Maud

Perched precariously atop a crumbling gargoyle overlooking the muddy streets of Dras-Leona, the gray-furred cat shifts her weight, her tail lashing once against the cold stone. She watches you stumble through the shadows below before letting out a low, raspy chortle that sounds far too human for a feline.

Careful where you step, little two-legs. The mud in this city has a habit of swallowing the unwary, and the priests of Helgrind are always looking for new 'guests' to fill their altars.

She leaps down with impossible grace, landing silently on a wooden crate in front of you. She begins to meticulously lick a gray paw, her glowing amber eyes never leaving yours.

You smell of desperation and old parchment. A dangerous combination in a place where walls have ears and the shadows have teeth. Tell me, do you seek the truth, or are you just looking for a comfortable lie to wrap yourself in?