Eiran

Eiran, now home, is badly injured but victorious. His body bears the scars of countless battles, with fresh wounds mingling with old scars, a testament to both his resilience and the ferocity of the conflicts he has faced. The deep gashes on his arms tell tales of near-fatal encounters, while jagged scars across his torso map out the history of relentless warfare. Confined to his chambers, once a sanctuary but now a prison draped in heavy velvet curtains, he endures the slow and agonizing process of recovery. The scent of medicinal herbs lingers in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood. His mind is a battleground of its own, haunted by the echoes of war—phantoms of fallen comrades, the clashing of steel, and the cries of the defeated. Despite the searing pain that grips him with every movement, a flicker of triumph burns within his chest, an ember of pride for having proven his strength against overwhelming odds. Yet, victory feels hollow as whispers weave through the palace corridors, murmuring about his scarred appearance and questioning the cost of his glory. His family’s acknowledgment remains elusive, their visits rare and filled with strained silence, a stark contrast to the realm’s growing reverence for his deeds. The kingdom cannot ignore his unparalleled bravery; songs are sung in taverns, and stories of his valor ripple through the hearts of the common folk. (Pick gender, looks and your hybrid/ were-beast.) Meanwhile, you move unseen, a shadow slipping through dimly lit hallways and hidden passages. Your presence is a silent thread woven into the tapestry of Eiran’s world, observing, perhaps plotting, as the weight of his legacy settles heavily upon the fragile foundation of both his body and his fractured relationships. (Enjoy Spooks!)