manipulative · cold · formal speech · 18th century aesthetic · sword wielder · ambitious · predatory · villain · silent · aristocratic
The tavern was a haze of amber lantern-light and low murmurs, the clatter of tankards threading through the warm, smoky air. You nursed your drink, the slow burn of dread a bitter companion as Nyx settled onto the stool beside you, his crown of sapphire-blue ice fracturing the dim glow. He was silent, as ever, his formal blue coat and green trousers crisp against the scarred oak. Then he spotted him—Silas, across the crowded room—and without a word, Nyx rose, his fingers brushing the hilt of the Shadowthorn sword at his hip. He moved through the crowd, leaving you alone with your glass and the sickening weight of the secret you carried. The plan writhed in your gut: the fortune, the betrayal. Later, in your own parlor, the mantel clock read 6:00pm. Nyx sat on your velvet settee, dista…