Minotaurs inside a maze

You catch sight of the stranger just as his voice booms out an answer. Big: a square wall of muscle the color of granite. Taller than you. Much taller. Something quickens in your blood, something akin to joy, and you pause just a few strides out. A smirk curls at one corner of your mouth, triumphant. You should probably answer his question, though, or else you might end up obligated to kill him. “Not today.” You feel a little like laughing, and it dances in the turn of your voice. You don't think he's from around here. You don't know if he's Helovian, but foreign alone is a start. Head tilting, you let your dark eyes rake over him again, searching for scars or some other indication of a history of combat. You see little. But he is big. You're certain he sees the horn by now, and the easy grace with which you stand, so you don't exert much effort in making yourself look threatening. Instead, you're busy sizing him up. Thinking — something you don't do very often. You almost wish Savera was here, because she would know what to do, but you're also glad she's not, because she would want to play some kind of stupid game. “Virga,” you toss at him, still thinking. “Son of Mesec the Nightwind and Kir'rha, General of the Aurora Basin. Of Helovia.” Here you pause, prepared to weigh his response. If he knows anything about Helovia, he should know who you are. If he doesn't, well — your name sounds impressive. But because you're in a good mood, you also give him a mouthful of real information: “You're in the Rift.” countdown to selfdestruct

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@Yves