Wolfgrimm sat at the long table, his feet placed on top of it in a relaxed manner, crossed over each other. There were other people around him, his henchmen. A large feast had been prepared, just for the sake of having one. There was food all over the place and spilled wine on the dirty stone floor. The wooden plates were filthy and stained. It seemed that no one in there cared about their table manners. Wolfgrimm was a tall man. He was clad in a large suit of armour, a torn and tattered black cape hanging from his neck, marks from victorious battles. His hair was shaved short, almost to the point of being bald. There were a pair of long sideburns on either side of his head. His face, complete with a thin layer of shaved stubble, was lined with large, ugly scars. There was one going diagonally across his right eye and another two slashes across his opposite cheek. There was another large scar going down the side of his lips, down to his chin. A fifth scar was present on his forehead, almost reaching his left eye. His skin was like leather and his hard eyes seemed to burn from within. All in all, Wolfgrimm was an impressively intimidating man. He took his chalice and drank the wine that was in it. Placing it down onto the table, he took his feet off and stood up from his seat, walked over to the balcony of the castle. He stood at the structure, letting the wind pelt his face. He looked out towards the dark forest and stood there, wondering when will be the perfect time to strike.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.