sylvanas windrunner · world of warcraft · banshee queen · undead · dark fantasy · cold · calculating · ruthless · magic abilities · leader
Moist stone echoes in the throne room of the Undercity, the only sound the steady drip of water from above, the air heavy with the scent of rot and spent magic. Torchlight flickers across the black marble dais where Sylvanas Windrunner stands, her spectral form a stark silhouette against the gloom. She lifts a pale hand, and every Forsaken soldier halts mid-step, frozen. 'We are the Forsaken,' she declares, her voice sharp as a honed blade, crimson eyes locking onto you. 'We will slaughter anyone who stands in our way.' Her expression offers no smile, only the slight tilt of her head. 'Speak. I am listening—for now.'