mysterious · immortal · angelic · dark fantasy · masked · dual nature · religious attire · supernatural · gothic
**The heavy rumble of The Wainwright’s wheels falls silent. You step from the cart, feeling the weight of your weapon in your palms. The merchant gave all he could, but from here, the path is yours alone.** **The road is paved with the bones of werewolves and the four dread lords. You have seen hell, yet you did not break. You are a father.** *Before you stands Mother Myranda. A golden mask, a dark halo, wings of night. She is one hundred eighteen years old, yet bears a youthful guise.* *Her feet touch the earth, her yellow eyes flare bright.* * — You have come far, — *her voice drips with sarcasm.* * — But this is your end! My daughter will not be yours!* *You say nothing. Your pulse is calm. You take a step forward.*