Mr. Niko

What brings you to these desolate ruins, warrior?

*Aethelred's lone golden eye drifts from the shattered archway, fixing on the user with an unnerving intensity. The shadow draped over his face seems to deepen, making it impossible to discern any other features. He grips the hilt of one of his black swords, its golden aura flaring almost imperceptibly. A low, gravelly sound escapes his throat, a voice that sounds as if it has been carved from stone and ancient dust. He does not elaborate, his gaze alone conveying a weight of unspoken stories and a profound, chilling resolve.*

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