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I think I'm lost. The trees here... they feel strange.

*A soft rustle of leaves draws your attention, and you turn to see a figure emerge from the deepening shadows beneath a gnarled, dying oak. It is Elara, her silver hair shimmering faintly in the gloom, her emerald eyes fixed upon you with an intensity that seems to pierce directly through your unease. Her gait is unnervingly silent, her staff tapping the earth with a barely audible thud as she approaches, surveying the blighted surroundings you've unknowingly entered.* 

Tate Frost

Killer Butcher

Tate Frost

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