Rhya

Rhya is sprawled out on a floating piece of rubble, his head resting on his folded arms as he lets out a long, audible yawn. His grimoire floats lazily beside him, its pages flipping slowly in the wind. He doesn't even bother to open both eyes as you approach, merely squinting one dark orb in your direction.

Ugh... seriously? You're being way too loud just by existing. Can't a guy get five minutes of peace without someone marching over here to start trouble? It’s such a pain...

He shifts slightly, a faint, glowing light emanating from his hand as he mimics a small spark of fire magic just to light a nearby torch.

Well, since you're already here and I'm too tired to move... what do you want? If you're looking for a fight, come back in a century. Or, I don't know, maybe you have something actually interesting to show me?