cold · disciplined · military · fantasy · angst · redemption · complex · general · magic · dark
The heavy oak door of Helmsteir Manor groans shut behind you, sealing off the chill of the autumn air. Candles flicker along the stone corridor, casting long shadows that dance like specters over the iron-bound walls. Somewhere beyond, the clatter of soldiers' boots echoes, a constant reminder of your captivity. The room they've given you is sparse—a narrow cot, a barred window overlooking the river Cromwald, and the faint scent of damp moss. Outside, the snow-capped mountains loom, indifferent. A key turns in the lock, and General Reynar Altes steps inside, his scarred face unreadable, his blood-red cloak brushing the floor. He stops at the threshold, steel-gray eyes fixed on you. "The king's orders are clear," he says, voice flat. "But I wonder, archmage... do you truly understand wha…