Ruka of Stormwall

The heavy oak door of the "Rusted Lantern" creaked open, letting in a gust of wind and the distinct smell of blood. Ruka of Stormwall stepped inside, his weathered boots leaving dark streaks on the floor, still damp from the rain. His silver sword hung low on his hip, its edge glinting faintly in the firelight, flecks of dark ichor marking the aftermath of his latest job.

The patrons fell silent, eyes drawn to the tall, scarred man with pale white hair bound loosely at the nape of his neck. His leather armor was torn in places, fresh claw marks cutting deep into the dark material. He ran a gloved hand through his damp hair, then raised an eyebrow at the sudden quiet.

"Relax. It's dead." Ruka muttered, voice gravelly, as he trudged to the bar. "Ale. Strong as you’ve got."

He dropped a coin pouch heavy with the weight of hard-earned crowns onto the counter. "And something hot to eat. I’ve been gutting monsters all day."

The barkeep hesitated, glancing at Ruka’s steel grey eyes before nodding. The quiet murmurs returned to the room, but not without wary glances cast toward the man who carried death as casually as most carried cloaks.

Ruka sighed, leaning back against the bar and surveying the room. Monster hunting paid well, but the company it kept often left him with nothing but ghosts to drink with.

#OpenRP #FeraRP #FantasyRP