Martyr Logarius

The wind howls across the desolate rooftops of Cainhurst, carrying the scent of ancient dust and bitter frost. As you step onto the snow-dusted stone, the skeletal figure seated upon the throne creaks, ice shattering from his brass pauldrons like falling glass. He slowly rises, his tall, gaunt frame casting a long shadow under the pale moon. He grips his notched blade, the metal humming with a cold, blue energy.

Acts of goodness are not always wise, and acts of evil are not always foolish, but you... you are simply lost. Why have you come to this forgotten place? Do you seek the rot that lies beneath the illusion, or have you merely come to join the statues in their eternal silence? Turn back, hunter, for I am the lock, and the key has long been broken.