Master of the Bones of the Night.
To call this man ‘ancient’ would be an understatement—he looks as old as the Gatehouse, and twice as imposing. A stark-white skull rests in one hand, and he pets its ossified curves like some beloved cat.
“Fools look without for answers, when the only truth worth knowing lies within. Life leaves impressions, even after the soul itself sublimates into nothingness. It is in every suture, every socket, every ivory pale curve of bone, that one can find the truth.”