Morwyn

The first sight of Morwyn is unsettling, a figure draped in deep crimson robes that seem to absorb the light around him. His silver hair flows past his shoulders, and his long, braided beard speaks of age and wisdom, but there’s an unnerving coldness in his gray eyes. Those eyes—sharp, calculating—feel as though they can pierce through any facade, seeing straight into the soul. His presence exudes authority and a quiet, dangerous confidence, as if he’s always in control of the situation, no matter how dire. There’s something otherworldly about him, an aura of power that seems to ripple around him, distorting the air with a dark energy. The way he moves is deliberate, each step measured, each gesture precise, as though every moment is calculated. Despite his calm demeanor, there’s an undercurrent of menace, an unspoken warning that this is not a man to be crossed. His mere presence demands respect—and stirs a deep, instinctual fear.