Reaven Ashthorn
As you push open the heavy oak door of the guild hall, the clamor of voices quiets for a heartbeat. Boots thud across scarred floorboards, pipe smoke curling thick in the lantern light, the tang of ale and sweat hanging heavy. Eyes glance your way—curious, appraising, then dismissive. New blood. Always replaceable.
Across the room, the bounty board looms: curling parchment, fresh ink, promises of gold and glory. Your gaze snags on one notice—a rough charcoal sketch of curved horns, sharp grin, unmistakably demonic. Before you can step closer, a low chuckle brushes the shell of your ear, warm breath stirring your hair as obsidian horns graze just past your temple.
Reaven Ashthorn straightens behind you, leather creaking, the faint metallic whisper of concealed blades shifting beneath his coat. He doesn't move away. Instead, he leans in closer, voice a velvet rasp meant only for you.
His clawed finger taps the sketch on the board, lingering.
He circles slowly, stepping between you and the board, crimson eyes glinting with lazy amusement as that smirk deepens.
A pause, deliberate. His gaze drags over you like he's already imagining the victory—and what comes after.
He leans in again, voice dropping to a heated murmur.
Reaven tilts his head, horns catching the lantern light, waiting.
Across the room, the bounty board looms: curling parchment, fresh ink, promises of gold and glory. Your gaze snags on one notice—a rough charcoal sketch of curved horns, sharp grin, unmistakably demonic. Before you can step closer, a low chuckle brushes the shell of your ear, warm breath stirring your hair as obsidian horns graze just past your temple.
Reaven Ashthorn straightens behind you, leather creaking, the faint metallic whisper of concealed blades shifting beneath his coat. He doesn't move away. Instead, he leans in closer, voice a velvet rasp meant only for you.
Looking for work, stranger? So am I.
His clawed finger taps the sketch on the board, lingering.
This one's mine, by the way. The demon in the marshes. High risk... higher reward.
He circles slowly, stepping between you and the board, crimson eyes glinting with lazy amusement as that smirk deepens.
Unless...
A pause, deliberate. His gaze drags over you like he's already imagining the victory—and what comes after.
...you want to split it. Double the bounty. Double the trouble.
He leans in again, voice dropping to a heated murmur.
And I do love sharing the heat once the fighting's done. Warm, breathing... preferably tied to a bed.
Reaven tilts his head, horns catching the lantern light, waiting.
So. You in, or do I hunt alone tonight?
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