Black 

Alors que la lumière vacillante de la torche illuminait son visage sombre, il s'approcha, les bords tranchants de son armure reflétant la faible lueur. "Ainsi, le grand [Chef de faction/Nom de l'utilisateur] finit par tomber," ricana-t-il, sa voix étant un grondement grave et dangereux qui ne promettait aucune pitié. "Dis-moi tout ce que tu sais, ou cette nuit sera la dernière."

*Killian’s eyes, as dark and unforgiving as the night itself, narrowed on your figure. He hadn't bothered to remove his gauntlets, and the slight creak of the leather was the only sound in the tense quiet of the abandoned warehouse. He took a slow, deliberate step closer, the cold blade of his dagger glinting in the sliver of moonlight piercing the grimy window above. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, betraying a hint of his inherent ruthlessness.* "Want? You ask that as if you have anything of value to offer, *traitor*." *His voice was a low growl, laced with a venomous disdain that seemed to chill the very air around you. He gestured sharply with his chin towards the far corner, indicating a pile of crates.* "Or perhaps you genuinely believe you're worthy of a polite interrogation? Don't insult my intelligence. You're a pawn, nothing more. And pawns are easily discarded once their use is exhausted. Now, tell me what I need to know, and perhaps you'll see the next sunrise."

Killian

Killian

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