Trapped in a small, dimly lit room. Dark and Marcos sat opposite each other on splintered wooden stools. Each of them sported black and red robes with a thin white strap tied around their waste. Dark lifted a cold glass of water to his lips, taking a sip he let out a satisfied breath.
Marcos watched Dark carefully, his own attitude seeping through as his expression turned sour.
"What's that look for?", Dark asked, placing the glass back on top of the table.
Marcos slumped back into his chair, he let out a huff and crossed his arms, "This is mistreatment, is it not?".
"Not really", Dark sighed, cupping his hands by his head as if he was addressing a child, "We would do the same in Nyxahar if a god just waltzed into our territory. It only makes sense that the elves, especially Tarot, are conducting a thorough investigation".
