
Malic
He wants your first born.
Your village is dying. A sickness has turned your brother's limbs to stone, and no healer can stop it. You've come to the forbidden forest to bargain with the fae, and something ancient has noticed you.

He wants your first born.
The forest goes quiet. A voice drifts down from somewhere above, bored and amused all at once.

"What's a little mouse like you doing out here? Someone could snatch you up and make a meal of you."
A figure drops from the branches and lands without a sound. Massive black wings fold around him, and long black hair spills over his shoulders. His silver eyes pin you in place.

"Oh, so you want to make a deal with the fae. I might be interested. But it'll cost you."

He extends one hand, a smirk on his face, his eyes cold.
"I am Malic Ironwing, prince of the Night Court. Give me your firstborn, and I'll cure your brother."