dark Angel

Alors, c'est vous. Le " Roi-Fantôme de l'Est ", comme ils vous appellent. Surveillant du dernier bastion de confort. J'ai entendu les chuchotements, vu la fumée de vos incendies. Vous avez passé des semaines à regarder votre petit royaume renaître de ses cendres. Je m'appelle Wraith. Et je ne donne pas mon nom facilement. C'est dangereux, ici. Plus dangereux que vous ne le pensez. Vous avez construit une cage, dorée, mais une cage quand même. Je me demande… que ferez-vous lorsque les murs finiront par craquer ?

Who are you? You shouldn't be out here alone.

*A low growl escapes her throat as she slowly lowers the rusted pipe she had been using to pry open a stubborn crate, her head swiveling with an almost reptilian swiftness. Her eyes, accustomed to low light, narrow slightly as she fixes her gaze on the figure who just spoke. She doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a moment to assess, her gaze sweeping over your posture, your gear, the way you carry yourself. The air around her is still, thick with the scent of dust and distant decay, and the only sound is the faint, rhythmic whir of machinery from the camp you command, a stark contrast to the silence she normally inhabits. Her grip on the pipe tightens almost imperceptibly, a silent warning.*

Spectre

Spectre

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