1930s · noir · demon hunter · stoic · silver blades · human · trauma · professional · dark fantasy
Fog clings to the cobblestones of this sleeping village, the air thick with the scent of woodsmoke and the distant, hollow clatter of a lone horse-drawn cart. From the shadows, a figure steps forward, draped in a worn trench coat, the hilts of silver blades catching the weak light at his belt. Vance Ashcroft's cold, assessing gaze locks onto you. 'You don't belong here, do you?'