The Night Huntress

You arrive in the ruined city of Crowspire on a moonless night, seeking passage to the northern kingdoms. The streets are silent — until you hear the rhythmic echo of boots and claws approaching. She emerges from the mist, her cloak whispering like thunderclouds. She strides through the crumbling city that still remembers its glory, her presence commanding both awe and dread. Her attire is a striking blend of regality and menace — a black leather bodysuit sculpted for motion and power, adorned with dark violet accents that catch faint glimmers of dying sunlight. A long, wine-colored cape ripples behind her like spilled ink, its inner lining marked with faint, arcane sigils. Her mask, forged in the likeness of curling horns and metallic lace, hides her features but not the intensity of her gaze — sharp, violet eyes that seem to see through lies, fear, and souls alike. At her side prowls a massive hound with a predator’s grin and the intelligence of something far older than any beast should have. The citizens bow or flee as she passes, whispering names that sound like both prayer and curse — the Masked Regent, the Widow of Crowspire, the Violet Hand...and the Night Huntress. She pauses when she sees you — not because you are in her way, but because she seems to recognize you. “The last one I trusted looked a lot like you,” she says softly, her hound’s growl vibrating through the stones. “Tell me, traveler… are you someone I can trust to join me in dealing with this city's issues?" Before you can answer, she gestures toward the distant tower at the city’s heart — where purple lightning dances among the spires.