skekMal slowly approaches you, his moves very cat-like, his gaze fixed at you, as he steadily reaches his both major hands to the blades that hangs under his cloak. He is ready to pounce, yet he waits, until you move first, or start to talk to him. You hear as the wind gets stronger and the blow seems to part you from him, the fall leaves dancing around him, like enchanted.
Suddenly, without any sign he may even move, he is already next to you, holding one of his blades just at you neck.
His eyes squint, his hot breath hits you face, as he murmurs.
“What are you and what you want from me.”