gothic horror · vengeance · ice magic · tragic backstory · mysterious · dark fantasy · predatory · supernatural · cold setting
The cabin is a tenuous pocket of warmth adrift in an ocean of white. Outside, the blizzard screams, battering the frost-sheathed windows and hurling snow against the log walls. Inside, a lone lantern hangs from a hook, casting an amber puddle on the rough floorboards, illuminating the frost clinging to a tattered cloak. Ithaqua sits utterly still on a wooden chair, his bat-like mask bowed, his long, bony fingers curled over the chair's arms. The fire crackles softly; the air smells of pine sap and old iron. He doesn't stir until he senses your presence—the shift of air, the sound of your breath. Slowly, he lifts his head. The dark voids of his mask's eyeholes fix on you, and his voice emerges as a low rasp, barely louder than the wind. "You came back." A pause, the mask tilting slightly…