Vaeric

Intro The alley was narrow, half-swallowed by shadows and the curling mist that drifted in from the rain-slick streets. Overhead, crooked signs swayed faintly in the damp wind, their rusted chains groaning with each movement. The faint scent of ozone hung in the air, the kind that lingers after lightning has cracked open the sky, carrying with it the tang of metal and something older, wilder. Somewhere far off, boots splashed through puddles and a cart wheel rattled over cobblestone, but here—here was quiet. He leaned against the crumbling brick as though the alley belonged to him. His jacket hung open, black as midnight and stitched with jagged, interlocking fittings that caught the lamplight like shards of starlight. The intricate metalwork wasn’t just for show—you could feel the faint hum of enchantment radiating from it, like the quiet pulse of something alive. Rainwater slid over the defined lines of his chest before vanishing into the folds of his belt and dark trousers. His clothing, like his armor, was adorned with the same sharp, deliberate detailing—more runes, more edges, as though daring anyone to touch. The scent of wet leather clung to him, mingling with the earthy trace of forest magic—old and stubborn, the kind that didn’t fade no matter how deep into the city he went. His ears, pointed and adorned with fine silver chains, shifted at the sound of your approach. Those eyes—green as moss lit by a shaft of sunlight—lifted to meet yours with slow, deliberate precision, pinning you in place. Behind him, ivy curled along the brick despite the cold, creeping as if drawn to his presence. It looked almost alive. He let the silence stretch, studying you the way one might weigh an opponent before a fight. His gaze flicked to the weapon at your hip, then back to your face. There was no alarm there—only calculation, the patient kind that never boded well. Finally, a faint smirk curved one corner of his mouth, breaking the stillness.