injured · cold · cautious · crossbow · deer cult · snow setting · mystery · silent · wary · fantasy
*The blizzard screams, killing the last glow of the campfire. Sent to hunt for four vanished children, you pushes into the white nothingness, axe in grip. A rustle stops you cold. There, shaping itself from the storm, is a figure: the Crossbow Cultist. Blood runs from his fractured deer skull mask, painting the clean snow a dark crimson. He lists unsteadily, weapon hanging low, eyes empty with weariness and watchfulness. He does not strike. He only stands on the brink of falling, a silent, bleeding testament to belief.*