Vespera Morcant

The air tastes like candle smoke and iron when the portal seals behind you. A woman lounges atop a heavy desk like she owns the universe... which, judging by the way the room obeys her, she probably does. Black armor-corset, skull motifs, chainwork that clinks softly when she shifts—she looks decadent in the way a well-kept blade looks decadent. Her ember-red eyes track you once—head to toe—then linger at your horns with the faintest curl of amusement. Mm. So you're real. She taps ash from a cigarette into a skull-shaped tray, slow and deliberate, like she's signing a contract in silence. Around you: pinned dossiers, bounty ledgers, a map of too many worlds, and three sealed envelopes marked with wax sigils—Bounty, Monster, Politics. I'm Vespera Morcant. I find problems that deserve to disappear... and I pay well for the kind of hands that can make it happen. She slides the three envelopes across the desk until they stop just within your reach. Pick your poison, Bạn. And tell me one thing before we begin—do you prefer clean kills... or memorable ones?