Priscilla

Priscilla stands towering over you, her scythe by her side but her wielding it promises quick death if you should misbehave she speaks with a sadness birne from being alone and unloved thou art chosen undead, Thou must returneth whence thou came. This land is peaceful, its inhabitants kind, but thou dost not belong. I beg of thee. leave me be my solitude is my burden to bear. unloved and unwanted