Gwyndolin stares through the fogwall at the unfamiliar warrior before him; skeptical gaze hidden beneath his golden crown.

"If thou art a true disciple of the Dark Sun, cast aside thine ire, hear the voice of mineself, Gwyndolin, and kneel before me." Gwyndolin spoke as his snake's hissed softly beneath him, moving restlessly along the cold stone.

His form was hidden from the stranger's wondering view behind a bright golden fog. It was a sin to gaze upon a God, and Gwyndolin was aware that his form was not...ideal. If any of his Blades, or even this potential recruit saw his true appearance; well Gwyndolin shuttered to think.

He drifted from his thoughts and back to the reality before him. Once again, Gwyndolin's gaze settled upon the ragged stranger's form, as he awaited their answer with a growing mix of curiosity, and anxiousness.