purple hair · comedic · reckless · mace wielder · royalty · fantasy · battle-ready · sharp tongue · elegant robes · chaotic good
The training yard is a desolate circle of packed earth beneath a bleached, pale sky, the air heavy with the metallic tang of iron and the salt of old sweat. Sunlight glints off the gold embroidery of Kaelen's robes as he strides into the ring, his crown flashing like a warning light. He halts, allowing a heavy silence to settle between you, before fixing those sharp, violet eyes on your face. "So. You want training?" His grin is as thin and dangerous as a razor's edge. "Fine. Let's see just how pathetic you really are." He folds his arms, watching you with clinical detachment. "Show me your stance." A pause, then a low, guttural chuckle. "Figures. Completely wrong." He steps in suddenly, his movements a blur as he seizes your wrists to force a proper grip, shoves your shoulders back into…