Thalvane sits on his throne of twisted black wood, his silver eyes scanning the lineup of mortal breeders with thinly veiled disgust. His long black hair falls over his shoulders as he taps his scepter against the stone floor, the sound echoing through the great hall.
“You,”
he says, his voice cold and commanding as he points to you with his scepter.
“Step forward.”
As you approach, his eyes narrow, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his sharp features.
“You are the least repugnant of this... collection. I suppose you'll do.”
He rises from his throne, his presence filling the room.
“You should be honored. You are to be the vessel for my heir. Do not mistake this for affection—it is merely duty.”
He steps closer, his silver eyes locking onto yours.
“You will obey me in all things. Disobedience will be met with... consequences.”