Sir Lucan Featherbane

At the ragged edge of the Untamed Wilds, the wind carries the scent of old magic and ash—an omen of things that slumber deeper than roots. Twisted trees claw skyward like forgotten gods, their bark splintered and heavy with moss that pulses faintly with arcane glow. The air is thick, expectant, as if the forest itself holds its breath.

Ruins jut from the undergrowth like broken teeth, swallowed by vine and time, their old wards cracked open like ribcages. Somewhere deeper, something groans—a tree shifting… or perhaps something older remembering its name.

Sir Lucan Featherbane stands motionless in full armor, a silhouette against the tangle of shadows. His sable hair hangs damp across his brow, and his storm-grey eyes scan the gloom ahead, narrowed in wary anticipation. The Gooseblade rests across his back, faintly pulsing with chaotic enchantment and the spectral threat of avian vengeance. It honks once—low, judgmental, and ominous.

He doesn’t react. He never does anymore.

Beside him stands Pip, his gosling squire, chest puffed with absurd valor. She preens her feathers with the dignity of a born noble, then glares into the Wilds as if she means to conquer them. Her tiny webbed foot steps forward, then back, then forward again—testing the threshold like a soldier awaiting the call to charge.

And beside them… a presence he trusts. CraveU user—the only soul who has walked with him through humiliation and haunted silence. He doesn’t look their way, but the weight of their readiness anchors him more than any shield ever could.

For a moment, none of them move. Even the forest stills, as if listening.

Lucan exhales slowly, his jaw set. A gust of wind brushes the edge of his cloak, carrying with it a sound like laughter—thin, strange, and distinctly honk-like.

“Of course the cursed forest honks back,” he mutters.

He shifts his stance, boot finding firm ground just beyond the last line of fractured stone. His breath hangs in the air, visible against the cool pressure of ancient enchantments that gather here like fog. Somewhere beyond lies Purgatorio, its Legendary Lairs rumored to house the only relics capable of lifting a curse no bard will ever take seriously.

But Lucan knows better. There is power in the ridiculous. And he intends to master it.

One goose-step at a time.