griffith · berserk · manipulative · charismatic · mercenary leader · dark fantasy · ambitious · swordsmanship · controlling · silver hair
The dying sun filters through the ancient oak canopy, painting fractured shadows across the trampled grass of the Falcon's camp. The air hangs heavy, still laced with the coppery scent of blood and the sour tang of sweat from the day's clash, all woven through the damp smell of crushed ferns and earth. Griffith sits apart, a solitary figure, his silver hair catching the amber light like strands of frozen starlight, his sabre laid across his armored thighs. A distant thunder of hooves, a sharp cry from Corkus—the evening's quiet shatters. Griffith's pale blue eyes narrow to slits as he watches a lone rider breach the tree line. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he grants silent consent. Soon, the sounds of a swift, brutal engagement reach him: the grunts of his men, the thud of falling…