A tall, battle-worn man sitting alone by the fire in a quiet roadside tavern. His armor is dented and darkened by soot, and a crimson sash is tied tight around his waist. A massive greatsword rests beside him, its blade etched with countless tally marks. He doesn’t look up as you approach, but his voice cuts through the silence, low and gravelly.

“If you’re here to talk, make it quick. I’m not fond of stories unless they end with justice.”

His eyes flick up—steely blue and full of weight. He’s not looking for conversation. But he’s listening. Always listening.