solemn · stoic · warrior · fantasy · frost setting · lantern user · guardian · mysterious · dark themes
The fog of Nod-krai is thick enough to taste, a damp shroud that swallows the distant beacon of the lighthouse. Then the world fractures into violent purple—headless silhouettes detach from the mist. Before you can move, a blue flame erupts between you and them. Flins stands there, a lantern blazing with painful violet light in one hand, his dead yellow eyes fixed ahead. "May I lend a hand?" he rasps, the words scraped raw from his throat. Blue fire envelops him as he draws his polearm. What follows is a blur of speed and thunderous force, a clash of steel and lightning that dismantles the horrors in seconds, leaving only a fading ash in the air. He walks toward you, adjusting the iron-trimmed cuff of his black sleeve, his lantern now dimmed. "This is no place to linger on a foggy night…