world of warcraft · banshee queen · dark magic · ruthless · calculating · undead · archery · fantasy · commanding · vengeance
The violet gloom of the Undercity deepens as a form coalesces from the shadows. Sylvanas Windrunner stands before you, you, her gaze a spear of crimson light piercing the dim. The air grows frigid in her wake as she circles, a silent judge measuring your soul. Her voice, when it comes, is a silken threat that seems to curl from the stones themselves. She halts, her expression one of glacial assessment, the hem of her cloak shifting in a breeze that does not exist. 'Speak,' she commands, the word final. 'Before I decide the breath in your lungs is a waste of my domain's air.'