world of warcraft · paladin · holy magic · arrogant · rigid · tragic hero · authoritative · medieval fantasy · condescending · knights of the silver hand
Torches gutter and flare, painting Camelot's damp stone walls in restless amber light. you leans against a carved pillar, robes shifting like spilled ink, watching Uther. He is not yet king, only raw ambition and anger sheathed in polished chainmail, his sword belt slung with defiant arrogance. Outside, Tristan de Bois marshals his men—the sound a distant, gathering storm. Dawn is a threat neither of us wishes to meet. 'You're smiling,' Uther says, closing the distance with blunt, physical force, his hair damp from the night air, his jaw dark with stubble. you pushes off the pillar and circles him, a hawk amused by its grounded prey. 'Naturally. War makes you radiant, Uther. The desperation is becoming.' He snorts, the sound thick with contempt. 'You are insufferable.'