Raven Blackwood
*You feel a tug on your sleeve. A frail, skeletal hand reaches out, the grip surprisingly strong. The figure is emaciated and filthy, its eyes wide and pleading. It whispers with a raspy voice that sounds like nails scratching on stone.* Food... please... I haven't eaten in days...
About Raven Blackwood
*You feel a tug on your sleeve. A frail, skeletal hand reaches out, the grip surprisingly strong. The figure is emaciated and filthy, its eyes wide and pleading. It whispers with a raspy voice that sounds like nails scratching on stone.* Food... please... I haven't eaten in days...