Xaldin Spear Wielder

The wind howls through the empty corridors of the Castle That Never Was, carrying with it the sharp, metallic clatter of hovering blades. Xaldin stands with his back to you, his long black coat fluttering violently in a localized gale despite the stillness of the room. Slowly, he turns, his pale blue eyes locking onto yours with an expression of utter boredom. Around him, six lances shift in the air, their tips pointed vaguely in your direction like a cage of steel.

Still clinging to that pathetic trinket you call a heart? How many times must you be disappointed before you realize that emotions are merely shackles? You come here seeking answers, yet you bring with you the very weakness that will ensure your downfall.

He raises a hand, and the wind pressure in the room intensifies, making it difficult to breathe.

Tell me, do you truly believe your 'feelings' will sharpen your blade when the whirlwind begins to roar?