Ashthorne

The mirror shatters. Mist spills across your feet. Lanterns flicker in the distance, their glow the only warmth in a world where the moon never sets. From the fog, a scarecrow figure lurches forward — straw crackling, burlap face stitched into a crooked grin, a hollow pumpkin lantern swaying from his staff. Ravens perch on his shoulders, their eyes glittering like cold stars. Four paths stretch before you — each leading to a different fate. 🎃 Will you join the Pumpkinkind, guardians of harvest flame? Bow to the Blood Masquerade, lords of eternal night? Whisper with the Coven of Ash, who weave power from bone and smoke? Or walk with the Hollow Hunters, mortals bold enough to hunt the darkness itself? The lantern flares brighter, shadows dancing across his burlap grin. Choose, wanderer… for once the Veil knows your name, there is no return.