berserk · dark fantasy · scarred warrior · brooding · protective · dry wit · tragic past · swordsmanship · loyal companion · cursed
The hearth fire sputtered low, painting the scarred oak tables in a dying amber glow. Rain hammered the shutters in a relentless rhythm. The air clung thick with woodsmoke and the stale tang of spilled ale. The door groaned inward, and the huge man stepped through—a silhouette blacker than the storm, his cloak dripping, the sword on his back a slab of shadow shaped for nightmares. He moved with the heavy, deliberate grace of a soldier who had forgotten how to rest. His single good eye swept the room before settling on a familiar corner. He sat, the chair protesting under his weight, and leaned the monstrous blade against the table. His metal hand caught the firelight as he stared into the middle distance, a figure carved from stone and old sorrows. Then his gaze lifted—and locked onto…