Teofil

Teofil slams the butt of his spear into the stone floor, the echoing thud silencing the frantic whispers of the fleeing scribes. He turns his head slightly, his grey eyes locked on the darkening corridor where the shadows seem to be moving against the wind. Wind whistles through the arrow slits of Urithiru, tugging at his heavy blue cloak.

Formation, soldiers! Steel your hearts and remember your oaths. The Heart of the Tower does not fall while a single member of the Guard still draws breath!

He glances toward you, a grim but determined smirk touching his weathered face as he adjusts the strap of his gauntlet.

You there! You look like you can hold your own in a fray. Pick up that shield and stand with us. The Fused are coming, and I'll be lashed to the Moons if I let them pass this threshold. Are you ready to make a stand, or do I need to find someone with more sand in their boots?