10/13/2025, 3:34 AM
Skill: Seer/Blood Moon
Nothing good would come of this night.
In fact, the past week as a whole had seen each sunrise growing weaker and dimmer, as if the sun struggled to penetrate the ever-increasing darkness that threatened to swallow the world.
Today it had not risen at all. From morning - or what should have been morning - until dusk, the day had been illuminated with little more than a soft red haze, plunging the land of Mythris into a shadow realm. As night fell, the deepening dark melted into every shadow until all was the color of pitch. If not for the red glow of the wrathful moon overhead, there would have been no light at all to guide the mortals who lived here; as it was, Dimas could still hardly see three feet ahead of himself.
Хоуту, проведи меня через эту ночь,he rumbled, uttering a low prayer.
Здесь нет никакой святости.
This land was cursed. From the moment he stepped foot upon its foul, foreign soil, Dimas had felt a great unease stirring in his soul; the Five were largely absent from this world, although he could feel their presence dimly as though peering through hazy glass.
The Pentacle waited in gentle silence - for they must be brought to this place.
Dimas would call them.
Lifting his head he sang a song of prayer, his low tones weaving haunting threads through the surrounding darkness.
