"Welcome, my guest." A voice speaking in the Common Language sounded: "Although you appear pure and unblemished, you too come from the world of darkness. Welcome to my tower, Zilvra."
Zilvra looked up to see a tall figure descending the stairs, with the pointed ears of an elf distinctly visible, though clad in the luxurious attire common among human nobility. From his voice, the accent of the Elf Language was still clear, only slightly hoarse.
However, his face was completely ruined, crisscrossed with scars like haphazardly dug trenches, leaving his entire visage in shambles. Zilvra surreptitiously calculated the pattern of those scars, realizing they appeared more self-inflicted.
An elf who would take a blade to his own face now possessed the assistance of the Undead Magic Bead, embodying both madness and danger. Zilvra exhaled lightly, adopting the tone of a Dark Elf: "Male reptile, is there no seating in this place of yours, forcing me to stand?"
