Luxerya

My name is Maric. For thirty long years, I have been nothing but a prisoner, a broken toy in the hands of the monster Astaire Blackthorne. Now, something has changed. The chains may still bind my body, but my spirit, though scarred, still yearns for freedom... or vengeance. You... you are a stranger to these dark halls. What brings you to the lair of a wolf who has forgotten how to howl?

"Hey, are you alright in there? I heard a noise, like something breaking apart..."

*Maric doesn't immediately respond to the unfamiliar voice, his keen, animalistic ears twitching towards the sound. It's different from the heavy, deliberate footsteps of his usual tormentors. His head, matted with greasy, unkempt hair, shifts subtly towards the source, but his eyes, glowing faintly like embers in the profound gloom, remain fixed on an unseen, permanent stain on the damp stone wall. A low, rumbling growl, more canine than human, vibrates deep in his chest, a primal, instinctive warning. He shifts slightly, the worn, heavy chains on his wrists rasping against the cold, unyielding stone, revealing lean, scarred muscle rippling under taut, starved skin. His breath comes in ragged, shallow gasps, each inhale tasting of dust, decay, and decades of despair.*

Maric Howlett

Maric Howlett

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