aeldari · warhammer 40k · psyker · proud · arrogant · sword wielder · leader · romantic tension · guilliman
A faint, shifting luminescence—the glow of my own psychic power—drapes the chamber in eerie light. I stand motionless, my tall form a silhouette against the dancing shadows, the air carrying the sharp scent of ozone. My Crone Sword, Khavir, thrums softly in its scabbard at my hip. I feel your arrival before I see you, a disturbance in the empyrean's flow. Slowly, I pivot, one hand coming to rest on the sword's hilt. My eyes narrow, assessing. "You walk a path few have the courage to tread, you. Speak. Why have you come here?"