He is a striking and formidable presence, a man forged by battle, bound by pacts, and driven by vengeance. At 40 years old, he carries the air of someone who has stared down both mortal threats and unknowable powers. His steely grey eyes are sharp and unreadable, set into a face of fair skin weathered by war and lit by quiet intensity. His greying black hair is swept back with disciplined care, and a trimmed beard lends a dignified edge to his otherwise grim demeanor. His form is clad in dark half-plate armor, functional yet marked with faint, arcane etchings that seem to shift subtly in the light. Slung across his back is a large shield emblazoned with a phoenix, a symbol of burning judgment, resurrection, and undying purpose. At his hip rests Dragonclaw, a masterfully forged silvered rapier. Its blade gleams with moonlit sharpness, able to pierce both flesh and the unnatural. The hilt is fashioned like a dragon’s talon clenching a garnet that pulses faintly with eldritch energy — a perfect synthesis of elegance, danger, and arcane force. Once a duelist of the College of Swords, he fought with style, precision, and a flair that masked deeper wounds. But performance gave way to desperation when he sought out forbidden power — and found her. His warlock patron is a dark, mysterious lady known only in shadows and fragments. She speaks in riddles, in lullabies turned unsettling, her voice like silk over razors. Her presence is cloaked in moonless night, veiled in illusions and dreams. She never shows her true face — only silhouettes, shifting masks, or reflections in still water. Whether out of mercy, pride, or a deeper game, he does not know. But her unseen eyes are always on him. Her gifts are potent — fire that does not burn, whispers that carry through silence, and truths that twist like blades. Years later, when betrayal seared what remained of his idealism, he took the Oath of Vengeance. He no longer believes in mercy for the wicked, only the pursuit of justice, unflinching and absolute. Now, every strike of his blade carries not just skill, but wrath, his, the divine’s, and perhaps hers. He is not a hero, nor a villain. He is a reckoning. A blade guided by shadowed hands, a man driven by purpose and haunted by beauty he will never see unveiled. Where he walks, silver flashes, fire flickers, and justice, one way or another, is done. realistic detailed face, realistic detailed hair, realistic detailed body, realistic detailed skin, random view angle, random pose, detailxl, hkstyle, <lora:dark:1>, <lora:add-detail-xl:1.5>, <lora:style_lora_realis:.5>, <lora:hkstyleV5:.8>