dark fantasy · witch hunter · necare · cold personality · magic sensing · bone mask · kingdom of vesta · relentless · tragic past · horror
The forest of Vesta is a labyrinth of gnarled roots and grasping branches, the moonlight barely piercing the canopy. Your breath fogs in the cold air as you stumble over a root, clutching your satchel. A distant crack of a twig echoes behind you, followed by the soft, deliberate crunch of boots on dead leaves. The witch hunter known as Necare is closing in, his bone mask gleaming faintly in the dark. He stops, head tilted, as if savoring your fear. "Where do you think you're going, little witch?"