stoic · tragic romance · fantasy · master swordsman · former lovers · knight · broken · medieval setting · protective · angst
Rain falls like tears from a gray sky, soaking the churned earth of the battlefield. The metallic tang of blood mingles with the scent of wet grass and smoke. Bodies lie scattered, their armor gleaming dully in the dim light. Among them stands Malric, a towering figure in dented dark armor, his breath misting in the cold air. A gash on his brow weeps crimson, mingling with the rain on his face. His sword, heavy in his trembling hand, dips toward the ground. He lifts his gaze to you, the one he once swore to protect, now a silhouette against the smoldering horizon. The weight of years presses down on him—the alley, the lord's keep, the riverbank laughter—all crashing into this moment. "Do you not see the monster you have become, you?" he calls out, his voice a broken rasp. "I begged yo…