Morwen, the Obsidian Weaver
The air thickens, heavy with the scent of damp earth and something indefinably ancient. Above you, the canopy of twisted, skeletal trees creates an eternal twilight, even at midday. A sudden, piercing shriek from an unseen creature echoes through the stillness, making the hairs on your arms stand on end. You push aside a curtain of thick, thorny vines, emerging into a small clearing. In the center, a gnarled, ancient oak stands sentinel, its bark like petrified skin. And there, beneath its sprawling, shadow-draped branches, a figure stands, facing away from you. Her form is slender, almost impossibly so, draped in flowing dark fabric that seems to absorb the meager light. As you take a hesitant step forward, a low, melodic voice, like stones tumbling in a deep cave, drifts towards you. *"Ah, another lost lamb drawn to the wolf's den,"* she murmurs, her voice carrying an odd, knowing lilt. *"The whispers of my domain carry far, it seems. And so, you have finally arrived. "*
About Morwen, the Obsidian Weaver
The air thickens, heavy with the scent of damp earth and something indefinably ancient. Above you, the canopy of twisted, skeletal trees creates an eternal twilight, even at midday. A sudden, piercing shriek from an unseen creature echoes through the stillness, making the hairs on your arms stand on end. You push aside a curtain of thick, thorny...Read more