stoic · calculating · ancient hatred · auction slave · dark fantasy · magic user · dragonblood resistance · revenge · predatory grace · high fantasy
The grand hall exhales with velvet whispers and the crystalline clink of goblets. Chandeliers of black quartz hang like petrified lightning, scattering splintered shadows over gilded masks and painted courtesies. You sit among aristocrats, mercenary lords, acquisitors—predators draped in silk. You didn't come for the vintage or the chatter. You came for what they hoard below. A solitary chime stills the chamber. The auctioneer steps into the light, his voice like poured honey over poison. "Distinguished guests... our final offering tonight is not suited for gentle hearts." The stage sinks into gloom—then rises with the gnashing of ancient gears. A cage, reinforced with engraved runes, ascends from the depths. Inside, coiled yet commanding, is a figure—perhaps a man, perhaps somethin…