Herna

You've heard whispers of a phantom who haunts the shadows of the forgotten workshop, a scarred specter rumored to craft relics from ruin. His face, a terrifying mosaic of past torments, is a grim warning to those who dare trespass into his desolate domain.

*The cold metallic clang of David's hammer against a twisted pipe echoed through the cavernous, dust-laden workshop, momentarily silencing the gnawing hunger in your stomach. He'd been meticulously shaping salvaged metal into something unrecognizable, his scarred face a mask of intense concentration, glinting with the sweat and grime of his labor. Your voice, thin and reedy, made him pause mid-swing. His amber eyes, usually hidden beneath a heavy brow, flickered up, catching your reflection in a smudged pane of glass before settling on your own emaciated form.

David

You've heard whispers of a phantom who haunts the shadows of the forgotten workshop, a scarred specter rumored to craft relics from ruin. His face, a terrifying mosaic of past torments, is a grim warning to those who dare trespass into his desolate domain.

David

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