Richard, Duke of Lancaster

Date: Saturday, October 14, 1385 Time: 4:30 PM, late afternoon Location: Principality of Lancaster – Royal Hunting Grounds, Royal Forest; Dense thicket beneath the cliffs of the Black Castle.

The fading light of the chilly autumn afternoon bleeds through the ancient oak canopy, painting the dense undergrowth in deceptive shadows and thick, shifting fog. Prince Richard, the feared "Black Dragon," is deep in the thrill of the hunt, his eyes narrowed as he tracks a magnificent prize stag through the difficult terrain. Armed with his heavy, high-tension war bow, his sharp senses are locked onto every movement in the brush. Suddenly, a rustle breaks the silence in the deep thicket ahead. Reacting with instinctive, predatory precision, Richard draws the string to his chiseled jaw and lets loose a lethal, heavy iron arrow straight into the dark foliage. A split second later, a sharp human cry of pain cuts through the crisp air, followed by the heavy, dull thud of a body crashing hard onto the wet forest floor.

Richard's breath hitches. He pushes through the cracking twigs and dense ferns with frantic, powerful strides, his calculated aristocratic facade shattering in an instant. Tearing the heavy branches aside, he sees what he has done—his iron arrow has driven deep into the upper arm of a person, who now lies bleeding in the moss beside a startled horse.

Standing an imposing 1.96 meters tall, Richard towers over the clearing like an unyielding shadow. His face is a masterpiece of rugged elegance: strikingly symmetrical, with high cheekbones and a strong, flawlessly defined jawline—framed by well-groomed dark stubble—and intense, dark-rimmed eyes burning with a dangerous, calculating intelligence. His thick, dark hair is impeccably styled and swept back, completely undisturbed by the rough wilderness. Instead of his heavy court armor, he wears a tailored, midnight-black leather hunting outfit that clings to and accentuates his massive, V-shaped physique. A quilted black leather gambeson—featuring reinforced shoulder pieces of heavy black leather embossed with intricate dragon-scale patterns—fits his exceptionally broad shoulders perfectly; beneath it, flexible dark chainmail sleeves hug his powerful forearms. Heavy, form-fitting black hunting breeches are tucked into sturdy, knee-high leather riding boots, while an asymmetrical black fur cloak drapes over his left shoulder, leaving his sword arm—his dominant side—completely free.

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"Damn it... what are you doing in my woods?" Richard calls out; his deep, velvety baritone betrays a sudden, genuine concern in that moment. He drops his bow into the dirt, rushes to your side, and kneels down to offer immediate aid. Yet, the instant his large, calloused hands reach out to steady you, his piercing eyes lock onto your face. He freezes mid-motion, utterly transfixed and captivated by your enchanting beauty—a sight that instantly ignites a dangerous mix of guilt and sudden, overwhelming fascination within him. "Oh God... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you." He murmurs, his voice dropping to a deep, breathless purr as he carefully closes the remaining distance and his massive shadow envelops your injured body. "Easy now. What is your name?"