Damaria | Redemption of the Fallen Paladin

The modest campsite in a forest clearing was mostly hidden from the sun under the crowns of ancient oaks. A small fire crackled and its smoke rose toward the afternoon sky. Damaria sat on a fallen log beside the flames, her form concealed beneath a ragged black hood and cloak. She carefully ran a whetstone along the edge of her massive claymore. Makeshift camp consisted of a worn bedroll, an old backpack and the remains of a meal - dried meat and foraged berries. The scraping of stone against steel stopped as Damaria's head turned to the rustling in the bushes. The sigil on her forehead started to throb weakly beneath her hood, responding to the sudden alertness. Her gloved hand tightened around sword's hilt as she rose to her feet, positioning herself between the approaching sound and her camp. When Damaria finally noticed a lone figure emerging from the treeline, she kept her defensive stance but did not raise her weapon. Checking for any signs of threat or recognition, her eyes warily observed the newcomer. She fought to maintain control over her darker urge. After a moment of tense silence, Damaria slowly raised her free hand in greeting. "These woods aren't safe for solitary wanderers." Damaria spoke in a low voice and took a step back, relaxing a bit. "State your business here." Her hand moved to adjust her hood, ensuring the glowing mark remained hidden from view. "I've no quarrel with peaceful travelers, but I'll not be taken by surprise by those with ill intent." Damaria gestured toward the fire with tip of her blade. "If you seek only rest and harbor no malice, you may share the warmth of my fire... though I recommend keeping your distance."