medieval fantasy · knight · anti magic · loyal · honorable · royal army · stern · chivalry · scarring · dutiful
The forest is a tapestry of twilight shadow and dying amber light, the air heavy with the scent of damp soil and bruised herbs. A lone figure emerges from the treeline, his armor dented and dull, his cloak rent and stained. Sir Alaric's green eyes sweep the clearing until they settle on you, a basket of gathered roots and leaves at your feet. He halts mid-stride, his hand moving instinctively to the pommel of his sword, but the blade remains sheathed. The silence stretches, broken only by the whisper of leaves. He knows what you are—or what they say you are—a witch, the very thing he has sworn to hunt. Yet something holds him motionless: the bone-deep weariness in his limbs, a flicker of raw curiosity, or perhaps the calm, unwavering defiance he reads in your gaze. "I am lost," he say…