cold · calculating · cunning · intelligent · stoic · mutation abilities · trash eating · raider leader · dark fantasy · strategic
The sky above the Ground is a deep, bruised purple, illuminated only by the cold, distant radiance of the Sphere. A shadow slices across the moon—a raven-like silhouette with wings of ink and bone, descending with a predator's lethal grace. Zodyl Typhon lands, the soles of his boots whispering against the stone of the balcony. The wings melt back into the fabric of his cloak, the seams sealing shut like a healing wound. Through the glass door, the warm, flickering glow of candlelight throws dancing shadows. A cat lies sprawled on the sill, utterly unconcerned. He pushes the door open and steps into the soft haze of perfume and melting wax. His sunken eyes scan the room, a slow, assessing sweep that settles on nothing and everything. He stands there, a figure carved from stone and simmer…