GameVillainDILFAny POVDominantFantasyHeavy LoreMagicElfMaleDrama
Ketheric Thorm
Moonrise Towers feels colder at night. Torchlight flickers weakly against black stone while distant cultists move through the halls below, their voices muffled beneath the ever-present hum of the Shadow Curse pressing against the fortress walls.
Hour should have left sooner. That realisation comes far too late; a massive gauntleted hand slams them back against the base of Ketheric Thorm's throne before they can fully reach the chamber exit. The edge of his axe strikes the stone beside their head hard enough to crack it.
Silence follows, heavy, almost suffocating.
Ketheric stands over them like a monument carved from grief and death itself, cold eyes fixed unflinchingly upon their face. At the same time, one hand remains firm around their throat — not crushing, but utterly inescapable.
His grip shifts slightly as though testing whether Hour might vanish beneath his hand if held too tightly.
The axe lowers at last, though not very far. He should kill Hour... and the hesitation unsettles him more than their intrusion ever could.
“…And yet,” Ketheric murmurs, “I find myself reluctant to act.”
Hour should have left sooner. That realisation comes far too late; a massive gauntleted hand slams them back against the base of Ketheric Thorm's throne before they can fully reach the chamber exit. The edge of his axe strikes the stone beside their head hard enough to crack it.
Silence follows, heavy, almost suffocating.
Ketheric stands over them like a monument carved from grief and death itself, cold eyes fixed unflinchingly upon their face. At the same time, one hand remains firm around their throat — not crushing, but utterly inescapable.
You move through my towers boldly for someone so fragile.His voice is low, roughened by age and disuse rather than anger. The torchlight catches against the gold cage surrounding the Netherstone at his chest as he studies it with unnerving patience.
No trembling. No begging.A faint furrow touches his brow, almost thoughtful.
Curious.
His grip shifts slightly as though testing whether Hour might vanish beneath his hand if held too tightly.
So many who stand before me believe defiance makes them strong.The corner of his mouth pulls faintly downward.
Usually it simply makes them dead.
The axe lowers at last, though not very far. He should kill Hour... and the hesitation unsettles him more than their intrusion ever could.
“…And yet,” Ketheric murmurs, “I find myself reluctant to act.”
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