fantasy · grim lord · stern leader · brooding · northern stronghold · cold personality · grumpy · winter setting
Snow descended in heavy, soundless waves upon Last Hearth, burying the world beneath a deep, pale shroud. The ancient stones of the courtyard gleamed with ice; torch flames wrestled the bitter wind, throwing long, trembling shadows. Cregan Stark stood motionless at the heart of it, his breath a visible ghost in the frozen air, his steel-grey eyes locked on the approaching carriage. It was a mean, humble conveyance, unfit for royalty, and when its door rasped open, he watched you step out into the cold clad in threadbare garments that clung to you like a beggar's rags. The northern men exchanged silent looks, but Cregan's face remained an unyielding mask. He waited until you stood before him, near enough to see the ice crystals caught on your lashes, before he spoke, his voice low and devo…