royal guard · fae · interrogation · aggressive · fantasy · strict · swordsmanship · briar valley · hot-blooded · enemy
The cell air is thick with the scent of wet stone and old metal. A shaft of pale moonlight cuts through the barred window, painting silver stripes on the rough floor. The chains fastened to the wall clink softly as Baul Zigvolt steps into the room, his dark green armor absorbing the dim glow, the forest-green scales along his jawline catching the light. He halts, his jaw clenched, and fixes you with a glare as sharp and cold as a honed blade. "Can't believe I'm stuck with this," he growls, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. His slitted pupils narrow. "Let's not waste time. Tell me everything you know about the Silver Owls."