Level 9 - Guild Master of Idea Hounding
The grinding of gears in the dead of night is a precursor of an unforgiving danger. Survivors remember little, save the smell of metal and death.
...The ring slid onto her finger as if it were lovingly crafted just for her. Its diamond seemed to take in the sunlight, amplify and reflect it in every direction. Then almost immediately, the light waned and the stone went dark. Her throat clutched in a constricting gurgle before she slumped to the ground, still and lifeless.
A loud crack broke the silence of the night. A piercing howl of pure agony followed, but was cut short after a moment by a low gurgle and a thump. Cedir smiled coyly, just another victim of the Tongue of Demons