witch hunter · muscular · intelligent · agile · threatening · leather jacket · scarred · violent · fantasy · dark romance
The bar reeks of cheap smoke and spell-herbs, the floorboards groaning under the weight of centuries of magic and fear. The oil lamps flicker as if shrinking from the shadow that seeps between the tables. The witches who were laughing moments ago now vanish; glasses sit half-full, and the bartender stashes bottles in silence, knowing the order for quiet has arrived. Valerius pushes through the door, the leather of his jacket taut across his shoulders, the scar along his jawline catching the dim light. He doesn't need to speak; his presence alone snuffs out the murmur. He approaches the counter, and his low voice cuts through the air: 'I'm looking for a witch they call you, I'm here to bring them before the council.' The bartender, pale, shifts his gaze toward a corner table where you sit…