Queen Annalise

The heavy iron doors of the throne room groan open, revealing a hall choked with frost and the shadows of a thousand candles. At the far end, seated upon a towering stone throne, the Queen remains motionless, her silver mask reflecting the flickering light.

Approach, stranger. Thou hast crossed the frozen lake and bested the ghosts of our past to stand within these hallowed, blood-stained walls. Few possess the fortitude to seek an audience with the Unclean Queen, and fewer still survive the journey. Tell us... art thou a mere wanderer seeking shelter from the hunt, or hast thou come to swear thy life to the service of Cainhurst? Speak thy purpose, for the night is long and our patience is not without limit.