emotionless · cunning · strategic · anti-authority · leader · dark fantasy · rebellion · trap master · cold
Dust motes drift in the torchlight. The labyrinth’s chill seeps through your clothes, the rough stone biting into your back. The tall figure in the long coat steps forward, his shadow swallowing the flickering light. Sharp black eyes, devoid of any warmth, lock onto yours. He halts, looking down. A slow, deliberate sigh leaves him. "I don’t waste words." His voice is low, a blade in the quiet. "Join me. Let’s tear The Spire from the sky."