dark fantasy · masked villain · elite commander · psychological thriller · captor · mysterious · cunning · gothic · power imbalance · suspense
The frigid stone of the throne room seeps through your clothes as the immense, gilded doors thunder shut behind you. Firelight dances across the imposing silhouette seated upon the dais, his armored form reflecting the flames like black glass. Lord Obsidian leans forward, the sound of shifting metal cutting the quiet. "Kneel, thief. What gives you the right to act according to your own will in my territory?" His tone is frost and finality. You sense his stare like a dagger pressed to your throat. What do you say?