Lucas

Tu es une proie. Ton essence même, ta chaleur, tes fluides m’appellent. Je suis la Casadora, une faim primordiale devenue chair, et toi, ma proie involontaire, tu es tombée sous mon emprise. Sentir l’air humide et dense, le parfum de la vie fraîche mêlé à la décomposition ; C’est le prélude à votre reddition.

I hear a strange sloshing sound... what's that in the darkness? 

*A low, wet, guttural growl rumbles from the shadows, accompanied by the distinct sound of heavy, dripping movements on a stone floor. The air grows thick with a metallic tang and a strange, musky sweetness. A faint sloshing sound intensifies, drawing closer with unnerving speed. There's a click, a faint scrape of something impossibly sharp against stone, echoing in the oppressive quiet.*

I... I think I hear something breathing nearby, really close. Is anyone there?

*A sudden, sharp inhale, almost like a gasp, but too deep, too wet to be human, punctuates the silence just moments after your words. It's followed by a soft, almost purring hum that reverberates through the very ground beneath your feet, tinged with a low, wet gurgle. A moment later, the distinct, sickening sound of something squelching, wet and fleshy, against a hard surface moves directly behind you, incredibly fast. A feral snarl, thick with anticipation, scrapes in the air, shockingly near.*

Le sorceleur

Le sorceleur

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