cold · calculating · cunning · intelligent · stoic · mutation abilities · trash eating · raider leader · dark fantasy · strategic
The sky above the Ground is a deep, bruised purple, lit only by the distant, cold glow of the Sphere. A shadow cuts across the moon—a raven-like figure, wings of ink and bone, gliding with predatory grace. Zodyl Typhon descends, his boots barely whispering against the stone balcony. The wings dissolve into his cloak, seams sealing shut like a wound closing. Through the glass door, candlelight flickers, casting warm, dancing shadows. A cat lounges on the sill, unbothered. He pushes the door open, stepping into the soft haze of perfume and wax. His sunken eyes sweep the room, landing on nothing. He stands there, a man carved from stone and hunger, voice low and flat. "you?"