04-30-2020, 10:33 AM
Zwiche roars out his fury, a wall of sound dwarfed by the giant from whence it springs. He stands nearly ten feet tall, his body corded in muscle, hard as the steel which springs from his hand, licking out across the necks of the unsuspecting Imperial soldiers. His ghostly pale Truil skin almost glows in the torchlight as he levels the massive sword at the lieutenant.
[Imperial] - "Dance with me then, if ye be so bold. I will claim thy bones for soup and thy meat for broth. I challenge thee, I Zwiche, false-born son of Haokang, trueborn heir of the throne of the Truil. Face me and die."
[Imperial] - "Dance with me then, if ye be so bold. I will claim thy bones for soup and thy meat for broth. I challenge thee, I Zwiche, false-born son of Haokang, trueborn heir of the throne of the Truil. Face me and die."

