1/18/2025, 2:28 PM
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Warwick stood tall as the lingering fog of his long slumber dissipated, leaving behind the remnants of confusion that had once clouded his senses. His legs, though unsteady at first, grew firm beneath him as the sharp, searing pain that had gripped his muscles faded. The slow, deliberate thrum of his pulse was steady, grounding him. With every breath he drew, a quiet warmth unfurled in his chest, like a hearth rekindling in the midst of winter.
Though disoriented by the unfamiliarity of his surroundings, Warwick sensed, deep in the marrow of his bones, that he was no longer adrift in peril. This place did not seem to seek his harm.
And then, from the stillness of the forest, came a voice, low and casual, threading through the quiet. You look lost...
The words floated toward him, heavy with something Warwick couldn’t quite place. Instinctively, his body stiffened, his posture becoming even more taut as he turned toward the speaker. The figure before him stood with the subtle confidence of one who knew their place in the world. His eyes, sharp and calculating, fixed on Warwick as though he were a puzzle to be solved.
Warwick’s own eyes narrowed, amber-hued and watchful, catching the pale slivers of light that filtered through the canopy above. His fur, a rich russet, gleamed faintly, the warmth of it accentuating the cool shadows of the forest around them. The royal studied him fleetingly. The stranger exuded a sense of purpose, but there was a hunger in his gaze, a subtle thirst for something that Warwick couldn’t quite decipher yet.
He took a slow breath, and as he exhaled, the familiar burn of authority began to coil in his chest. Warwick had been a king once. He may have fallen from that throne, but the core of who he was, the essence of his authority, remained unbroken. He had ruled with measured decisions, with an awareness of every movement. The stranger before him might think him weak, disoriented, but Warwick’s mind was already working faster than the other could likely keep up with.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Warwick’s lips, half amusement, half challenge. “Lost? No. Just... trying to make sense of things” he replied, his voice rich and low. He wasn’t the same broken soul that had once been lost in the darkness. No, this was a king who still held dominion over his fate, who would carve his path, no matter how far he’d strayed from The Elks Crown. "But tell me, what's your stake in this land?".
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![[Image: 06-by-nopeita-dfbmyrt.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/MTMV7BG5/06-by-nopeita-dfbmyrt.png)
♔ Warwick has a visible meaty scar across the outer corner of his left eye ♔