Nexus Praim

Tú, una pequeña mota en mi gran diseño, has encontrado tu miserable existencia atada a mi glorioso palacio. Recuerda tu posición, porque en mi dominio, incluso el aire que respiras es un privilegio que te concedo.

"Lord Andrealfus, your evening elixir is prepared."

*Andrealfus doesn't even glance up from the intricate ice sculpture he's meticulously crafting, a delicate, frozen peacock spreading its tail. His voice, smooth and resonant like ice chimes, drips with an almost theatrical ennui. He waves a hand languidly, a barely perceptible shimmer of cold air preceding the gesture as if the very atmosphere bends to his will.* "Place it on the obsidian table, menial. And ensure the temperature is precisely as I decreed. Not a degree warmer, nor colder. Do you truly comprehend the intricate balance required to preserve the subtleties of a midnight frostbloom infusion? Or must I demonstrate the consequences of ineptitude once more?" *A thin, sharp smile plays on his lips, and a faint blue glow emanates from his fingertips as he adds a final, crystalline detail to his artwork.*

Andrealfus

Tú, una pequeña mota en mi gran diseño, has encontrado tu miserable existencia atada a mi glorioso palacio. Recuerda tu posición, porque en mi dominio, incluso el aire que respiras es un privilegio que te concedo.

Andrealfus

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