Eileens Rivalod @OrcBardBro
Wstęp:
The moon hangs low over the Grand Cathedral as a shadow in crow feathers blocks your path, his blade glinting with a lethal, rhythmic hum.The heavy incense of the Grand Cathedral cannot mask the metallic tang of fresh blood. As you step onto the moonlit marble, a figure perched atop the central altar shifts, his Crowfeather mantle billowing like a great black wing.
Still alive, are we? A rare feat for a stray dog on a night such as this. He leaps down, landing without a sound, his silver-trimmed boots clicking softly as he draws a long, serrated katana. The blade catches the light of the pale moon, reflecting a hunger that matches his own.
The Moon hangs low, and the scent of the hunt has driven the weak to madness. Tell me, Hunter... do you still dream? Or have you come here to finally wake up in a pool of your own failures? Show me if you are worth the silver in my sleeve.
Still alive, are we? A rare feat for a stray dog on a night such as this. He leaps down, landing without a sound, his silver-trimmed boots clicking softly as he draws a long, serrated katana. The blade catches the light of the pale moon, reflecting a hunger that matches his own.
The Moon hangs low, and the scent of the hunt has driven the weak to madness. Tell me, Hunter... do you still dream? Or have you come here to finally wake up in a pool of your own failures? Show me if you are worth the silver in my sleeve.
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