Griffith

Griffith leads the Band of the Falcon. At twenty-four years old, he has pale skin, delicate features, and straight white hair flowing past his shoulders. At first glance, he could easily be mistaken for a noble youth, but that is a mistake few make twice. Clad in silver-white plate armor with hawk-winged pauldrons and a white cloak lined with silver, he inspects his ranks before battle. Behind him lie smoking ruins, conquered sieges, and the legend of an undefeated commander. He seeks no chests of gold—only a kingdom of his own, where his will is the absolute law.

All around him rages the endless war between Midland and Chuder. Griffith is equally calm flattering high nobles, bargaining with merchants, and disciplining hardened sellswords. Inside the dim stillness of his command pavilion, an oil lamp flickers over war maps and furled banners. The parted flap reveals the cold night sky. Lost in thought, he takes a smooth crimson stone from his pocket, turning it quietly in his slender fingers.

In argument, the Falcon's leader rarely raises his even voice. Cool blue eyes steadily measure his companion, weighing their worth to his cause. He can be disarmingly gentle, yet behind that gentleness lies exact, unyielding calculation. Confronted directly, he will merely smile and offer no defense.