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[h3][color=Mediumpurple]Cynthia Nocturne[/color][/h3][/center]
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"That lady over there is giving me the willies..." a brunette guard mumbled to his red haired partner. Both of the lightly armed men gazed at the white haired woman striding down the streets of Ylisstol, clad in a illustrious, black dress and wearing a fierce expression. The eerie sound of rattling shackles emanated with every step she took, something that perturbed the duo immensely. Unbeknownst to the guardsmen, the source of the noise came from two small, slender chains beneath each of her lengthy sleeves that held two tomes dangling, freeing the woman's hands and concealing her prized possession. "Aye. Somethin' about 'er is menancin'. Best not bother 'er." the other man replied to his comrade, chills running down his spine. The two guards kept watching her until she was out of sight, but neither dared halt her advance. 

Cynthia paid no mind to the leering idiots. She was returning from Plegia after a failed attempt to join in on the so-called Sword of Naga's expenditure against the remains of Grima's cult. Too many times she had been mistaken for one of the Fell Dragon's acolytes, which had resulted in a number of attempts against her life, all of which backfired. Moreover, the Crusaders were particularly fond of destroying any and every relic that may have had some dark source of power, much to Cynthia's annoyance. Her trek had been nothing but a disaster from the start, but now she was back in the bustling city of Ylisstol. She could enjoy a short recess in her sanctuary until the time was ripe for her to continue her quest for overwhelming power.

However, the Dark Mage's eyes narrowed in extreme displeasure when she saw what was happening to her beloved, crumbling sanctuary. The once tranquil ruin of the Shepherd's garrison was being rebuilt, the once wild plant overgrowth had been trimmed, and miscreants were bumbling around the barracks' once glorious grounds. What was the meaning of this?! This monument to the past was typically empty and avoided, the perfect place for a Dark Mage such as Cynthia to practice her dark arts. But now, it was infested with lice and being transformed into something it should not be. Spotting the tall, barbaric warrior and his assumed sword-faring sidekick by the front door, her long legs took her forward. The noise that the chains within her sleeves made her approach less than subtle.

[color=mediumpurple]"You imbeciles, the Shepherd's garrison has long been a testament to Chrom and his companions' ardor. I will not stand idle while you and your goons desecrate the greatest reminder of their actions. Your men and yourself will disperse from here and now, regardless of where your orders come from, lest you wish to incur my wrath."[/color] her notably soft, mousy voice threatened the much larger man. Though Cynthia's tone was not especially sinister, her face was expressionless, her sea green orbs cold and icy, and her right hand grasped a purple tome hidden from sight. She was clearly not intimidated by the barbarian or the swordsman, and every ounce of her was prepared for war. After all, they should be the ones that feared [i]her[/i].

As she stood there, glowering at the two, it was quite apparent that Cynthia hadn't heard any of the rumors that surrounded the reformation of the Shepherds in her travels. 

[sub][@Eisenhorn][@BlazeGamma][/sub]