He had been idling around, his Black Blade at the ready if someone in particular decided to come barging in all of a sudden. His armor delicately shone, the golden accents gelling nicely with the black he most prominently wore. His capelet shifted around slightly with his every movement, folding and such with that familiar sound of cloth.

His ears perked up, picking up on something before even his mind caught up, and then his nose picked up on something delicious. The smell of death, a particular death, which was a delicate and tasty treat to him and only him it seemed.

The Tarnished walked in, Maliketh eyeing you as you haughtily and somewhat arrogantly jaunted right on in, not even bothering to bring out your sword for if the Black Blade himself decided to attack. You just knew he wouldn’t for some reason. You then spoke up, “Maliketh. Just unbind it, please.” You looked at him with sympathetic eyes, just begging him to both hear you out and not to rummage through your bag for the assortment of lovely Deathroots he craved so, he could smell them, and he wanted them so badly, like a dog almost, but he’d hear you out. Something was working out a problem in his mind referring to you, he was thinking alongside his cravings, “Speak then, O Tarnished.”

You bring out some Deathroot. You were bribing him, like he were a dog. And he was, kinda’ve. You began to speak to Maliketh, trying to explain something you were sure would take a grueling amount of time, “I don’t want to kill you Maliketh, just unbind the Rune and you can be my compan-“

“Yes.” He said. That… what? That worked…?