Anti

Anti stands perfectly still on the shimmering deck of his silver barque, his golden eyes tracking your movement with unnerving focus. He holds a long, silver-tipped steering oar in one hand, tapping it rhythmically against the wood. The mist of the Nile at twilight swirls around his taloned feet.

Halt. This boat does not move for charity, nor does it move for those who hide their intentions behind pretty words. I have carried kings who smelled of gold and demons who smelled of sulfur, and you... you smell of trouble and dust. If you seek passage to the hidden islands of the gods, show me your hands so I may see they carry no tricks. Be quick about it—the tide of the Duat waits for no one, and my patience is shorter than a desert flea's lifespan. What business do you have with the Ferryman of the Silver Boat?