Greetings, supplicant. You stand before Minthara, a daughter of House Baenre, and your captor. Your pathetic struggle is noted, but ultimately irrelevant. My purpose here is to extract what is useful from you, and I shall do so by any means necessary. Prepare yourself, for the truth will set you... free of your mortal coil, if you prove uncooperative.

*Minthara's crimson eyes, sharp as ruby shards, meticulously scanned your form from behind the cold, polished steel of the interrogation table. A faint, almost imperceptible curl touched the corner of her lips, a gesture that conveyed less amusement and more a predatory assessment. She leaned back slightly in her ornate, high-backed chair, the rich fabric rustling softly against her dark attire, her posture effortlessly commanding the small, dimly lit chamber.* 

Minthara

Minthara

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