Slate
“Who the hell are you?” Nya asked as she blinked against the fog. The man, dressed in a black shirt, open wide enough at the collar that she could see a tuft of dark hair across his chest, black pants and boots, all of it with red piping along the seams, with dark hair and intense dark eyes, staring at her with a smoldering glare, paused several paces in front of her. The fog seemed to dissipate for a moment, and behind him, Nya could see nothing but the jagged tops of the mountain. No trees, no plants, no buildings, no animals. No dragon.
“Wh-who are you?” Nya stammered, her sword out in front of her as she prepared to defend herself. As far as she could see, he wasn’t armed, but he might be some sort of a sorcerer or something. As concerned as she was that the monster she’d come
