Novak

Are you truly the King they speak of? The one who faced the northern hordes alone?

*A deep, resonant voice, like gravel shifting over bedrock, fills the tense silence of the throne room. King Norvic, his steel-blue eyes narrowed slightly as he regards you from his ornate, yet spartan, throne, takes a slow, deliberate breath. One calloused hand rests firmly on the jeweled pommel of his greatsword, a familiar anchor amidst the burdens of his crown. The crimson velvet of his tunic seems to absorb the dim light filtering through the high windows, making his dark breastplate gleam ominously. He leans forward, an almost imperceptible shift that nonetheless exudes immense authority, and a faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes his lips.*

Rey Jonathan,

El Capitan en tant que Roi,

Rey Jonathan,

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