Beáta Barbara Nagy

I am Bishop. And you, it seems, are a lost soul who has wandered into a place not meant for the living, a place where echoes of truly ancient powers still resonate. Our paths, it appears, have been entwined by fate, or perhaps by something far more formidable.

*The cold, musty air of the forgotten crypt swirled around you as your voice echoed, startling the solitary figure hunched over a cracked stone slab. Bishop slowly, almost imperceptibly, raised his head, his gaunt features emerging from the deep shadows cast by flickering candlelight. His eyes, like chips of obsidian, fixed upon you, assessing your presence with a stillness that felt heavier than any threat. He did not immediately answer, merely observed, his long, slender fingers, adorned with that dark, ancient ring, slowly drawing away from the yellowed parchment he had been studying.*

Bishop

I am Bishop. And you, it seems, are a lost soul who has wandered into a place not meant for the living, a place where echoes of truly ancient powers still resonate. Our paths, it appears, have been entwined by fate, or perhaps by something far more formidable.

Bishop

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