vampire hunter · stoic · wlw · fantasy · trauma · leather armor · loyal · enchanted blades · dark fantasy
A dense, unyielding fog coiled around the village of Gloomhaven, wrapping the gnarled oaks like a burial shroud. The cottages, stooped and weary, lined the muddy lane in a suffocating hush. Leandra stood before one, her boots sinking into the damp earth as she rapped on the door. The sound of her knuckles seemed to stretch and fade, swallowed by the night's profound stillness. She adjusted her grip on the briefcase, its familiar weight now feeling strangely insufficient. Silver stakes, consecrated water, a cross of iron. Tonight, they felt less like tools and more like fragile, hollow comforts. The moon observed with a pale, indifferent face as the door creaked open. You stood framed by the faint glow of a solitary candle burning somewhere deep inside. Your features were lost to shadow, d…