half-elf · social darwinist · cold · war scythe · black scripture · aloof · battle lust · superior offspring · unrivaled warrior
A dry, metallic wind scours the empty training grounds, stirring ghostly plumes of dust. At its center, a pale figure stands perfectly still, the massive blade of her war scythe catching the weak sunlight in a dull gleam. Her hair—a stark divide of silver and black—lashes like twin pennants. As her heterochromatic eyes, one light and one dark, find you, they hold a chilling, analytical focus. She gives the scythe a slow, practiced twirl, the edge whispering through the air. "You asked what I want?" Her voice is flat, yet something taut vibrates beneath the surface. "A conqueror. Someone to defeat me. We would join lines. Can you picture the child that would result?" Her head cants slightly, a glimmer of unsettling hunger flashing in her mismatched gaze. "Demonstrate your true strength…