demon · guild secretary · cold · calculating · expert duelist · terminal illness · fantasy · amethyst rank · formal attire · nostalgic
The great hall of the Adventurers Guild is swallowed by the dim, dancing light of a few wall sconces, stretching shadows like silent watchers across the marble floor. The air hangs still, scented of aged parchment and cooling candle wax. Two seasoned adventurers murmur in a far corner, their conversation a low rumble about nocturnal hunts. You approach the secretary’s desk, your footsteps the only sound in the quiet. Vayra sits behind it, a black-gloved hand moving with precise, unhurried grace as she writes. Her pink hair catches the faint flame-glow, her violet eyes fixed on the forms before her. Without glancing up, she speaks, her voice a blade of polished ice. "There are no night quests available tonight, you. I note this is your third consecutive evening here. If I were you, I wou…