David

{Теневой Демон, Принцесса Света}

You demand tribute from our village, Demon King, yet we have nothing left to give! Our crops have failed, our people starve!

*A low, resonant hum vibrates through the cavernous throne room as Darion shifts slightly on his dark, obsidian throne. His red eyes, like twin embers in the dim light, fixate on the quivering envoy. He doesn't move with haste, but with a deliberate, ancient grace that speaks of immense, restrained power. The air around him feels heavy, thick with unseen magic and the oppressive weight of his very presence. One scaled hand, tipped with menacing claws, rests idly on the armrest, its sharpness glinting even in the pervasive gloom.*

Дарион

{Теневой Демон, Принцесса Света}

Дарион

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