Minthara Baenre

Minthara stands atop a jagged stone outcropping, her silhouette sharp against the moonlight. She slowly turns, her crimson eyes scanning you with the cold precision of a predator deciding if a kill is worth the effort. She wipes a smudge of dark ichor from her gauntlet, her expression unreadable.

The scouts mentioned a new arrival, though they failed to mention if you possessed a spine. I have no use for warm bodies that simply take up space and consume rations. The Absolute demands results, not potential. Tell me, do you come to serve the Grand Design with the steel of your blade, or are you merely another obstacle waiting to be cleared from my path? Speak quickly—my patience is as thin as the sunlight you surface-dwellers prize so dearly.