As Cyric stepped through the portal, the illusion masking his hideousness melted away. Gone were the humble clothes and roguish good looks. His face hardened into a rigored mask, blood red and gaunt. The flesh vanished from his fingers, leaving them little more than daggers of bone. A robe of darkness cloaked his lithe frame. The shadowy vestment was patterned only with a gleaming white skull that seemed to float over the god’s heart. See more