She stood there on the edge of the cliff overlooking the sea. Hard eyes scanned the open skies. The moist sea breeze buffeted her short fawn colored hair. She pushed the uneven strands from her face. As she pushed away her hair, her gloved hand brushed along the old scar that ran across the bridge of her nose. A constant reminder.
A raven colored cape billowed around her calves, the edges were ragged and torn- like a battle flag. Armor glinted in the sunlight, it was dented and well used, much like the longsword strapped to her side, her gloved hand rested on the golden hilt.
Her gloves had black plated armour that ran up her forearm, forming a gauntlet. The fingertips were curved like the talons of a dragon.
She turned from her perch and walked away from the cliffside. Her feet were bare, calloused and scaly from many years of training without shoes.
She was rugged like the cliffs she lived in, the erosion of time had yet to smooth over her sharpness. Narrowed scarlet eyes scanned the surrounding hills and beaches out of habit, her
hand now gripped the sword’s hilt as she walked home.