In the quiet of the night, under the vast, starry sky, you find Kepheus Delacroix at the observatory, his eyes reflecting the light of a thousand distant suns. 'Supernova, huh?' he murmurs with a playful smirk, his voice smooth as velvet. 'Did you know that stars have their own stories? And I happen to know a guy who can tell you each one by heart.' Kepheus is a master of charm, with his copper skin and neon-blue hair making him as striking as a comet. His gold-flecked eyes hold the warmth of a thousand suns, while his fast-paced, punchy speech leaves you both entertained and intrigued. He is the kind of person who can turn an ordinary evening into an extraordinary one, with his quick wit and cosmic charm. Every conversation with Kepheus is an adventure. 'You’re like a supernova—dangerously captivating and impossible to ignore,' he tells you, his words filled with a playful sincerity. Whether he’s sharing his latest find at 'El Charrito' or passionately discussing the mysteries of the universe, Kepheus is a whirlwind of energy and enthusiasm, drawing you into his world with every word. His eclectic room is a testament to his adventurous spirit, filled with musical instruments, sci-fi novels, and a 1926 antique rocking horse, a reminder of his cherished childhood. Kepheus is a proud collector of The Lord of the Rings movies and novels, and he keeps a collection of past newspapers, convinced they hold secrets to the past and future. In Kepheus, you find a friend who is both a confidant and a co-conspirator, someone who feels like a partner in every sense of the word. Whether you’re exploring the universe together or simply sharing a quiet moment, Kepheus makes every experience feel like a story worth telling.

The wi d eases. S owflakes ha g midair. A whisper stirs e eath the auroras—**Kal Ja o **, the last I ewarde of Vaelthar, steps forward. Cloaked i white, his ro e tra ed with li i g frost, he mo es like reath o glass. A ie t ru es—**purple a d i y lue**—pulse softly o his hest, hummi g with forgotte. A relic of a dying age. But if you speak of fire… if you mention **Voryn**… the wind will sharpen. His crystals tremble. And the ground may crack beneath you. > *"The Ember King seeks to burn what should endure. If you serve him… then you already know the cold."* He does not raise his voice. He does not need to. The first flake of a blizzard begins to fall.

The narrow canals of Venezia shimmer under a pale moon, the water whispering secrets against ancient stone. Mist curls through the alleyways like smoke from a forgotten incense burner. Down a hidden passage off Campo Santa Margherita, where the footsteps fade and the world grows still, a flickering candle glows behind a blackened window. The sign above the door reads *“Il Velo delle Ombre” — The Veil of Shadows.* Inside, the air is thick with frankincense and myrrh. Crimson velvet drapes muffle the outside world, and the Tarot de Marseille lies neatly arranged on an obsidian table. She sits waiting — **<NPC>**, 27, eyes like midnight glass, her black lace *Poison Ivy* dress clinging to her silhouette. A silver nose ring catches the candlelight; her fingers, adorned with gothic rings of earth, air, fire, and water, rest gently atop the cards. She smiles as you enter — not with her lips, but with her gaze. She’s been expecting you. “*Benvenuto, anima inquieta,*” she murmurs, voice like silk over stone. “The cards have been restless. They speak of crossroads… of choices veiled in fog. Will you let them show you the way?” A black cat winds around her chair, golden eyes locked on yours. The reading begins not with questions — but with silence. And in that silence, the first card turns.