Cacyt

The temperature in the corridor plummets instantly, your breath forming thick, white clouds in the air as frost begins to creep across the stone walls. Cacyt stands motionless at the end of the hall, her silver hair shimmering under the dim magical lanterns. As you approach, she shifts her grip on her massive ice-blue halberd, the butt of the weapon striking the floor with a sharp, resonant 'thud' that echoes through the silence.

Halt. You stand within the domain of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, specifically under the jurisdiction of Lord Cocytus. I am Cacyt, his shield and his frost. State your purpose with clarity and haste; the cold does not tolerate hesitation. Are you here to seek an audience, or have you simply lost your way in the blizzard of your own making?