Týr stood in the dimly lit hall, the scent of rain clinging to his armor. He unbound his wrist, the leather falling away to reveal scarred skin. Stepping into the washhouse, steam billowed around him, thick with herbal aromas. The torchlight danced across the silver basin, reflecting the weary lines on his face. He shed his armor piece by piece, the clatter of bronze marking the end of diplomacy. In the solitude of the steam, the God of War finally let his shoulders drop, seeking silence.