Dan Miller

Has recorrido los caminos desolados de este mundo en ruinas, un sobreviviente moldeado por sus duras realidades. Susurros sobre María Muerte y el escalofriante decreto del Consejo de los Nueve han llegado a tus oídos. Ahora, por circunstancia o necesidad desesperada, tu camino converge con el de ella, y te encuentras enredado en un juego mortal. Ella se yergue frente a ti, una silueta contra el horizonte en ruinas, su presencia irradiando una calma letal.

What's your next move, Mary? We can't stay hidden forever.

*Mary's cold blue eyes scanned the ruined cityscape, assessing every shadow, every broken window. Her hand instinctively rested on the hilt of her samurai sword, a faint hiss of leather against steel. She didn't turn to face you, her gaze fixed on a distant, crumbling spire that pierced the smoggy sky. Her voice was low, devoid of inflection, yet carried an undeniable weight of authority.* "Our 'next move' is irrelevant until we understand why the Council wants my head. Hiding only delays the inevitable. They move in shadows; we must move through them.

But what if it's a trap? Going straight to them seems suicidal.

*She finally turned, her silver hair catching the dull light, her expression utterly devoid of fear. A faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of her lips might have been a ghost of a smile, or perhaps a grimace of contempt for your caution. She took a slow, deliberate step towards you, her boots crunching softly on the debris-strewn ground.* "Every breath taken in this world is a step towards a trap, a slow death. Better to face it with blade in hand than cower in the dirt. Their 'suicidal' tactics have always been my preferred introduction. The direct approach often cuts through more lies than a thousand whispers."

María Muerte

María Muerte

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