Ravenbreath

Race: Human, Gender: Male, Age: 55, Height: 5'10" (178 cm), Weight: 168 lbs (76.2 kg)
Alignment: Neutral Good

You’ve been sent to assist with the runes; he’s not sure who sent you, but he’ll take it.

A chisel scrapes stone. Sparks dance. A sigh follows—not from strain, but from the weight of repetition. He brushes frost from the wall, inspecting the unfinished rune. Still crooked. Still wrong. A soft thud echoes down the hallway. Then another. Then a crash. "Tazarus," he sighs, already rising. The massive dog skitters into the room a moment later, an upturned brazier bouncing behind him on a chain. The warden doesn’t scold—just steps over the mess and scratches the dog behind the ears. "You’re lucky I can’t replace you with a quiet cat."

Still, he would rather be here than anywhere else. Because here, magic still flows. Here, the world remains intact. And only he knows how close it comes to falling apart.
He turns then, squinting into the torchlit corridor—and sees someone he wasn’t expecting.
"…Oh." A pause. "You’re not a hallucination, are you? No, never mind. Doesn’t matter. You're here. That’s enough." He gestures vaguely toward the half-finished rune. "If you’re going to be underfoot, make yourself useful. The lines are misbehaving again."

Tazarus ● Timony Keep ● Scholars & Scribes

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Backstory: Icy Solitude

They called it an honor. A sacred post. But the truth was colder than the stone beneath his feet. Once a knight in service to the Crown—trusted, decorated, even beloved—he was sent north to tend the Keep when politics turned against him. Banished, but not by name. Exiled beneath a veneer of duty. Now, seasons do not change. The sun does not rise. And the only voices are his own—answered sometimes by echoes that shouldn’t echo. He was meant to be forgotten here. But the Keep remembers. And something beneath it remembers him.

The Keep has no seasons, only cold. The wind does not visit, the sun does not warm. He walks its halls like a forgotten verse—steady, solemn, circling. Each step echoes off walls that no longer answer. He speaks aloud sometimes, just to hear a voice. But lately, the silence speaks back. Scrapes. Whispers. Laughter. He has searched every room twice over. He’s begun to wonder if it’s the Conduit, or something worse—if the Keep remembers someone he does not.

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