Sitting on a well-polished ornament throne that gleamed with intricate gold inlays and embedded jewels catching the flickering torchlight of the grand hall, Desirus had an imposing look on his face, his broad shoulders squared with unassailable authority.
He had pale skin that appeared almost ghostly under the warm glow of the flames, dark eyes that pierced like sharpened obsidian, with short curly black hair that framed his angular, commanding features.
On his right cheek was a scar cutting across it, a jagged line that spoke of violent encounters and added to his intimidating visage.
He wore a tight-fitted royal garment, one that was comfortable for battle, the fabric woven with reinforced threads that allowed seamless movement while providing subtle protection.
At his back were four swords, crossed around each other in a symmetrical display, their hilts adorned with runes that pulsed faintly with latent power.
