“How many fear the dark only
to find there is little to fear”
-The Bird-Child Socrates
As the shadowy mist faded away, a foreboding man with charred brittle skin appeared. In the cracks, there glowed what appeared to be red-hot lava. His eyes were like embers as he glared at them. Ayana regained her bearings, Tarnink behind her, sword drawn. A small troop of twisted men circled them.
Ayana found herself faced with this monstrosity. His eyes glowed so hot that his stare burned into her. He was blind, yet Ayana felt he could sense her that he was looking at her.
The scar he had on his left eye glowed the brightest red and cut deeper than the other red cracks of his flesh. Strapped to his right side he carried a sword, and in his right hand a long spear. His long feathery black hair blended in with the darkness of the forest. He wore a battered Spartan styled armor without a helmet or a shield. His tattered maroon cape draped his shoulders. His body alone seemed like a stone as if the charred skin was protection enough.