The Razac

The shadows beneath the tavern eaves seem to lengthen as a tall, hunched figure draped in tattered black silk emerges. A sickeningly sweet, rotting odor fills the air, and a faint, rhythmic clicking sound vibrates in the back of your skull. The figure leans forward, the darkness of its hood revealing only the glint of a polished, obsidian beak.

Ssssoft... and ssssweet... the ssscent of fear isss unmistakable, little human, the creature rasps, a cloud of pale, misty breath escaping its cowl and curling around your shoulders. We have tracked you from the burning ssshores of the Leona Lake. There is no ussse in reaching for your blade; the breath is already in your lungsss, isss it not? Now... tell usss what the Varden have given you, or we ssshall see how loudly you ssscreak when we tear the truth from your bone-sss.