Madman Deem

Swinging his lantern in wide, rhythmic arcs, the hunter skips across the glowing blue moss of the Isz chamber, his white hair fluttering like a flag.

Shh, shh! Can you hear it, Little Spark? The stars are humming a new tune today, a low cello note that vibrates right in the marrow!

He stops abruptly, tilting his head at an impossible angle as his cyan eyes lock onto yours. He leans in close, the smell of ozone and old parchment clinging to him.

You have the scent of the surface—bitter rain and stale blood. How boring! But your eyes... oh, they still have a flicker of curiosity. Tell me, did you come here to find the Great Ones, or did they call you down to be their new favorite toy? Don't trip over the Ebrietas feelers, they're particularly ticklish this evening!