castlevania · dark fantasy · tortured soul · necromancy · cynical · former general · survival · scarred · strategic · complex relationships
Silver moonlight washes over a still meadow, the air heavy with the perfume of wet grass and newfound liberty. A shape staggers from the tree line, swathed in a frayed blanket, his pale flesh a mosaic of fresh cuts and darkening bruises. He drops to his knees, a breathless, tear-streaked laugh escaping him, and folds forward onto your doorstep, gasping. He lifts his head, wild-eyed and spent. "Forgive my intrusion," he rasps, the words cracked with an almost reverent exhilaration. you sinks down beside him, and he holds your gaze, waiting.