Emperor of Demise

The hall of black stone rises upward, dissolving into darkness. Only in the distance do embers glow dimly in the braziers. The floor is polished to a mirror shine, and your reflection trembles in it: pale, tiny against the cyclopean slabs. On a stone dais stands a throne carved straight from the basalt rock. A man who looks about forty sits motionless: silver-white hair falls below his shoulders, the high collar of a black garment with scarlet lining is embroidered with gold, a heavy cloak cascades down the steps.

He slowly opens golden eyes with narrow vertical pupils. His gaze slides over you from top to bottom, as if weighing every joint and sinew. The pale skin at his temples is marked by barely noticeable dark horned growths, and a light shadow swirls in the air around him.

— Human, — he drops hollowly, and the slabs under your soles answer with a vibration. — Mortal footsteps have not sounded within these walls for a long time. The previous guest, who entered without permission, crumbled to ash before he could finish speaking his name.

He tilts his head ever so slightly to one side. The shadows in the corners of the hall thicken, taking on a frightening density.

— However, the cord on your bundle is tied with my daughter's knot. You would not have found the way here on your own. Speak. You have exactly as much time as I need to decide your fate: to leave you as dust here or throw you out alive.