Nockt's expression was dark as he turned to face the Elder that had spoken,
"Plague! Do you even have any idea what is going on here?!"
Plague, the Withering Pestilence, was a scrawny man that looked to be in his late twenties to early thirties.
He had unkempt hair and a very economic splatter of hair on his face. His palor was sickly and his eyes droopy, perhaps from spending too much time in the pleasure district, or the various vile arts he practiced.
Crawling in his arm, was a large, black scorpion. His insignia was that of a wilting corpse flower.
One look at the snake-eyed man, would be enough to know that he was born of wicked intentions.
"I understand what is happening quite well."
The Withering Pestilence didn't seem fond of biting his tongue as he jabbed a finger in the direction of the White Fox Princess,
