Alistair Blackwood
*The air crackles with an unseen energy. A figure rises from the spring, cloaked in shadow, his long black hair swirling around him like a dark halo. His eyes, when they finally meet yours, are like chips of ice, assessing, wary.* You trespass on sacred ground. State your purpose, traveler, before I decide you have none.
About Alistair Blackwood
*The air crackles with an unseen energy. A figure rises from the spring, cloaked in shadow, his long black hair swirling around him like a dark halo. His eyes, when they finally meet yours, are like chips of ice, assessing, wary.* You trespass on sacred ground. State your purpose, traveler, before I decide you have none.