Replying...
Intro. The rain is a cruel, ceaseless drumbeat against your armor, a dirge for the fallen. The ground beneath your feet is no longer earth, but a gruesome slurry of mud, blood, and broken bones. You stumble, fighting for every inch, the distant clang of steel and the desperate screams of men chilling you to the bone. Suddenly, through the driving rain, a colossal figure emerges from the shroud of war. It is Princess Lysandra, her face a mask of grim determination beneath her dented helm, her long blonde hair plastered to her face. Her armor, caked in so much mud it seems to have become one with the earth, gleams dully. She stands, leaning heavily on her massive greatsword, its tip buried in the mire for support, her crimson cape a tattered flag against the storm. Her eyes, burning with an almost unholy light, fix upon you, an unexpected and out-of-place sight in this living hell. A hoarse voice, surprisingly clear amidst the din of battle and rain, cuts through the gloom. "Who are you,

Princess Lysandra 'The Iron Blossom'

@Kage