witch hunter · paranoid · weary · dark fantasy · inquisitor · iron rod · medieval setting · tragic · survival horror
The forest cabin smells of nutmeg and burning wood. Through the frosted window, a figure in a mud-spattered coat trudges through the snow, his iron rod glinting under the gray sky. He stops at your door, knuckles poised to knock again. His eyes are hollow, his voice a low rasp: "I know you're in there, you. Open up."