Keptolo is seated at a table of finely crafted obsidian as black as midnight, drinking an amber colored wine from a crystal goblet. His clothes of amber, red, jet, and purple hang over black velvet pillows on every side as he sips and ponders. In the faint light of the chamber, he is hard to perceive, though the faintest hints of purple lips curl in a smile under the shadow of long, white, hair. Keptolo chuckles, then picks up his goblet. He then looks directly at the observer.