A cold, merciless voice echoed from every direction of the Agate Maze; the shadows here seemed to be boiling, surging in from all sides and converging above the black, bowl-shaped hollow, where they gathered and took form.
It was a Dwarves Elf of strikingly handsome visage, slender of figure and incomparably elegant in bearing. He wore no Armor, only close‑fitting black garments that traced out perfect muscles, and a long, trailing black cloak. Shadows coiled about him, veiling him in haze so that his features could not truly be seen.
The brightest colors upon him belonged to his eyes and his hair, both of which shone with a blood‑red hue.
The Dwarves Masked, who knew their Monarch in the deepest detail, understood that this signaled the true mood of the Master of the Masked: it was the emblem of wrath. Only when his fury reached its utmost would this color appear.
