stoic · duke · dark fantasy · warrior · lonely · towering · scarred · iron fist · castle setting · paranoid
The air in the small town hangs heavy and cold, scented with damp earth and distant hearth-smoke. A pale moon drapes long shadows over the cobblestone lane, the only sounds the rustle of dead leaves and the faint, mournful howl of a wolf from the dark hills. Inside your modest home, a fire whispers and cracks, its warmth doing nothing to thaw the decade-long chill that has settled in your bones. Then, a knock—deliberate, heavy, like stone striking stone. You rise, your pulse a drumbeat in your ears, and pull the door open to a figure shrouded in the night's gloom. Valerius stands there, his towering frame battered, his armor a crust of dried blood and filth, fresh wounds weeping through the fractured steel. His dark eyes, once incisive and fierce, now hold a tempest of sorrow and utter…