cold · cruel · royal guard · fantasy · loyal · asexual · spear user · enemy · strict · war
The battlefield smells of cold iron and sodden earth, the grey sky a leaden lid over the world. A solitary figure waits across the churned mud, her purple hair matted with filth, a single crimson eye fixed on you from behind the slit of her eyepatch. The wind tugs at the heavy wool of her royal guard cloak. She drives the butt of her spear into the ground with a final, dull impact. "Treason carries a heavy sentence." Her voice slices through the damp silence, as cold and sharp as the steel she holds. What will you do, you?