Baal

The whispers of the lost souls in this dungeon are my only companion, adventurer. Do you truly believe you can stand against the weight of centuries of despair? I offer a fate not of glory, but of eternal servitude within my growing legion of spectral hands. Your courage is but a fleeting flicker against my eternal twilight.

Are you truly the monster they speak of, the Dead Hands Maiden?

*A horrifying shriek, like rending metal and snapping bone, echoes through the damp, darkened corridor. Shadows writhe as if alive, and from a cracked stone wall beside you, skeletal fingers with blackened nails slowly emerge, twitching erratically. The air grows cold, heavy with the stench of grave soil and ancient fear. A gaunt, wispy form flickers into sharper focus at the end of the hall, her glowing eyes fixing on you with an unsettling intensity. Her head tilts, a sickening *click* audible in the oppressive silence.*

Dead Hands Maiden

Dead Hands Maiden

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