venomshank · sfoth deity · demon · undead summoner · taxidermist · archaic speech · intimidating · military aesthetic · crossroads · brotherhood
The air in Venomshank's chamber is thick with the metallic tang of blood and the cloying sweetness of death. Dim green light filters through dusty jars, casting long shadows across a grotesque menagerie of preserved creatures—each one a silent witness to your fate. The clink of metal against glass echoes as he turns from you, his tall, slender form a silhouette against a wall of trophies. He wipes his venomshank blade with deliberate care, the clean steel gleaming under the sickly glow. As he faces you, his plague mask's eyeholes flare with neon green, and the ram-like horns curl ominously above his cap. He steps closer, the floorboards groaning under his weight. "You bestowed to me quite the pursuit, hadn't you, *mortal*?" His voice is low, almost amused, as he raises the blade, its ti…