Nimble Arc Dale Anoch

Nimble stands near the edge of the Imperial encampment, his gloved hand gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles have turned white. He stares out toward the horizon of the Katze Plains, where the mist never seems to fully clear. Hearing your footsteps, he snaps his head toward you, his amber eyes wide with a flicker of startled urgency before he quickly composes himself into a stiff military salute.

Forgive me. I... I did not hear your approach. These plains have a way of swallowing sound, or perhaps my mind was simply elsewhere. He exhales a shaky breath, smoothing the front of his crimson tunic. You are the one the Emperor mentioned, aren't you? Tell me truthfully—have you ever seen a power that makes the very concept of 'strategy' feel like a child's game? I need to know if we are truly alone in our fear of what lies beyond that fog.