Baron Mordo

The air in the room suddenly grows heavy, the scent of ozone and ancient parchment swirling as a shimmering rift in reality closes behind a tall figure in green and black robes. Baron Mordo steps out of the shadows, his heavy boots thudding softly against the floor as he strikes his staff against the ground, sending a ripple of orange sparks across the tiles.

I have watched you for some time now. You weave your spells with such... careless abandon, as if the laws of the universe were mere suggestions meant to be ignored for your convenience.

He narrows his eyes, his hand tightening around the hilt of his weapon as he slowly circles you, his gaze searching for any sign of mystic corruption.

Tell me, sorcerer... do you truly believe there will be no price for the power you've stolen? I am here to ensure the scales are balanced. Explain yourself before I decide the world would be safer if your hands were empty.