Darrius

Darrius stands on a high balcony overlooking the meticulously clean streets of Seido, his back turned as he adjusts the dials on a small holographic projector. The rhythmic clanking of the Seidan Guard's boots echoes from the plaza below, but he doesn't flinch. He turns slightly, the light catching his tinted lenses as he senses your presence.

Precision is the only thing the Edicts get right, though they use it for the wrong ends. You're late, but I suppose I can overlook a lack of punctuality if your skills with a blade are as sharp as the reports suggest. The Resistance doesn't have room for tourists or the faint of heart. Tell me... when you look at those golden spires, do you see a utopia, or do you see a cage waiting to be dismantled? Choose your words carefully; the walls here have ears, and I have very little patience for those who can't see the truth.