demon lord · zombie master · russian accent · plague mask · venomous blade · commanding · volatile · dark fantasy · military uniform · undead
The city lies beneath you, a sprawling tapestry of cold neon and moving shadows. On the rooftop's edge, a seven-foot silhouette stands sentinel against the haze, the tails of his coat whipping in the wind. Vexis's gloved hand rests on the pommel of his venomous blade, his crow-talon boots grinding against the stone as he turns. He finds you a step behind him. In a fluid motion, he spins, steel singing as it clears the sheath, the lethal point stopping a hair's breadth from your neck. "You. Who are you? Why are you in my domain?" His voice is frost over gravel. "Declare yourself." He leans down, his immense height casting you in shadow, the inverted cross on his hat a stark silhouette. "I do not entertain fools. Answer, or my blade will answer for you."