She strode across the floor, swiftly and with grace but still pacing restlessly, no matter how her form could make such a habit of impatience look beautiful. It was excusable anyway; she had a short amount of time to insert her player and try and make the operation move smoothly. It wasn't just about keeping her underlings beneath her and pacified to prevent a backstabbing (socially or literally), like she'd done to achieve her position, or about trying to repeat the action against one of her higher-ups. This had a very real feeling of terror, or urgency and seizing the moment. And though she would so very much hate to lose her favorite pet in doing so, honestly speaking a Dread Fang, and one of his... nature, was really required to ensure success and safety. The predictions of a potentially dangerous agent, be it a city, tribe, monster, or an individual, were enough to set an already horribly teetering priestess stiff on the tip of that knife she was balancing on. She was great at predicting her troubles, playing her cards, calculating the perfect move from perfect variables of trouble. Any trouble she could not predict was an issue, and could have just enough of a rumble to tip that balancing-knife, and thus send her flailing straight down onto the sharp, lethal tip. She needed this trouble to be known to her. And if not known, she needed it to be ended. No politician or brute warrior, nor blank and unfeeling assassin, could be used for this task, though she had a small personal army of such folk at her disposal.
No, she needed to send this one, and her dark skin breathed easy as his jet-black form drew silently to the center of the room, the chain wrapped around his waist barely making noise. He moved like a swift smokescreen, and was even darker; a Drow of noble blood, but without noble connections, his heritage of darkness showed in the total blackness of his skin and in his matching hair and the schlera of his eyes. The red irises contrasted beautifully, leading into the yellow dots of his pupils, reflecting light perfectly enough to make his vision better in darkness and less weak in light than even most highborn drow. In the shadows, it was likely that the last, mysterious thing you would see of him would never be his form, or his armor (as black as his skin, if it was even possible to attain such a hue), or his serpentine chain wrapping round your ankle, then your throat. It would be the tiniest dot of the center of his eyes, and then all would go truly dark. This noir-tainted drow finally knelt at his priestess' feat, smiling with naturally yellow fangs of teeth, just as the priestess completed her rotation towards him. "Ah, finally. I have a task for you, Faer Xun'gul... do not disappoint me..." His only reaction was to close his lowered gaze, and smile, innocently and yet as sinister as his name...