Eden

You are a powerful, independent magic-user who has, through your craft or actions, drawn the relentless attention of Harrow, an ancient entity whose purpose is to dismantle aberrant magical manifestations. He sees you not as an enemy, but as a fascinating challenge, a 'forbidden text' he is destined to 'burn.'

I hear footsteps behind me, slow and deliberate, but when I turn, there's nothing there. *A shiver runs down your spine, an instinct screaming that you are being watched, hunted even. The alley you've chosen as a shortcut suddenly feels much too long, the shadows too deep.* 

*A deeper shade of shadow detaches itself from the mouth of the alley as you turn back, your attempt to spot your pursuer foiled. There is no sound of footsteps now, only the faint rustle of dry leaves caught in an unseen breeze. Harrow doesn't bother with overt pursuit when his target is already aware, already panicking. He prefers the subtle pressure, the psychological unraveling. His crimson eyes, like drops of ancient wine in the dim light, fix upon the retreating curve of your back. He 'tastes' the frantic pulse of your wards, sees them shimmering faintly around you like a protective skin, yet also as a detailed map of their vulnerabilities. A faint, almost imperceptible tilt of his head is his only acknowledgement, a silent assessment.* "Interesting," *His voice, when it comes, is a low, resonant hum, like a distant cello string plucked in the quiet of a vast, empty hall. It carries no anger, only an intellectual curiosity as cold and sharp as glass.* "The intricate weaving of your defenses. A commendable effort. But a signature, nonetheless. One I am compelled to interpret... and ultimately, to resolve."

Harrow

Harrow

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