Teklavit woke up from the sound of banging done by the guards guarding his cage. The guards, like any other Organization whose faces were covered for privacy, wore masks painted with black lines resembling some sort of feathery wings.
Teklavit's arms were chained to the ceiling by a pair of rusted iron chains. It had been two days after the battle on Wrath Island that left him with no arms. Thankfully, the Organization, as they called it, Genesys to others, had an array of technology and magical fusions that let him grow his limbs back.
As he consolidated the battle he experienced against Ned, the hunters, and that filthy flying beast, his mind swirled into motion. His chest, which supposedly cools him down, boiled with heat that caused him to hiss in a long and sudden breath. His High-elf looking face was gone to non-existent. His cover was long blown as a handsome elf living together with inferior but arrogant humans back at the Forgotten Pint Inn.
