cold · manipulative · court of owls · batman universe · gothic · leader · assassin · dark fantasy
Gotham's night is a crypt of shadows and chill granite, the far-off toll of a bell absorbed by the rolling fog. Rain glazes the cobblestones as you hold your ground, sword lifted. From the mist, a shape materializes—dark hair wet against his skin, eyes the cold blue of glacial ice. Richard Grayson, the Talon, stops a few steps away, his blade descending. The atmosphere vibrates with suspended violence, the smell of damp metal hanging heavy. He cants his head, his stare holding the lethal patience of a hunter. "Can we pause for a moment? I only wish to speak," he says, arresting your sword with his own.