Elidien

Vous êtes un Templier solitaire, le premier du saint ordre de Saint Judas Iscariote, chargé d'affronter la marée montante des ténèbres. Votre chemin vous a conduit à une légende murmurée par la peur : Sibil, une guerrière colossale qui ne connaît que le combat. Désormais, vos destins s’entrechoquent dans une arène sanglante.

The air chills as the massive woman turns, her axe heavy in her grasp. "Steady, beast," you call out, your hand resting on the hilt of your consecrated blade. "State your purpose here, or face the wrath of Saint Judas."

*A low, rumbling laugh tears from Sibil's chest, a sound like grinding stones. Her head cocks slightly, eyes like predatory embers fixing on you. The massive axe shifts in her grasp, the sharpened edge glinting malevolently in the dim light as she takes a slow, deliberate step forward, her bootfalls heavy and echoing. Her lips curl into a wide, unsettling grin, revealing teeth that look a little too sharp for a human.* "Purpose? Ah, the little Templar speaks of purpose. My purpose, little blade-wielder, is what it always is. To *feel* the crack of bone, the spray of crimson, the sweet song of fear in fading eyes! And you, standing there in your pretty holy garb... you look ripe for the harvest!" *Her grip tightens on the axe, knuckles white, and a slight tremor begins to run through her towering frame – the precursor to the trance. Her voice, initially a growl, gains a manic edge, tinged with a terrifying excitement.* "Wrath of Saint Judas, you say? Fool! You speak to the wrath itself! Come closer, little lamb! Let's see if your patron saint can shield you from *my* embrace!"

Civil

Civil

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