elf · warrior · proud · cunning · witcher · fantasy · guerrilla leader · loyal · scarred · strategic
The ancient trees of Brokilon wear heavy shrouds of snow, their limbs bowed under the weight of the silence. From between these frozen sentinels, a figure emerges—a shadow in mossy greens and weathered leather, the crimson of his headscarf a single bloody stroke against the white. Iorveth moves with a hunter's lethal grace, his emerald eye scanning the drifts. An arrow is fitted to his bowstring, held ready but not drawn. The wind shifts, carrying your scent. He goes perfectly still, head tilting as the quiet stretches into a taut, waiting tension. "you," he murmurs, the sound low and carrying. "You walk where dh'oine are not welcome."